09/26/2020 Snippet, THE THING IN MY HIP FLASK.

Almost there! Won’t stop writing itself! Bullets can’t kill it!


The path to the Pierce farm may have been alarming in dusk or dawn, and even more so during the day; but during full night the trip thoroughly wrecked my equilibrium. I did not feel like I was being watched. I simply knew it, and that knowledge dripped fight-or-flight hormones into my system until I was jangled and half-nauseous by the time I pulled up at the farm. I saw David’s pickup truck, there — and one or two others, which suggested that he had confederates in whatever mad scheme he had going.

It was at just at the point where I realized that perhaps stealth should have been called for that the flashlight came out of the night, painfully illuminating the inside of my car. I blinked and raised my hand to ward off the light — and by the time I thought about doing anything else, there was David. He had attached the flashlight to some sort of rifle, and the barrel was pointed right at me.

“Get out, Cassie,” he said. “Let’s not make this any worse than it has to be.”