Pinned
Randy leaned against the trunk as he pumped gas into the car, studying the landscape. Hot, dry, arid. Nothing but desert for miles – desert and the gas station. The former had enough rocks that might provide him cover, if he ducked down behind them. If he walked for long enough, he’d probably stumble across somebody that could help. Another car, someone with a cellphone. Benson paid for gas inside. His back was to Randy. If Randy was going to do it, he didn’t have long to decide. He pulled a quarter out of his pocket. It was one of the four he was saving in case he came across a pay phone. Heads, he’d stay. Tails, he’d run. He flipped the coin, smacking it down onto the palm of his hand. Heads.
