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What Winona had felt brush against her shoulder was just a mouse. When the truck had turned over, the container holding the mice that Ron had bought that morning had opened, and now its inhabitants were skittering around the inside of the truck, which was rapidly filling with water. Their high-pitched squeaks reverberated against the cab walls, as the rodents desperately treaded water and fought to evade the snakes. Winona alternately cried and laughed hysterically, tears streaming down her face.
Then, the first rattler struck.
It was a stabbing blow to Winona’s neck, the force of the strike surprising her with its intensity. She’d never imagined a serpent could bite that hard. The fangs ripped into her neck like a hot dagger. Instantly, deadly venom erupted from the pits at the base of the hypodermic-like fangs and coursed through her veins toward her heart, which pumped furiously in response to the adrenalin rush that had begun with the onset of the chase.
The second snake scraped against her leg, and Winona twitched involuntarily at its touch. It was all the incentive the serpent needed to strike. A searing pain followed, as the rattler plunged its fangs through the material of her jeans and into the soft flesh beneath. Fresh venom entered Winona’s bloodstream, mixing with the scarlet fluid making its way through her body’s supply line. But, instead of bringing life-giving oxygen to her heart, her veins now carried a liquid cargo of death.
The squeaking of the mice and the buzzing of the snakes joined the drumming inside Winona’s skull, as all three sounds combined in a discordant melody that could only result in a morbid finale.
Water was pouring unchecked into the cab now, as the truck’s doors were battered and deformed by the vehicle’s deadly roller coaster ride over the rock strewn creek bed. A window shattered, then another, and the cab filled completely. But Winona hardly noticed. The venom was working on her nervous system and her senses were failing rapidly. Her heart was shutting down.
One final image filled Winona’s mind’s eye before she died. It was that of Walt Witkowsky’s face and the surprised look it had contained that day—the day she had ended his life.
Then, mercifully, it was over.