#73 The Gun Wasn’t Hers

by Townsend Walker

She hadn’t wanted it, but there it was on the seat beside her. For your protection, they said. Just in case.

She was driving I-90 from Seattle to Chicago in her ’84 Chevy. Lots of empty country out there, they said. True. It was miles of nothing but dirt and sky. Out past Billings, a rock hit the windshield. Driver’s side shattered. She jerked, nearly drove off the road. Where the hell did that come from? Slowed down, stopped, sat there. Sat until her breathing got down to near normal. The sun caught hold of the edges of shattered glass, turning her windshield into a cacophony of rainbow colors.

She looked around. In the rearview, saw something moving. Grabbing the gun, she snapped the safety off and walked, Clint-like, in the middle of the road, hair whipping around her face.

But he wasn’t in front of her; he was in back.

1 comment:

Sam Knight said...

I liked the buildup, I liked the setup. But I felt I needed a hint more of what was going on. Just a hint.