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Title: The Shadows Grow Long 9/18
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Monday, 10:52pm, Steph's car, westbound on I-66, Virginia
"So, Carl... the radio says that you guys shot the President, but you say you didn't. What else have they gotten wrong on the news?"
Carl wanted an opportunity to tell his story� he was going to have to kill her anyway, so why not? He had put a lot into this mission, and he hadn't been able to discuss it with anyone but Russ and Brian, and - although he wasn't positive - he was pretty sure they were toast.
"They probably have it all wrong, and why we did it, too. The media is controlled by propaganda-spewing Jews, you know," he snarled. "I met Russ and Brian at a rally a couple of years ago in Blacksburg. The three of us had been talking about making a statement like this for a while, but when we saw that black bastard move in on the President's daughter it was outrageous, just over the top. We *won't* just sit by and watch the future of white people be destroyed; we needed to take action. Mixed race couples are a threat to the future of white people. So we needed to make an example of him... to show people what happens to MRCs.� He continued, �One drop of black blood, and you're black. If we're not careful, they'll take over, don't you get it? We had to show up, to make an impact."
Steph's knuckles were white she was gripping the steering wheel so hard, out of anger, out of fear. "So, Carl, what are Russ and Brian doing now?" Steph asked, but she was afraid of the answer.
The soft chuckle was merciless. "Bleeding probably, or more likely dead. But no matter what the news says, I know that black bastard is dead for sure and the lesson has been taught, so their sacrifice was acceptable. Damn, I wanted to have my hands on one of those guns when the shots were fired, but someone needed to lead and give the signal to act. That was my job," he sounded disappointed. Carl turned to look out the car window, "Man, I'm getting hungry. There's a barbecue place near here somewhere. Grab the next exit."
The non-sequiter startled Stephanie, but at the next exit she pulled off the interstate.
Carl kept giving her directions, taking her through the gates of a park, then even farther off the main road. He was swinging the gun around the front seat, pointing her turns with the barrel.
This wasn�t a barbecue joint. Steph realized that wherever they stopped, they had arrived at the "second location," that place the survival book had warned about. She didn't know exactly what was going to happen next, but he was dead wrong if he thought that she'd just follow where he told her to go, a lamb to the slaughter. She needed to act quickly, before they got out of the car.
This section of the park had closed at dusk - 3 or 4 hours ago � so no one was around. The few lights along the wooded road cast a very close glow. No one was going to be able to help her; this was it - her last chance to act. Before she realized she had even made a decision, she made her move. Taking a deep breath, she filled her lungs, and�
"Carl! Carl! Carl!" she yelled her mantra as loud as she could - three times fast for impact, for courage, and for luck � surprising the crazy prick in her passenger seat, just as she had hoped.
He turned to look at her, trying to figure out what was going on, when she hit the gas.
And in a quiet dark wood, in the middle of the night, her lovely little Honda leapt off the road at 65 mph...
email Teresa
mercier_beaucoup at yahoo.com
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