Blogtober 2020 Day Two Entry
Gunnarson pulled the snake’s fangs from his forearm, revealing twin holes that oozed and dripped blood on the floor.
“Bring the bag,” he said to Phin. “Empty the vault.”
Phin carried the battered leather satchel to the vault. He looked at Murphy, who gingerly poked the barrel of his shotgun inside to make sure no other traps awaited them. All that remained were stacks of cash—ones, fives, and tens—banded together in neat piles.
Phin held the satchel open while Murphy raked the cash inside. Both teens looked with equal apprehension at the office door and their mentor in crime, whose arm was crimson red and swelling like a sausage on a hot stove.
“That’s all of it,” Murphy declared.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Gunnarson replied.
The Swede’s horse was hitched to a small buckboard wagon that they parked behind the Wells Fargo office. They peered out the back door to see if anyone was in sight, but the alley was empty.
“Can you handle the horse?” Gunnarson asked Phin. The boy nodded, although he had no idea if he could. Their initial awe of the tall, blond outlaw had descended into mortal fear over the past two weeks.
The Swede slid himself into the back of the wagon and motioned for Phin to give him the satchel. The boys sat tandem on the driver’s bench, and Phin snapped the reins. He felt an immense sense of relief as the horse pulled the wagon forward.
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