The Dane by John Björling

It had been the Dane all along. Gustav knew he saw the car behind them as they left the city. The Dane had just waited until they were out on the country road before making his move. Speeding up and charging in. Gustav had lost control and the ice had taken care of the rest. Now there was a tree branch through his partner’s neck in the passenger seat, and the gun was somewhere on the floor.

Gustav leaned down after it but could barely move. The seatbelt was still stuck. He freed himself and leaned forward, reaching down under the seat. Blood gushed from the partner’s neck onto Gustav’s hand. He tried to ignore it. He reached further in and felt the handle. He gripped it and pulled it up, peering into the cylinder. Still two rounds left.

Gustav pressed the door open with his leg and rolled out, scraping his knee on some rocks on the ground. He tried to ignore the pain and the cold, but he couldn’t see anything, and that worried him. He knew the Dane would be around somewhere. The Dane never left a job half finished.