We passed the last gas station about seventy miles back. I knew we should have gotten directions. We’re lost, and I don’t feel right. Didn’t we see that hillbilly on the Vespa before? I’m sure we did…
Great, a flat tire. Perfect.
…Oh God, here comes that hillbilly. He’s got a gun, and there’s nowhere for us to run. He’s saying something about building a bridge…
