At three in the morning, Evelyn Ford hurried out of the clubhouse. Yellow sand filled the sky, and she kept her head down as she rushed along. The wind was so strong that every so often, she had to squat and wait for a gust to pass before getting up again. The way forward remained treacherous. Evelyn wiped the sand from her goggles, humming an off-key tune to herself.
"You think you can fucking run? Go on, run! Why've you stopped? I'll beat you to death! You, get the stuff he's holding. And break his legs."
"Yes, Mr. Chase."
Evelyn tripped. As she started to get up, she heard noises coming from around the corner ahead. She held her breath, listening intently, and faintly made out the sound of pained groans.
"Mr. Chase, he's got quite a haul. No idea where he got it. We really lucked out, stumbling on such a fat sheep."
"Alright, bring the stuff here. And finish him off, quickly."
