The rattle of the car window is the first thing she hears as she wakes. The Corolla-Grande hums down the road, steering wheel inert, the rust country washed by the grey of the sky. A beeping. They’re here. Moorbridge.
The village sits in the cup of the cove, the sheer cliffs sending sprays of north sea into the air while behind the moors are battered by the offshore wind. The Corolla-Grande halts on the hill above. Squat, grey houses weather the storm. A compartment opens in the car. She pulls a gun from it. Executives can only run so far.
Paddy Dobson
17th February 2021