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CHAPTER 10
Racks and racks of goods filled Delvecchio's. Salvatore had trained his sons well, in the finer points of maintaining the best in wilderness survival gear. Tom's eyes seemed to glow, as he made his way through the store. If they were to stay alive, they must travel light. With favorable weather, they had a chance if he made the right purchases now. He got one large backpack to carry emergency rations, a few light blankets, matches, a Coleman lamp, boots for the women, and a canteen. Then, he walked over to the gun section and asked to see a .270 Winchester. He curled it several times in his arms, decided that it was light enough for a woman to discharge effectively and added it to his cache of goods, along with four boxes of ammunition. Now, they were as ready as they were going to get.
Sarah joined the other women, who were standing next to a rubber life raft embracing each other. Tom hoped they hadn’t called attention to themselves, but it was too late to worry about it. He signaled Brenda to meet him at the gun counter and asked the clerk for the total.
Brenda walked over to the clerk, whispered in his ear, and started picking up merchandise. As she walked by Tom, she paused for a second, looked in his eyes, and said, " Mister, you better be right!"
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Tom opened the lift-gate on the back of Sarah’s Toyota Forerunner, and the foursome quickly loaded the gear into the aft section. As Sarah started to open the driver's door, Brenda gripped Sarah's arm and held her other hand out, asking for the keys. Sarah didn't quibble. She merely dropped them in Brenda's palm and crawled into the rear seat, next to Edwina. It had been less than a half hour since the mess had started, and they were on their way to God-Knows-Where, four people thrown together by fate, trying to outwit a lunatic.
The Toyota pulled out into traffic and Tom suppressed a grin as he glanced at the road sign. It proclaimed: LAKE PLACID 126 MILES. Placid, indeed, he thought to himself, embracing the irony.
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The blue-green Subaru sat abandoned in the parking lot of Delvecchio's, but not for long. Less than ten minutes later, Luther Pittman’s Bronco rolled slowly beside the car and came to a stop. He had lost some blood, but the wound was already starting to close. He was lucky, the old bitch had missed his vital organs, apparently. He had already monitored his pulse, and he heard his heart beating steadily. Sore, yes, but it was a minor inconvenience. He was on a mission, and now the law was on his side. The woman had shot him because she hated him, and in cold blood to boot! Oh, this was going to be too easy. He would hunt them down like the dogs they were and kill them all. Most troubling was the drifter. Why was he there? He’d mentioned Diamondback Ridge. He grinned and shook his head, derisively. Who the hell did they think they were jacking with? Luther climbed in the Subaru, inserted his key, and drove calmly back to the Sheriff's Office. He'd get the Scout and be waiting when they got there.
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