(http://www.tribute.ca/tribute_objects/images/stars/cherry_jones.jpg)<br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">CLAIRE ANDERSON</span></span><br/><strong>Location:</strong>Forecourt of a gas station in Wellington<br/><strong>With:</strong>Charlie, Lily and Olivia. Marcus showing up.<br/><br/>As I scanned all around me in a 360 sweep, but paying special attention to the rear of the lot on which the gas station stood, because the road-facing approach was much more open, I could hear the others inside the store, talking and finding stuff. The clank and clink of bottles and cans sounded good but every noise made me wince. In the last few days I had learned that<em>they</em>had excellent hearing; mostly blind it seemed, they could hear normal speech, or a person running at much greater distances than a human could… or rather a<em>live</em>human.<br/><br/>From inside the store it sounded like Charlie had gone right out the back.<br/><br/>That was when I heard a small sound. It was a very familiar one: the gritty crunch of a footstep on gravel or another broken surface like crushed brick. I shifted around the cruiser to use it as a shield, placing it between me and the noise. Had Charlie gone out and right round the building? Then my eyes went wide as a man stepped out from behind the corner of the building, his hands empty of any weapon and his arms raised.<br/><br/><strong><em>“Okay… I’m peaceful.”</em></strong><br/><br/>I aimed my revolver right between his eyes, right wrist braced by my left hand, standard police posture, my view fixed straight down the iron sights, my arms rigid. We were less than twenty feet apart; if he did anything suspicious it was a certain kill at this range.<br/><br/><strong>“Glad to hear it, friend,”</strong>I replied clearly, so there could be no mistakes.<strong>“Step right out where I can see you. I’m not going to shoot, but I’m taking no chances either. Are you alone?”</strong>