Lisa Long was driving through Cass County farm country last week when somebody — maybe a mile or more away — pulled the trigger on a high-powered rifle.
The bullet zipped over fields and pasture from the south as Long’s car traveled west from her aunt’s house. The two would meet at the same point at precisely the same instant.
Not only that, Long’s driver-side window was down six inches or so and the bullet was at the perfect trajectory to enter the opening as she drove past that point at 40 mph.
The slug tore through her cheek, exited her mouth, then plopped onto the floorboard of the 1998 Ford Taurus.
What are the odds? Moving car, moving bullet.
If she had washed one more dish, left her aunt’s house a second earlier– or later — or if she had been driving a mile an hour slower — or faster — that bullet would have landed harmlessly in a field to perhaps be found by an archaeologist 1,000 years from now.
