No Escape by Bill Runner

Author:Bill Runner [Runner, Bill]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2023-11-25T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

Bison Creek wasn’t a ghost town at ten in the morning like it was last night. People were visible on the sidewalks as I approached the main street. Cruising by the police station on my way into town, I spotted a Highway Patrol car parked out front. The yellow tape was still up, telling nosy folks to back off and stay the hell away.

As I drove down the main street, I could still sense a palpable tension in the air, the same as when I walked into Harper’s bar for the first time last night. It was as if the morning light wasn’t enough to penetrate the town’s mood, as it cast long shadows across the sidewalks. I could almost feel the weight of the town’s collective unease, as though a shadow had fallen over the normally tranquil place, leaving everyone on edge.

I spotted some stores and buildings I had missed at night. One particular structure that grabbed my attention was the town hall. It was a modest two-story edifice, well-kept but devoid of any ostentation. A prominent entrance boasted a sizable wooden sign fashioned in the likeness of a bison, proudly announcing its identity as the Bison Creek Town Hall. Adjacent to it, an American flag fluttered on a flagpole.

My eyes caught Kelly’s car parked in the lot. Kelly turned her gaze my way, our eyes locking briefly, but her expression remained as neutral as if she were casually observing a passing stranger. Jason, on the other hand, was engrossed in his phone now that he had a decent signal and could make an attempt to access Josh’s cloud.

As I cruised toward the gas station, my gaze fell upon a billboard that had escaped my attention the previous night: Miller’s Auto Repair. It was a modest, single-story structure, its exterior well-kept but showing the wear and tear of time. The front façade was adorned with a classic military green hue. Parked out front were a couple of cars, and a pickup truck with its hood propped open. There, bent over the engine bay, was a figure I recognized. It was that silver-maned gent from the bar last night, Asher Miller. He sported a cap, but those unmistakable silver locks peeking from underneath gave him away.

As I pulled up beside one of the parked cars and stepped out of my truck, Miller had already straightened up and was engaged in a conversation with a mechanic in overalls standing by his side. My gaze rested on Miller’s olive-green cap, which bore the visible marks of time, with slightly faded hues and frayed edges. Yet, the spirit it embodied was full of vitality and fervor.

To the discerning eye, the cap spoke volumes about the man wearing it. The American flag was boldly embroidered on the front. It was flanked by a service ribbon on one side, featuring three narrow red stripes flanked by wider yellow ones and with green stripes at both ends, unmistakably the Vietnam Service Ribbon. On the other

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