Page 20 - FINAL DESTINATION

G B TAYLOR
the gate. If he could make it to the truck before he got shot in the back he might just get away.
If he had not twisted his ankle he might have made it. If he had been wearing Nikes instead of Ferragamos he might have made it.
Neil heard the back door of the house bang open. The farmer shouted, “You better stop right there.” Neil stopped.
He turned to see the man standing in the doorway with the shotgun leveled at him. The man’s face was even redder and angrier than it had been upstairs. He was twenty feet away. Neil wondered how accurate a double barrel shotgun was at twenty feet. He only had one more shot. Perhaps, if he missed... No, he could still run Neil down and beat him to death with the butt of the gun. There were not many scenarios left that didn’t end with Neil being dead. He waited for the blast, but it didn't come. The farmer looked up past Neil and let the barrel drop.
Neil heard something behind him and looked around to see a brown and tan SUV with Sheriff painted on it pulling through the open gate. It came to a sudden stop about ten feet from Neil and a large man stepped out while drawing his pistol. He held the gun down but ready and shouted, “Henderson, put that gun down. Now!”
“Okay, Mac,” Henderson said. He lowered shotgun. “Okay, don’t want no trouble. No trouble here.”
“No Trouble?” the big man said. He looked at Neil with his busted chin, torn clothing and hair still covered in spider webs. “What the hell is going on out here?”
“This feller was trespassing,” Henderson said. “I have a right to defend my property.”
“We’ve talked about this before,” the deputy said. “You tend to defend your rights a bit too vigorously.” He turned his atten- tion to Neil. “And who are you,” he pointed at the urn, “and what is that?”
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