“I’ve had it with you, George.” Lila was trying to tell him something. He examined an unopened roll of duct tape, wondering if the stuff had an expiration date. Maybe he’d better buy a fresh supply, just in case.
Lila grabbed the package out of his hand. “This isn’t going to keep out sarin, anthrax, or radioactive isotopes.”
“Now isn’t soon enough, but yes.”
“But you’re safe here.”
“I don’t care. I’m sick of being safe. I’ll risk sorry.”
Or when she gripped it tightly in her fist.
Or when she cocked her arm like a World Series fastballer.
So he didn’t blink when her arm whipped forward. The hard, black roll followed a short, swift trajectory from her fingertips to his temple. George had always suspected that his life would end in a flash of blinding light.
And so it did.