No Exit by Taylor Adams 2

through the truck’s windshield — too dark — but the orange
driver door still hung half-ajar. CDOT stenciled on the side.
“Hey!” he shouted. “It’s safe.”
Silence.
He licked his lips. “Corporal Hill … he, uh, sent me down
here to tell you the scene is secure, that the situation’s under
control. He shot the kidnapper. Now he needs you to transmit a
message to the other trucks on your CB.”
Another long silence.
Then, finally, the door creaked and a scruffy face peered
out, standing on the foot rail. “I already called in and they said
—”
Ashley aimed the Glock. CRACK.
The window exploded. A near miss, but the man fell out
of the cab anyway, slamming down hard on his ass in the
snow. His Red Sox hat fluttered off.
Ashley passed around the headlights, shielding his eyes.
The driver flopped onto his belly, glass bits crunching
underneath him, scrambling upright, reaching for the ajar door
to hoist himself back inside — CRACK — but Ashley blew a
hole in his arm. The man screamed hoarsely.
Ashley palmed the door shut. “Sir, it’s fine.”
“Don’t kill me.” The man crawled away sideways, on one
elbow, clutching his wrist. Hot blood spurting through his
fingers, blotting the snow, leaving a red trail. “Please, God,
please don’t kill me—”
Ashley followed him. “I’m not going to kill you.”
“Please, don’t, don’t—”
“Stop moving. It’s fine. I won’t kill you,” Ashley said,
putting his foot on the man’s fleshy back to pin him. “Stop
struggling, sir. It’s all A-okay. I promise.” As he said this, he