Vox Mentis

Well, you won't be getting any answers now. These people obviously want you dead. You're a little tired of people who want you dead. Time to ditch this party.

If they're watching you, they're watching you. Try and see if you can climb out the top door. And where are the airbags?

Fortunately, if there are airbags, they didn't deploy, or else you'd be a lot less conscious right now. You get a foot on the dash and strain past Tom for the driver's side door. When you do this your shoulder connects with Tom's face and your knee goes into Tom's ribs and Tom groans. But you get your arms out of the truck and lever your body into the freezing night air. The animal transport is completing a turn, its lights sweeping the ground. Silhouetted before the transport is a shambling figure. The man. His arms hang. One leg drags. He reaches a torn place you had made in the cattle yard's railing and begins to painfully climb through.

Well shit. Playing dead probably isn't going to save you from these maniacs.

See if you can't grab Tom's shotgun.

You're probably going to be needing it more than him.

"Gug." Tom's head bobs towards the footwell. You see the butt of the shotgun. Not gug, you realize. Gun. "Take. It."

You were going to take it anyway, but it's nice Tom is assenting to it.

The straggly-haired man negotiates the wrecked railing and begins to wade through the snow. That's going to become a lot easier soon, you see, because in about ten feet there's a nice, cleared path where the pickup returned to earth and started sliding. The snow there is red, drenched by the pickup's taillights.

"Shit," you say, and pull the shotgun through the door. You raise it to your shoulder and set it there. "Stop, you asshole!"

Hands slap against the tailgate. The man's head appears.

"Shoo im," Tom says.