204

The road stretches before you, empty and silent, shimmering beneath the early morning sun. With the temperature already in the mid-nineties, you are grateful for the cool breeze that whips through your hair as you speed across the barren flats. The tracks made by Long Jake’s tyres are still fresh in the dust that blankets the highway, and you trail them all the way to the outskirts of Sherman, where you discover his pick-up abandoned near an old gas station.

A line of footprints disappears towards the centre of the town, and, as you follow them along the main street, you catch sight of Long Jake, a rifle in his hand, waving at you from the doorway of his brother’s store. Behind him stands a girl. She looks eighteen, maybe younger. Judging by the state of her clothing she must have been through a pretty rough time. You bring your roadster to a halt in front of the store and, nervously, Long Jake motions you to enter. ‘Quick, Cal!’ he hisses. ‘Get over here!’

You are barely out of the driving seat when a burst of machine gun fire rings out across the street. Bullets hit the ground near your feet and a number of holes appear, stitched in a jagged row across the trunk of your car.

If you wish to get back into your roadster and try to escape this ambush, turn to 109.

If you wish to dive to the ground and take cover, turn to 307.