Jostled by other passengers, Georgie Gail raised her arms and shuffled past the man brandishing a
gun. She strained her neck trying to obtain a closer look, but the aisle was too crowded.
No one said a word, even children sensing a need for silence. The press of bodies generated a touch
of moisture beneath her brown wool traveling gown. A whiff of cinnamon from her homemade
cologne water merged with the sweet perfumes and hair pomade of neighboring passengers.
At the door, two members of the Comer Gang stood on the ground flanking her exit. The February
sun dipped behind the trees, blurring the sky with pinks and purples.