“That’s yours?” Keo asked. Rachel nodded. “We were on the I-20 when everything started happening. We heard about it on the radio and decided we should probably look for a place to stop for the night, just in case…you know.” “Where were you headed?” “Texas. Well, Santa Marie Island in Galveston. We were going to visit some family, maybe even stay there for a while.” “Where were you guys coming from?” “Atlanta. I had a job there until a few months ago.” She shrugged. “We were looking for a change ...of scenery, anyway.” “We” was Rachel and her eight-year-old daughter, Christine. The girl sat on one of the big desks inside the police station, small legs swinging back and forth over the side. She ate enthusiastically from a bag of Doritos and hummed some random pop song he had heard on the radio a few days ago to herself. Aaron, the other guy with the shotgun, stood at the window peering out through the bars, absently clutching and unclutching the Mossberg 500 in his hands.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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