"And I you, my Sweet."
The large group of cars began to fly by and the couple froze, listening to the shots, wincing at each whine and ricochet. Drunken shouts echoed, along with thuds of metal hitting, scraping. Rain thumped on the roof, a tire squealed, and a bullet pinged off their bumper, making them both jump. As their grip on each other tightened, the fog was all that kept them from certain, painful death.
Long minutes later, the gang was out of sight, their noises fading to silence. Terrified it was a trick, that they'd been seen, John kept them still for another fifteen minutes, only moving when the bands of pain around his gut caused tears to slip out of his eyes against his will.
Driving without lights, John turned them west on 40, away from the gang. They would still go to Cheyenne Mountain, they would just take a different path. They had been on the road for five days now, and he had been careful to find ways through that didn't require physical labor. They weren't spring chickens, and he wasn't taking any more chances than he had to. They were both a bit stiff and a little sore, but had agreed that they felt more alert than they had in a long time.
"How long will this add?"
John slid his glasses back in place. "Couple hours. We have to get off these frontage roads, but we'll still make Routt Ridge by dawn."
Anne nodded, wrinkled fingers turning on the heat and defrost, before digging into the bag behind his seat. "Here, take these."
She dropped two white pills into his wrinkled hand, and held out an open mason jar of clear liquid. John took them with a grateful look in his faded blue eyes. His gut was on fire, blood in his temples pounding in time with his pain.
Anne said nothing, just turned on the CB, and went back to checking channels. He was her man, her love, and she wouldn't let him suffer. She had a good idea now what was wrong, had been a nurse long enough to read the signs he couldn't hide on this journey, and it would be a secret between them no more.
John's eyes scanned the foggy landscape, able to see only faint outlines of dude ranches and big game hunting lodges. Other than those, and the occasional farm or dead vehicle in the road, there was almost nothing around here. It had been isolated before. Now, it was desolate except for the bluegrass that was exceptionally tall - up to the wagon's roof in some places. Wind howling through the shadowy darkness, they moved steadily through the foggy drizzle for the next four hours.