Savanna opened the glove-compartment and plowed through its jumbled contents. She came up with Roger’s .38 and pointed its muzzle at the back of the thing’s head.
“Leave him alone you scaly bastard!” Her tear-strung face was a twisted white mask.
The g*n wavered in her grasp as she sought an opening in the mish-mash of flesh. Roger’s dark blood (it’s type-O, she thought insanely, yes type O-negative rare so rare he’ll bleed to death and no one can help not me not me) was blotting the windshield like lumps of maroon paint.
“Leave him alone!” she bawled. “Leave him alone leave him alone leave him alone!” There was an opening and she fired.
The pistol bucked and the thing’s head blew apart. Chunks of meat and pieces of bone exploded like shrapnel against the windshield. The smooth, b****y
