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Message: <blockquote data-quote="arwink" data-source="post: 1840717" data-attributes="member: 2292">Exit 23, Part FifteenThe snow globe shattered, dissolving in a haze of blue smoke and icy wind.  Laying in the snow is a shrunken head, its flesh stretched taught by years of withering.  Stubby horns protrude from the scalp, and dark eyes still bulge from the too-small skull.  Nick’s bullets has grazed one cheek, and the puckered skin is already dissolving around the wound.  The headless demon body writhes in pain.  Then, for the first time since they laid it low, it stops moving.  The dark eyes stare at Nick with hate.  Nick shrugs and winks at it, moments before Ammie's sword plunches through its forehead.  The shrunken head melts around her blade, dissolving in a screaming mass of blue mist that is blown away by the wind.  Next to the ruins of the car, the body is quickly melting into a cloud of snow and steam.  Calm settles over the rest stop.  The absence of the wind is deafening.Ammie can barely hold herself upright.  Between the stress of the last eight hours and the blood loss from the wounds the demon has opened, she's feeling a little light headed.  Nick is already kneeling over Zac, checking for vital signs.  The ATF agent is barely standing himself, running on pure adrenaline and willpower.“Is he…” Ammie asks.  She can’t bring herself to finnish the question.“He’ll live,” Nick says.  “It isn't pretty, but he’ll live.”She nodded, sliding the sword back into its sheath.  She was dimly aware of Nick pulling a phone from his pocket and hitting a button.  A voice on the other end buzzed.“Wilkins,” Nick said reasonably.  “Hi, Nick DeLatre.  Good news, harrikens dead, we're still alive.  Bad news, when I get my hands on you I'm going to make you wish the demon had gotten you instead.”***Police and emergency services swarmed over the rest stop, tending to the wounded.  Nick explained things as best he could, glossed over what he couldn’t.  The words escaped lunatic were used, and there was a general nodding among the shell-shocked survivors.A black car pulled up behind the police line.  The sharp-dressed woman that emerged talked with the local police for a few seconds, then made a beeline for the ambulance that held Nick, Zac and Ammie.“Mary Carter, Hoffman Institute,” She said.  “You have Riley’s briefcase?”Nick nodded mutely and pushed it towards her.  She flipped it open and examined the contents.“The orb?” She asks.“Broke it,” Ammie said.  “Needed to kill the demon head inside.”“Right,” Carter said.  “That explains why you’re not dead.  Riley’s papers?”Nick held up one of the folders with one hand.  He flicked a lighter and held the flame near the edge.“I’ll give you one page for every minute I get to spend with Wilkins.”Carter raises an eyebrow.“I’m afraid I can’t authorize that,” she says calmly, her eyes never leaving the papers.  “And his services are more value than what’s in those papers.  Burning them will cost you nothing, Mr. DeLatre, except the opportunity to find some answers for some long-standing questions.”“What’s that supposed to mean?”Carter hands them each a card.“I’ve organized hospital coverage for all of you, and replacement for your cars.  This is a thank-you for recovering Riley’s research.  If you’re interested in seeing more, we’re always interested in people who have proven they can handle themselves.”“Yeah,” Ammie says.  “Because I want to do this again every week.”She lays her head against the stretcher, waiting for sleep to take over.  She wills herself to tear apart the business card, to forget what’s hapened.  If she can just forget and get to the ranch, she can get on with her life.  Instead she runs her fingers over smooth cardboard, feeling the divots of the writing a few times before slipping it into her pocket.There’s not going to be a recovery from this, not really.  Sometimes you have to cling to whatever lifeline you’re offered.NEXT TIME: Gators Under Gary</blockquote>

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