Marie knew gunshots when she heard them, knowledge acquired from decades spent in the company of desperate men. These were far away. They sounded like knuckles popping. It was the rhythm that gave the nature of the sound away. A pistol was a musical instrument of sorts, and every man who played one followed his own score.
Shave and a haircut, five cents! Gunshot tunes were simple and direct, like the act of murder. This was a duet, two gunmen taking turns, point and counterpoint. The two men weren’t shooting at each other; that kind of tune would have a different meter. These gunmen worked together.
Marie grabbed onto an overhanging tree limb and pulled herself to the bank. A river offered no cover in a firefight. She dragged the boat onto the shore, pulled it into the underbrush too far for it to be seen by a casual observer. How casual would Doctor Moon be when he finally returned from wherever he had gone. Not too casual, once he discovered Marie was gone along with his magic bullet.
He might believe Marie had been abducted, the vestal “virgin” stolen from the temple along with the magic bullet that held a piece of his soul. He would see the jon boat had been taken, and he would search along the river.
A good time to be somewhere else. Marie nourished herself with a bottle of Aquafina and a bag of Doritos. She put the empty bottle and the empty bag onto the ground and turned the boat over on top of them. She used her butcher knife to cut seven saplings into stakes, and positioned them in a rough circle around the boat.
Marie’s stick symbols followed no magic pattern. She had no idea what she was doing, so she was fairly certain Dr. Moon would be confused when he finally found the boat, and she had no doubt he eventually would.