The Guardian (2011)
“Close to three in the morning. Exactly two hours from the reservation in Manquin, Virginia, to downtown D.C. She’d taken Route 17 to Route 1, a shortcut that avoided Interstate I-95.
She stopped long enough to flash her gold shield at the uniformed officer blocking the entrance.
He waved her through.
She turned onto the service road that would take her deep into the park. Moonlight reflected in the car mirrors and hit her eyes. That oppressive moon had followed her all the way into downtown D.C...., riding her rear window like a gray, shifting phantom, blocking out the stars and the sky, almost blinding in its intensity. There was a menacing, almost tactile feeling to it, as if she couldn’t escape it anywhere she went. Usually she loved to gaze at the moon. Tonight was different. The pull was so strong, she felt it tugging at her insides.
She squinted at the narrow service road ahead of her. The park lights cast a sickly, yellowish glow over the pavement, spraying dim yellow diamonds over the black tarmac.MoreLess
She stopped long enough to flash her gold shield at the uniformed officer blocking the entrance.
He waved her through.
She turned onto the service road that would take her deep into the park. Moonlight reflected in the car mirrors and hit her eyes. That oppressive moon had followed her all the way into downtown D.C...., riding her rear window like a gray, shifting phantom, blocking out the stars and the sky, almost blinding in its intensity. There was a menacing, almost tactile feeling to it, as if she couldn’t escape it anywhere she went. Usually she loved to gaze at the moon. Tonight was different. The pull was so strong, she felt it tugging at her insides.
She squinted at the narrow service road ahead of her. The park lights cast a sickly, yellowish glow over the pavement, spraying dim yellow diamonds over the black tarmac.MoreLess
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