I’m ready when he opens the trunk. I hear a sound like a garage door lifting. The first three shots go wild, but they shock the hell out of him. I fall out of the truck. Try to stand. Fall again. Fire another shot wildly. There’s a shout and a cry of pain.

The garage door is still open, so I run. Trip on an old tire on the ground, get back up, and run some more. There’s shouting behind me, but I’m free, goddamn it. I make it out onto a road dotted with potholes.

I’m somewhere rural, which is terrifying. If you’ve ever heard the name Robert Pickton, a serial killer who preyed on women in British Columbia for years, you’d understand. He lived on a farm in rural BC. These isolated stretches are no good for women, no good at all. Bad memories come slashing out at me in the dark. I’m weak from hunger and thirst. I drop the gun twice but have the good sense to put the safety back on after the first time. Time moves slowly. The memories won’t be pushed aside.

There’s a car idling on the road ahead. Turning to look behind me, I see someone dart out of the shadows, but I can’t find anything to aim at. My vision blurs.

The car door opens. Van Nguyen and his friend emerge. They recognize me immediately.

“Hey, it’s the neighborhood watch!” says Nguyen. He grins at someone behind me.

I turn, raise the gun. It slips from my hand, and as I bend to pick it up, someone kicks me in the back. A spear of pain ices up my spine. When I can open my eyes again, to see past the pain, there’s the woman from the bar. She kicks me again, this time in the face.

“You’re early,” the woman says to Nguyen.

“Be glad I was. I heard a gunshot,” he responds.

“This bitch had a gun on her when we picked her up. She came out of the truck shooting.”

Nguyen tsks. “Sloppy. Shoulda checked.”

“Curt’s been slipping recently,” says the woman. “But he didn’t deserve that. Let me kill this bitch.”

“No. She’s the package. You know that.”

“She has to pay for Curt.”

“Is he dead?”

“No, but she shot him! I called a doc we’ve got. Should be here soon. Let me have her.”

“You don’t demand from us. We get you your stuff.”

“Yeah, well, we bring it in from the ports! This is bullshit, and you know it. She has to pay.”

“You were asked to deliver a package and you did. You have our thanks.”

Hands lift me, and I am put into another vehicle. This time the trunk. Before it closes on me, I hear Nguyen say: “Don’t worry. She’s as good as dead.”