‘I’m not dead yet.’ Sam smiled, and after a few moments of confusion, Raul began to chuckle. The driver turned off the I-95 at the sign for Dillon, and the car cruised down the streets towards the town. The passenger, who had been silent the entire time, pointed to an old, abandoned truck stop and gave an order in Spanish.

‘This will do,’ Raul agreed, nodding to the rear-view mirror. Sam sat patiently as they rolled down the dirt road towards the abandoned building, the windows covered in graffiti laden boards. Whatever sign once proudly adorned the premises was gone, with the wiring hanging loosely from its fixtures.

The driver rounded the building, heading for the spot intended for Sam’s grave. If they killed him this close to Dillon, the sheriff’s department or cops would need to investigate and given the number of people who witnessed his interactions with the Riders, it wouldn’t take them long to connect the dots to them.

Although his blood wouldn’t be on their hands, his death would be pinned to them.

The car slowed almost to a stop, and Sam knew his window of opportunity, however small, was near. The driver killed the engine and the henchman in the passenger seat turned to Sam, a gun pointed directly at his head.

‘Not in the car,’ Raul yelled, raising his hand in disbelief. The man sighed and threw open his door, the humidity flooding into the vehicle and going to war with the air conditioning. As the henchman stomped around the car, Raul lifted the gun at Sam cockily.

‘No hard feelings.’

As Sam heard the henchmen’s hand grip the handle of his door, he launched into action. Revealing his hands were free, Sam shot them both up, snapping his grip onto Raul’s wrist like a coiled snake. The element of surprise gave him a matter of seconds, and as expected, Raul squeezed the trigger in panic.

Sam had shifted Raul’s aim to the window, and the Glock exploded with deadly intent, sending a bullet through the glass pane and blasting the henchmen in the chest. As the glass shattered over the man’s fallen body, Sam pulled Raul in and drove his forehead into his face with as much force as he could muster. As his skull collided with Raul’s nose, he could feel the cartilage implode, and a jet of warm blood splattered against him.

Raul was unconscious as he slumped back against the door of the car, and Sam whipped around, gun in hand, and pressed it against the driver’s skull as he tried to intervene.

‘Get out of the car,’ Sam ordered. ‘Slowly.’