He wasn’t supposed to be there. But that was the point.
He tapped the rear window. Maris glanced in the mirror, nodded once, and pushed the accelerator. The engine growled. open season elliot on truck
"Riding," he'd said. And meant it.
The August sun hammered the asphalt, turning the highway into a ribbon of heat shimmers. Elliot sat cross-legged in the flatbed of a rust-streaked pickup, his back against a wooden crate marked FRAGILE – MICHIGAN BOUND . He wasn’t supposed to be there
A sign flashed past: OPEN SEASON – ALL GAME HUNTING PERMITTED OCT 1 – JAN 31. open season elliot on truck