Rob wasn’t practicing good gun safety practices.
He had one hand on the steering wheel of his pickup and the other was clutching his colt. Which wouldn’t have been so bad, but every time the tears would threaten to blur his vision he’d use the back of his gun hand to clear his eyes. The world was falling apart, he was very clear on that now. Just getting out of town he’d seen ten more of those things. He knew most of them, it was a small town, but he refused to name them. That seemed wrong. They weren’t people anymore.
And yet, with everything falling apart, he was crying because the last time he’d taken Route 36 to Abilene was with his daughter. A part of him tried to rationalize. Maybe it was better his wife and daughter died the week before when their house burnt down, but even thinking about thinking about the thought sent a stab of pain through his chest. No matter how bad it was, or was going to get, he would have wanted them next to him, crammed into the front of his truck with him.
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