It was a woman. Dark skin, long, black hair. She put a finger to her lips.
His eyes went immediately to the gun on the seat between them. The butt was on her side. She followed his eyes.
“Don’t,” she said.
He grabbed her wrist, pushed it away from his face, and she squeezed the trigger and the windshield exploded.
“f**k!” he cried, putting his shoulder to his left ear. The pain was excruciating, but he managed to maintain his grip. He yanked the gun out of her grip, flipped it on her.
“Get the f**k out,” he said.
“No.”
He extended his arm and was just about to fire when the door behind him opened and someone yanked him out of the cab. His head hit the asphalt and his vision went black. When it cleared he saw a man standing above him, aiming a rifle at his forehead. Typical survivor.
