Stop signs, hiding behind trees in the corner of the roads.
― Anthony Liccione
Lookout Point
I was driving to my death, I was sure, convinced it was around the next bend in the road.
Being in combat taught me death doesn't always give a warning. I've been sitting with men talking as they told me me they dreaded that moment and once in the middle of one of those talks, Les Styles slumped over beside me.
I thought he was horsing around. I was sitting before him on the ground and put my boot on his shoulder and shoved him over. I was expecting a loud guffaw but not a red bloom on his forehead growing, blossoming like a flower.
I was too much in shock to duck for cover―had to pulled back behind a boulder and even then I couldn't recover...couldn't process. That's how suddenly and silently he was gone.
And he never even knew it.
As I pulled off the road onto my land I was waiting for the unexpected, as insane as that sounds, It will happen now I thought, as soon as I put the truck in park.
There was a clunk when I shifted and turned the motor off, but my brain was still making pictures and I felt the beats of my heart.
Foe a moment I was frozen, but willed myself out of the truck.
I stumbled and found it hard to walk up the path that led to the cliff and snaked up the ridge to the top.
I could feel a scope on me, scanning my head and neck and back. I could see the cross-hairs and calibrations and sense him pause his breath for a shot.
It never came. I knew he was watching, observing, but he allowed me to reach the trees and thread my way up the sheltered path to the top.
I wanted to slump down behind the tall boulder that saved my life once before, but instead I walked to the cliff's edge and sat cross-legged on the ground.
I sat there like Les Styles, seemingly unaware, but feeling each hair on my arms bristle and stand on end. He never saw it coming, but I purposely stared at the hills, watching for the flash, knowing I wouldn't hear the report.
I was shaking so hard I had to grip my knees with both hands, but was thankful the sun was out and comforting me with its warmth.
I was saying goodbye to my land, to everything and everyone I'd leave behind and just as I was sure it was time, I saw a bright flash as a car below pulled into the lane.
Flora Franklin got out and looked up and waved, beckoning me to come down.
I groaned inside knowing I wouldn't be able to reprise this moment―it was done and gone. And strangely, I was disappointed.
When I walked down the path it was over. This is my life, saved from a sniper's bullet.
Flora was waiting for me all smiles, oblivious of my angst or the drama that had played out above.
"Saw you in town," she called out, "and brought us lunch. I hope you don't mind."
"Why would I mind?" I smiled bleakly, painfully struck by the dark humour of circumstances beyond my control.
I was going to live and not die, at least for now, with Flora as guardian spirit, blithely interposing herself in the balance.
"I didn't want to spoil your solitude, Scott," she smiled seductively, "but I did want some of your time."
"You saved me from a fate worse than death," I deadpanned, glancing up at the hill.
"I don't think so," she replied and it was then I noticed the gun in her hand.
I was dumbfounded. Couldn't think, couldn't breathe. I was paralyzed in her web.
"Such a shame, mon ange―you were the enlightened one, but as the saying goes, if you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him. Goodbye, Scott."
I shut my eyes, heard the gun roar and opened them again to see Flora, blood-stained, slowly topple forward to the ground.
Behind her stood Sarah with her gun drawn.
My knees gave out and I slumped to the ground with Sarah rushing to me, cradling me in her arms.