Silence calls her back. After the cacophony of destruction, silence is a healing force. Shuddering racks Rose’s entire being. She is afraid to open her eyes. “Mel?” she whispers.

Nothing. She has killed her granddaughter. “Mel? Please…”

“Here,” Mel answers as if her name has been called in homeroom.

“Breathe,” Rose says. “Just keep on breathing.”

Fresh air is clearing her mind with reassuring rapidity. She can see Mel, crumpled in the footwell opposite her. “Are you okay?” Rose croaks.

“I think so. Are you?”

“I think so.”

Another horrific jar of metal on metal. Both Rose’s and Mel’s heads snap on their necks, Rose hitting the seat this time. The driver’s door is yanked open.

“You are like a nasty old cat!” screams Stella.

Rose’s feet are grabbed, and she is dragged half out of the truck.

“Coming back and coming back,” Stella mutters. Rose’s hips hit the running board. Her torso slides over the bench seat. The pistol is still where she’s thrown it. Her hands close around the butt.

Her elbows hit the doorsill. Then her chin, and she is on the ground, Stella still dragging her by the ankles. Stella’s Jeep, engine running, driver’s door open, has rammed its bumper into the side of the truck bed, slewing the vehicle around perpendicular to the driveway.

“Mel, get to the Jeep. Go!” Rose cries. She hears the other truck door open. Stella lets go of her ankles. Rose’s toes hit the concrete hard.

“God damn it!” Stella yells.

Rose rolls to her back, the pistol in both hands now. “Don’t you move!” she yells at Stella as the woman turns to stop Mel’s escape.

“I ejected the clip,” Stella sneers, and starts to move.

“You left one in the chamber,” Rose says, not knowing if it’s true.

The flicker of alarm on Stella’s face lets Rose know Stella doesn’t know either. Do you feel lucky? Clint Eastwood asks in Rose’s mind. Hysterical giggles bubble past her lips. It is the maniacal cackle as much as the threat of a bullet that stops Stella.

Mel yelps. A body hits the ground.

“You okay?” Rose calls.

“Can’t do it. Can’t walk,” Mel sobs.

In the second that Rose’s mind is on her granddaughter, Stella kicks the truck door. Automatically, Rose’s finger tightens on the trigger. The gun clicks emptily. The bottom edge of the pickup door hits Rose’s shoulder. Not hard, but in her condition it doesn’t take much to knock her over. Toppling to her side, she rolls underneath the truck.

“Mel! Can you get under the truck?” She hears a body sidewinding over the mix of concrete and dirt into which the old driveway has disintegrated.