"Where'd you hit this one, Mick?"
"Highway 37. Just past the intersection."
"Roadkill," Mick explained, indicating my plate.
I put my fork down, glanced at the other dinner guests.
"Tender," someone said, smacking their lips. "Must have been a young 'un."
Young what: fox, rabbit, deer?
"About the same age as our mystery guest here," Mick said. "Similar build, too."
Filled with an irrational fear, I left, feigning an oncoming migraine.
I couldn't find my car keys, so I ran. I was close to the intersection of Highway 37 when I heard the car. I spun around. Headlights dazzled me.
