Jessica passed the entrance leading back to the mine—it was a simple dirt road, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it—and kept going down the highway for another mile. She drove less than half the speed limit, keeping an eye on the rearview mirror for approaching cars while at the same time trying to spot any other dirt roads. There didn’t appear to be any. Jessica wasn’t surprised. She had already checked via Google Maps, but that didn’t mean something hadn’t been created since those satellite images had been taken.
Eventually she passed a place just off the highway that looked perfect. It was nearly two miles away from the dirt road, but it would have to do.
She checked the rearview mirror once again to confirm that there were no cars coming. Up ahead, the highway was long and empty and shimmering in the unforgiving sun.
Jessica stopped the Rabbit along the side of the highway. She backed up just slightly, turned the wheel, and then drove forward off the asphalt into the dirt. The little four-cylinder engine didn’t sound happy about being forced to go off-roading, but it managed, and soon Jessica parked behind a copse of sagebrush and trees. It wasn’t the greatest hiding place, but it wouldn’t be easily seen from the highway, and that was the point.
She grabbed her backpack from the trunk. She opened it to check her supplies: bottles of water, binoculars, camera, and, most importantly, a stainless steel Smith & Wesson .38 Special with a black rubber grip. The cylinder was empty, and with shaking hands she began to load it like she had been shown years ago, one bullet after another, until the whole thing was loaded and she spun the cylinder shut.
Jessica started to put the gun back into the bag, paused, decided that no, she should keep it out.
She tied her hair back into a ponytail, took the Tigers baseball cap from the backseat and fastened it snug on her head. It had once belonged to her brother, the color faded, the bill nicely curved. He had worn it countless times until he had left for the Army, and Jessica, then still in high school, had worn it out of remembrance to him, knowing it was only temporary and that he would want it back when he returned.
She carefully and gently slid the .38 into the waistband of her jeans. She dug into her pocket, slid out her cell phone. She brought up the map application, waited for the GPS to find her location, and then started walking, away from the highway, toward the mine.