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The plastic crinkled and pressed against the nape of his neck. Through the thin layer of garbage bag, he felt a ring the size of a quarter. |
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The muzzle jabbed him. 'Let's get moving.' |
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Trev didn't move a muscle. |
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'Maybe you should,' Lisa said, a pleading sound in her voice. |
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'I'll shoot you! Nobody'll even blame me. They'll think the wet people did it.' |
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'Lisa will know who did it,' Trev said. Though he realized that the woman was desperate enough to pull the trigger, he felt no fear. He just felt weary, a little numb. 'Besides, if you fire that thing, you'll probably blow out the windshield. How do you feel about letting the rain come in?' |
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'How do you feel about being dead?' |
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'I'm doing this for you, honey. We've gotta get out of this town.' |
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'You can't kill Trev. That'd be murder. You'd be just as bad as the wet people. Worse, even. You know? I don't think they have any choice. I think the rain makes them do it. But you'd be doing it because you want to. That's a lot worse.' |
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Trev heard the snick-clack of a cocking revolver. |
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