Wallace Jenkins stood next to the second cart and didn’t like what he saw. This cart, like the one further up the road, was abandoned. Even through the darkness, he could make out two dime-sized spots on the beige-colored seat. With his index finger, Wallace smeared the closest spot across the vinyl, confirmed his fear. Blood. On the floor board he made out the shape of a silver-colored cell phone.
Wallace Jenkins stood next He flipped it open and his thick fingers worked the tiny buttons, scrolled over and around until he got to the recent calls. The last number received was his…which meant it was Austin’s phone…which probably meant it was Austin’s blood. The image of the two pilots, dead and dying, rushed back into his head. Wallace thought about Austin, but mostly he thought about Da
