"Thank you so much," said Gerri Whelper.

"You say it was a blue pickup. You didn't happen to see the license plate?"

"No," said Terry. He was wondering what to tell Avis about the bullet holes in the floorboard. When the kids climbed back in the rental car, their mother said, "Don't touch any of those raisins! We'll get more candy when we get to the Amazing Kingdom."

"Good, I want a Petey Possum Popsicle," Jennifer said, nearly recovered from the trauma. Jason asked if he could keep one of the empty shell casings out of the state trooper's revolver, and the trooper said sure.

Terry Whelper grimly contemplated the upcoming journey in the red, rat-befouled LeBaron. He felt fog-headed and emotionally drained. To think, just that morning he'd been safe and sound in his bed back in Michigan.

"Don't forget to buckle up," said the trooper, holding the door open.

Terry said, "This ever happen before?"

"What do you mean?"

"This rat business."

"I'm sure it has. We don't hear about everything."

The trooper smiled as he closed Terry Whelper's door. "Now, you all have a nice vacation."

In the blue pickup truck, still heading north, Danny Pogue said, "That was the damnedest thing I ever saw."

Bud Schwartz, who was driving, said, "Yeah, that was some shot. If I do say so."

"There was kids in that car."

"It was just a mouse, for Chrissakes."

"It wasn't a mouse, it was a rat." Danny Pogue poked his partner in the shoulder. "What if those was your kids? You like it, somebody throws a fucking rat in their laps?"

Bud Schwartz glanced at the place on his shoulder where Danny Pogue had touched him. Then he looked back at the highway. His bare bony arms got rigid on the steering wheel. "I wasn't exactly aiming for the kids."

"Were too."

After a few strained moments, Bud Schwartz said, "You don't see that many convertibles anymore."