the smuggler’s bible


Fiona checks the dust plumes in her rearview and leans out the window to take a few shots at the motorpunks . She laughs as one wobbles and falls.

The cat meows in the seat next to her, and she turns in time to swerve around a section of guard rail that rusted off its posts and onto the highway.

“Shut up and let me drive.”

More motorpunks swarm over the hill on dirtbikes, trying to cut her off at the bridge. The cat meows again as Fiona steps on the gas.

“Unless you have a better idea,” she says.