I couldn’t see it happen, but at least one of the bullets hit. Vaughn fell, or maybe more accurately, lost control.
He flipped over a few times, dropping dangerously low. I would have lost track of him if it weren’t for the sonar built in to the stealth suit’s helmet.
His black costume blended into the night, but the helmet outlined his body, showing him as he nearly hit Grand Lake Marina Supplies. I say “nearly hit” because he didn’t.
He swerved right just as he was about to hit the “G” in Grand Lake.
Continue reading A Kind of Small Crow: Part 8
On Thursday night, Courtney and I walked up to a house near campus. A brown two-story, it had to be around a century old.
The lawn hadn’t been mowed in the last few weeks. The bushes in front of the houses hadn’t been clipped either, and had grown high enough that they partially blocked the windows.
Courtney knocked on the front door, and a college-aged guy opened it. Square jawed with obvious muscles showing through his t-shirt, he fit every stereotype I had about football players.
Of course, I had no reason to believe he actually was a football player, so every part of the stereotype but that.
Courtney smiled uncertainly, and said, “I’m looking for Davis?” Continue reading What She Asked For: Part 3