Sherrie ‘Sharp-Shooter’'s Arc

Chapter 8 of 13

Sherrie drove east with the toolbox on the seat beside her. The road stretched flat and empty, the kind of route her father had mapped out years ago when traders still moved freely through the territory. Her driver would be coming through by midday, and she planned to be waiting when he did. She spotted the metal roadblock first—two saw-horses with reflective striping, set across the eastern route where the pavement met dirt. Her driver's truck sat idling twenty feet back, engine running but going nowhere. He stood beside the cab, hands in his pockets, watching her approach. He'd known she was coming. Sherrie parked and stepped out, the toolbox heavy in her grip. She set it on the hood of her truck where he could see it. He glanced at the box, then back at her face. "Barry told you." It wasn't a question. Sherrie nodded once. "You've been selling my stock for weeks. I'm taking your routes, your contacts, and your cut. You're done." He pulled a leather jacket from the cab and held it out to her. The back was marked with a handwritten ledger—dates, locations, goods transported. Her goods. But the routes listed weren't hers. They were Raven supply lines. "I was tracking them," he said. "Every delivery they made, every drop point they used. I was building proof." Sherrie took the jacket and turned it over in her hands. The ledger was detailed, weeks of work stitched into worn leather. She looked past him at the roadblock, then at the ridge beyond where a figure sat on a bike, watching them through the heat shimmer. The Ravens were close enough to see this meeting. Close enough to know her driver had something they'd want back. He followed her gaze. "They've been following me for three days. They know I have it. That's why I couldn't run—they'd catch me before I cleared their territory. But if you take me in, if you lock me down somewhere they can't reach, I'll give you everything I know." Sherrie folded the jacket and set it in her truck. She could strip him of everything and leave him here, or she could protect him and gain leverage against the Ravens. The choice would cost her either way. She pulled the roadblock aside and motioned him toward her truck. "Leave yours here. You ride with me." He climbed in without argument, his hands shaking as he buckled the seatbelt. Sherrie drove west, back toward Rust Creek, the rider on the ridge tracking their movement until the road curved out of sight. Her driver had been stealing, yes—but he'd also been building a map of Raven operations detailed enough to hurt them. She'd keep him alive long enough to use it. The insider problem wasn't solved. It had just become something she could turn into a weapon.