Memories of a Ghost Ramp Up

Two men were climbing out of a red pickup truck to his left, and they had guns. It must have been the pickup that had hit him the first time. He blinked, trying to focus. His own gun was gone, probably flung somewhere in the car during the wreck. He scrambled to unlatch the seat belt, wincing with the effort, and then crawled across to the passenger’s seat, opening the door and spilling out onto the road.