It had been almost idiotically cold in the morning when he’d unhooked and they’d gotten ready to leave the campground. And the temperature had been dropping all day. “Don’t get mad at the radio,” Jessica told him. “I gotta get mad at something,” Frost countered. “It’s still not cold enough to snow—the guy’s gotta be wrong,” she reassured him. “The guy was reading a weather bulletin—an emergency weather bulletin. A freak storm coming down out of the panhandle—dumped twelve inches of wet snow north of here last night. I don’t think he was just trying to scare us.” “This is West Texas—it isn’t going to snow out here—no—” Frost glared angrily at the windshield, then flicked on the windshield wipers. “You’re right—at least so far. It isn’t snowing. It’s raining and the temperature is thirty-six degrees. I like freezing rain when I’m driving through the middle of nowhere even better than I like snow. Shut up, huh!” Frost lit a cigarette, already feeling his steering starting to get mushier—he wondered if it was his imagination.
What do You think about Assassin's Express (2012)?
