Turner couldn’t see a damned thing as the guy forced him at gunpoint over the small hill in the opposite direction of the town. He kept his hand where the man could see them. There would be a time to act, and Turner was going to take it.
They kept walking, putting at least one hundred meters from the Lincoln.
He heard Annie yell his name, and the man jerked around. The guy cursed and almost turned around to go back. He raised the gun in his hand.
Toward Annie.
Turner dove at the man, hitting him around the waist.
He slammed into the man, sending him reeling. Both went down in the mud and gravel alongside the road. Turner jammed his fist into the man’s face.
The gunman’s fist bounced off Turner’s face. Turner pulled free.
He slammed the man’s head against the ground.
It stunned his attacker. Just enough for Turner to get the upper hand.
He yanked the man up and slammed him down to the dirt again.
He was bigger, madder, and had a whole lot more to fight for in that woman just over the hill. Turner wasn’t about to let the man ever get near Annie again.
One more time, fighting against the man’s grasping hands. Turner slammed him down again.
He got lucky.
The guy went limp. Turner searched for the man’s gun but couldn’t find it in the dark.
But one thing was crystal clear.
He had to get Annie out of there. Fast.
He could just see her in the distance, visible only when the lightning would flash. “Annie!”
She turned and then she was stumbling right toward him.
He ran.