Without moving his hand from g*n, Wilcox looked up to see a stubble faced, snarling old man pointing a rifle at him. “Don't move, mister.” The man looked over at Lynn.
“You okay, Jenny?”
Lynn could only nod.
Henry Bishop turned his attention back to Wilcox. “Get your hand away from the g*n, then stand up real slow.”
Wilcox studied Bishop's face, but didn't move.
“Goddamit, I said now,” Bishop commanded, thrusting the rifle toward the man. It was at that moment that Lynn realized for the first time that the rifle Henry held was the same relic that he had shown her mounted over the fireplace. A paralyzing fear ran through her as she remembered Bishop telling her that he didn't think the rifle would work even if he had bullets for it.
Lynn turned to look at Wilcox. There was no acquiesc
