copyright 2006-2013 foolishbunny
Startled, Neville immediately went on full alert. Anything to set Younger cursing could not be good. Neon lights blazed over the gas station, making an oasis of light and cement in the black night. Nearly seven hundred miles from their stomping grounds, the needle pegged empty and they had to stop for gas. Ramps had been closed the last fifty miles because of flooding. This was their only chance before the fumes ran out.
Neville leaned forward in the passenger seat to access his gun tucked into a back holster. “What’s wrong?”
“I hate using stolen cars. I never know what side the gas tank is on.”
(words 108– first published 10/2/2013; republished in new blog format on 8/06/2017)