One Last Bullet

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We left San Francisco a couple of days ago, deciding to take Josh’s Winnebago all the way to Pittsburgh. It’s a long journey, but we’re not in any great rush to get there. I’ve decided it’s finally time to go after Wilson Trent, and now the wheels are in motion, I figured it’s best to take our time, get our heads straight, and make sure we do this right.

Josh is driving, whistling along occasionally to the radio. I’m sitting next to him with my feet resting up on the dash. Outside, the gray clouds overhead have started to spit down on us. I gaze out of the window, my mind racing in every direction as it tries to process what lies ahead.

“You alright?” asks Josh, his trademark British enthusiasm subdued by concern.

“I’m good,” I reply, without looking over. “You?”

“Honestly? I’m a little nervous. But also a little excited, I guess.”

I smile, but remain silent.

“So, I’ve taken the liberty of arranging a job for you along the way,” he continues.

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