The Weekday One Hundred

Her hands tingle, numb from the subzero temps. But being cold isn’t an option. Not with this much at stake.

The sudden roar of engines forces her to check her watch. They’re early.

She sees the convoy approach fast. Five trucks, two sedans. More than expected.

She grabs the engine block with both hands and clenches her teeth, knowing noise is a dead giveaway.

She peels her hands off the scalding block, ignoring the smell and the leftover skin.

She wraps her blistering hands with a dirty rag and then reaches for her pistol.

Now or never. Cold be damned.