“Where?” I asked.
Cynthia pointed toward the hills outside the city. I ran to those hills. As I crested one, I came across another woman. She was looking deeper into the hills. She turned to me, “Flint.”
“Everybody knows my name.”
She handed me a strange-looking gun, and two knives. “I need your help.”
This is part 19 of the serial story I’m working on for Lisa McCourt Hollar‘s #55WordChallenge flash fiction challenge. Please, go read all the other entries in the challenge this week. It’s flat amazing what gifted writers can say in just 55 words.