James screamed as wooden barricades split across the front of the Skylark. I’ve been living under a shadow for too long. Writhing in this molt of dysfunctional everything, waiting for this day. Breaking out. Maybe the moth catches on fire and dies. Maybe it gets through the flame and survives.
The bridge pulsated with moving flashlight beams. Road crew workers dressed in yellow rain gear were running toward the rails. James fed the Skylark another hit of gas and in an instant he saw their frightened faces blur past.
He didn’t see the tractor until it was too late.