Chapter Text
“MILES TO GO”
Chapter 01 – Brass, Smoke, and the Overpass
Ellie’s eyes were fixed on a large blonde dog, sniffing at something she couldn’t see at the edge of an algae-covered spillway off to their right. It looked up at them as they drove by it. They made eye contact. She wondered if it was friendly but knew it was beside the point. They were making good time on this old highway today and Joel wouldn’t stop for anything. Certainly not for a cute dog who might need a friend.
They veered sharply, heading across the shoulder and off the road.
“JESUS, JOEL!”
She clutched him tightly, but her arms weren’t strong enough to maintain their grip as the bike began to go over onto its side. There was a screech of metal and the sharp cracking of plastic as one of the molded saddlebag compartments buckled under the weight of the tumbling Honda and broke apart. She flew off, sailing a short distance and landing on her shoulder. The denim jacket she loved so dearly took as much of the blow as it could and began to shred apart around her as she skidded across the ground. The grass stains would never come out of the white Tim Horton’s shirt that once belonged to Kristi Chau, the woman who had originally owned the motorcycle. Ellie’s head thunked the ground as she flipped over, she saw her legs backlit against the sky briefly, and then everything around her began to tumble end over end as she rolled.
She lay facedown in the grass, trying to remember what had happened. There had been a cute dog. It needed a friend. And now there were blades of beautiful green grass pressed against her visor. Several rusted-out cars lay ahead of her, tilted at the same crazy angle as the horizon. She could feel a hard and unpleasant something pressed against her chest. The small part of her mind that wasn’t still doing cartwheels told her ‘shotgun’.
“Ellie!” The name was familiar, the voice distant. She tried to blink the world straight and level, but it refused to behave. The world sucked.
A distant percussive sound, like thunder. The grass in front of her visor leapt up in a lovely dance of grass and mud.
That’s right. It had been raining earlier. Joel had slowed down a bit so they wouldn’t ‘hydroplane’, whatever that was. She remembered them hitting a puddle so large that her feet were swept right off that pegs for a very scary second. She was glad when the rain stopped. Then she had seen the lonely dog.
He needed me. I’m sure of it.
“Ellie!” Still distant, but closer now. No, that was wrong. It wasn’t any closer, really. It was just louder. Her ears were coming back from their unscheduled lunch break.
That’ll be Joel. I’m going to give him so much crap for something in a minute... Just as soon as I remember what I’m so darn mad about… Just as soon as I’m ready to get out of my blanket… Five more minutes, I think.
Thunder rumbled again. Guess it was going to rain again soon. The grass in front of her leaped up once more, a bit closer than last time. It was even prettier, so close to her eyes. She reached out to catch it with fingers that only barely understood what to do.
What the heck is doing that? Gophers? Groundhogs maybe?
She tried to remember the difference between those animals, but it had been too long since she’d last read her “Animals + You” book. It was a ‘fun-facts’ book for kids, and as much as she loved looking at the pictures and learning about the super cute animals, she didn’t want to read it with Riley around. It was important to be as grownup and cool as possible around Riley, and you couldn’t do that if you were reading kiddie books.
Oh that’s right. I traded it to that little boy on floor two for those Batman comics. Total gyp. They weren’t the cool, tough Batman comics. They were the cartoony ones for little kids. Barely any violence in them at all. Should have looked at them more closely before I made that crappy deal.
Something was grabbing at her. A large powerful hand clutched at the small of her back, hooking the waistband of her jeans. The world straightened out and began to recede rapidly, the pretty green blades of grass rushing beneath her. Another beautiful poof of grass and mud, right where she had been a moment before. She tried to catch it again, but it was too far away now. She realized that her backpack had slipped from her shoulders.
“Goddammit, Ellie! C’mere!”
“Joel?” The words were muffled inside her helmet, inside her head.
The grassy world turned over to reveal an underbelly of overcast sky and she was looking up at him. Worry was pasted across his lined face. What was he so upset about?
“Ellie? Are you all right?”
“No, Joel!” She heard her voice becoming louder. “You damn near pulled my pants off! What the fuck?”
She reached down to pull her jeans up from around her hips – fuck, he could see her panties and everything! The rope holding her shotgun to her was twisted, binding the gun to her tightly. It was hard to move right. She was embarrassed that he had seen her underwear. She noticed a bright flash of light on the bridge up ahead. Her brain told her ‘muzzle flash’.
“Oh shit, Joel! We’re being shot at! Get behind something!”
But they already were. Joel had seen to that. Even as she fixed her pants, he pulled her closer to him, deeper into the cover provided by a banged-up white car. The bridge was out of sight now. She looked around for the bike and found it laying twenty feet away, beyond the other end of the car, towards the road. The supplies contained in the broken bin were scattered everywhere. For just a moment, she thought about dashing out to collect them or her backpack, but something told her to do it later.
She noticed the long, muddy groove in the grass, realized that it was her body that had carved it into the earth as she slid.
Fuck me! I must have flown ten or fifteen feet!
She was oddly proud of this. She couldn’t say why.
“Stay down!” he yelled at her, pushing her back against the safety of the old car. He fired off a few rounds with his semiautomatic pistol in the direction of the bridge. She couldn’t see if he hit anything, but she heard the sound of bullets striking metal.
Better use the hunting rifle.
She looked around but couldn’t find it anywhere. She took off her helmet and suddenly the world became much louder. There were sporadic gunshots coming from the other side of the car they were huddling behind.
“- a goddamn ambush!” he was saying. “Didn’t see it until it was almost too late! You okay?”
She nodded dumbly. Her brain was just now getting back from wherever it went to a moment ago.
Get it together, Ellie.
I’m trying, Brain. But you’re not helping very much.
She knew she needed to be of help to him right now. Focus on that. The rest would come later.
The rope sling of her shotgun was hopelessly kinked. She couldn’t free herself from it. She hated to do it, but she didn’t have time for anything else. She found her switchblade and cut the tangled rope away from her, releasing the shotgun. She looked to Joel as she tossed the twisted loops away.
“Sorry,” she offered weakly, making a pained face.
He nodded, not angry with her for ruining the simple sling he had made for her.
She turned over, came up in a crouch, and risked a peek over the edge of the car. She glimpsed two men on the far right end of the bridge that ran over the highway. They were firing down at them. Another man was poking his head over the edge of the guardrail a bit further in from them. There were several ramshackle constructions scattered across the top of the bridge. Houses of some kind? Were people really living in those things? They reminded her of the sheds she had often seen in the many backyards she and Joel had camped in, but not put together as neatly. Each one seemed to be made from several different sheds.
Before she could puzzle it out, Joel’s hand appeared on the top of her head and pushed her down roughly into safety.
“Stay down, I said!”
“Ow! Fuck! Easy! I was just in a motorcycle wreck, you ass!” she barked as something small and metal whipped through the air over her head and splattered into the thick trench that the Honda had cut into the grass and mud a few feet away.
Check the shotgun. Whatever is going on out there, you’re going to need to fight.
Good idea, Brain. Glad to have you back. How was your vacation?
The gun broke open easily and she eased the halves apart just a little. Two brass shells twinkled hello at her. No damage to her precious baby. That was good. But the hanky with the few remaining extra shells was in one of the saddlebags. She hadn’t wanted them to get soaked in the rain, so she’d put them away for safekeeping.
Too late to do anything about that now. The bike is way the hell over there. I’ll just have to make do.
The gun closed to with a satisfying ‘ker-chack’. She looked over to Joel, who was returning fire with his pistol again.
Her pistol! Where was her pistol?
She checked her back pockets. The switchblade was still there, but the gun was gone! A quick, panicked sweep of her eyes located it, lying just in front of the car, where Joel had pulled her across the grass. She scrambled for it. Gunfire or not, she had to risk it. Joel had given her that gun. She couldn’t let anything happen to it. He’d never forgive her.
She lunged, hands outstretched, fingers closing around the slide just as Joel seized her by the hem of her tattered jacket and pulled her back to him roughly.
“What the hell are you doing, Ellie?”
She held up the pistol. “I told you! You almost pulled my damn pants off, Joel. It fell out of my pocket! Not my fault!”
He grimaced at her and then fired off the last two bullets in the magazine at the bridge.
She pulled the slide back halfway, to take a look inside, see if a round was chambered. She made sure to keep her finger clear of the trigger, just as he had taught her. The compact Beretta was fully loaded and ready to go. She had the high-capacity magazine stuffed in her jacket pocket. Another, regular-sized magazine was laying out there in the mud somewhere. She would try to find it later. The shotgun was no use at this range, so she propped it against the car, in case these bastards tried to rush their position.
She popped up, fired off four rounds at the men hiding up there. Ducked down again.
She moved close to Joel, ready to fight at his side. He felt her easing close alongside him as he was replacing the spent magazine in his pistol with a fresh one. His last one. He saw her determined face, the little gun ready in her hand.
“Got an idea,” he said.
“Me too. Let’s shoot at those twat waffles!” Was now the time for humor? Hard to tell with Joel. Fuck it, some decisions are just made in the heat of the moment and you have to live with them. This was one of those times.
“We can’t stay here, Ellie. We’re sitting ducks.”
“Where then?”
“See that old Fed-Ex van over there? Up a bit from the bottom of the onramp?”
She looked. The faded words were still prominent on the sides of a largish, slab-sided vehicle. She judged the distance from there to here, noted the complete lack of cover in between. It did not seem promising.
“It’s pretty far away, Joel.”
The shooting had stopped. Were they reloading? Were they out of bullets? Were they preparing to toss firebombs? She shuddered. He was right. They probably shouldn’t stay here.
“I know. But I gotta get over there. I can use the other cars on the onramp for cover and make my way up to the overpass. Once I’m up there, I can flank them. Maybe drive ‘em out.”
“I’ll be right on your tail, Joel.” She began swapping out the regular magazine for the much larger one Joel had given her back in Johnstown. After what had happened on the bridge over the river, she always made sure to keep it handy at all times.
“No. I need you to stay here, Ellie.”
“Fuck that, Joel! I’m not a fucking baby! I can help!” She stuffed the half-empty magazine into her pocket.
“Hey, mister!” The voice was mocking, dripping with some regional accent Ellie had never heard before. “You still down there?”
“Don’t say anything to them, Ellie.” He was checking to make sure his shotgun was loaded with every shell he had on him.
“Fine.” She sounded slightly angry and dejected.
Joel ignored her. Her head was still clearly in the game but this was not the time for that teenager shit. Not in any amount.
“Send up the slit and maybe we’ll let you talk your way outta this! Whaddya say?”
Another voice joined in, hooting “Honest! You can trust us! We’re dying for a good conversation! Ain’t had one in months!”
Laughter burst forth from several men hiding up there.
Ellie was indignant. “Slut? Did they just call me a slut? Come on, Joel! Let me shoot these hillbilly assholes!”
She hoped she was using the word ‘hillbilly’ right. She had heard Joel use it the night before, telling her a funny story about the people from the state below this one. This state. That state. Had to be close enough, right?
“Ignore them. I need you to focus.”
“They called me a slut, Joel! C’mon!” She waggled the pistol to make her point.
Defend my honor, you big jerk!
“That’s not what they sai-“ A pause. He had been about to say something but reconsidered and let it go. “Look, I need you to cover me while I make it over to that van. No arguing now!”
The things I do for you, Joel.
“Alright, alright. Fine,” she grumbled. “Give me the signal.”
“Come on out, lady! We just wanna talk! Ha ha!”
“Yeah! C’mon up here and we’ll talk about the first thing that comes up!”
More catcalls followed.
What was with these assholes?
She sensed that some part of the stuff they were saying was going over her head and it pissed her off. She needed a moment to think about it, but there wasn’t time.
“And do it fast, Joel! I’m about to lose my temper with those shit stains.” She wiped her forehead with her left hand pushing her damp, stray bangs out of the way.
Before she could return the hand to her gun, he took her by the wrist and pressed his big .45 semiautomatic pistol into her palm. With wide eyes, she watched him close her fingers around the large grip. They barely managed to contain the girth of it. She raised it up to the level of her other hand and her eyes drank in the sheer spectacular awesomeness of it: Two guns. At the same time.
He nodded grimly at her. This was an act of absolute trust and she knew it.
“It’s called suppressin’ fire,” he was saying. “It’s sorta tricky but you can do this.”
A gun in each hand. She had never felt so powerful, not even with her shotgun.
Oh wow. The hero of Invasion: USA had carried two guns. And he kicked all the ass.
The men on the bridge shouted something else at them. Some bullshit about her showing them her tits or whatever. Ellie found it easy to ignore them now. Sluts didn’t pack this much firepower.
“When I make a break for the van,” Joel was saying, “you cover me. It’s not close, so you have to make them keep their heads down until I get there. Alright?”
Her voice was firm, unwavering. She was surprised at the strength of it. “I’ve so fucking got this, Joel. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Don’t fire them both at once, or you’ll run dry at the same time and my ass will be left twistin’ in the wind.”
She nodded, paying close attention to his every word.
The assholes on the bridge were calling again. They wanted to know if she could dance. She was about to show them.
“Go to the far end of this car. Keep low. They might not think to look for you over there. I counted four guns between seven men. Focus on the ones with guns. Keep it up, keep it steady, keep it goin’. Buy me the time I need. I’m countin’ on you, Ellie. Okay?”
Ice was in her words now. “Let’s kick those pussies in the dick, Joel.”
He squeezed her shoulder and sent her on her way.
She crawled low, working her way towards the rear end of the car. Joel checked his shotgun and waited for her to get into position. He popped his head up once to keep them focused on his end of the car. A pair of shots sang through the air and splattered in the mud just beyond the car, bullets meant for him.
“We got all day, asshole! Send the woman out! Now! Then we can talk!”
God, I haven’t asked you for shit since that night in Boston. Maybe I don’t deserve it. And neither does Joel, I guess. But you owe me. You know you do. If you’re really up there and you really exist, then you fucking owe me. Help me. This time, really help me. The whole world is riding on him getting me to the Fireflies. We can’t die here on this highway, damn it. So get off your ass already and do something for a change, okay?
She took a deep breath, rested both pistols against her shoulders, and looked at Joel. She was ready. He nodded and began to sprint just as she was standing up.
She held the larger .45 at the ready with her left hand, keeping it near her shoulder until she needed it. Her smaller .32 was in her right hand, seeking the men on the end of the bridge nearest Joel and the van. They were the ones with guns. She saw one aiming a shotgun at Joel, another next to him raising his rifle to do the same.
The compact Beretta bucked in her little hand. Once. Twice. Three times. The men with the guns were caught unaware by the arrival of the fusillade and dove for the asphalt as her bullets struck the guardrails and rusty sheds around them, ricocheting wildly and showering them with sparks. She had a ton of bullets in this thing, and those fuckers up there were welcome to each and every one of them.
From the corner of her eye, she saw another man standing up near the other end of the bridge. He had a cowboy rifle of some sort. His eyes were only for her. He was levering a bullet into his firearm. He was going to take aim at any moment. She could see him smiling.
Still firing in the general direction of the other two, she tried to bring the heavier pistol in her left hand to bear on him, but it was a struggle. The gun was heavy and she wasn’t left-handed. She probably should have switched them before starting this, but it was too late now.
She brought the gun to position as best she could and began to fire at him too. Once. The muzzle flash was much larger than she expected. Twice. The recoil was intense. Both guns were blazing now. This was exactly the thing Joel told her not to do. She knew she had better keep him alive if he was going to be around to yell at her later.
The man who had sought to kill her grabbed his shoulder, staggered forward, almost went over the railing, his lever-action cowboy gun tumbling down to the highway and breaking apart. Impossibly, she had hit him. Another man rushed out to help him, a pistol in his hands. She eased the heavy pistol slightly to the right to account for him. Fired again. Three times. Four. He reconsidered his heroics and abandoned his friend, diving for the cover of an old car when a bullet whistled past his ear. She cut her eyes sharply to focus on the other gun still firing in her right hand. The bullets it was pumping out were sending sparks flying across that end of the bridge too. A fire had broken out. A ricochet had struck something flammable inside a shed. Oily flames climbed out of a crudely fashioned window.
Much later, while being scolded by Joel for something unrelated, she will unexpectedly remember that she was screaming at this point. She had been screaming since she stood up with the guns in her hands. Joel will remember it as a high, shrill, wild animal roar of defiance. Her throat will hurt for the rest of this day.
Bullets bounced off the sheet metal, the steel railing, the concrete foundations, old drums containing who knew what. Sparks flew in all directions. The fire had already spread to another shed. It began to belch smoke. Spent, steaming brass sparkled in the air all around her. The breeze stirred her unruly bangs, keeping them out of her eyes. Everyone up on the bridge had flattened against the asphalt, hands over their heads, trying not to get hit by the caroming bullets bouncing all around them. Underneath the roar of the guns, beyond the sound of her own angry shrieking, she thought she could hear them shouting, cursing.
The small pistol clicked empty, the slide locking back, exhausted of ammo at last. She dropped it without a second thought and brought her strong hand over to help manage the weight of Joel’s unwieldy Colt .45, still firing in her left hand. She held it in a death grip, both hands barely able to contain the size of it. She was still screaming. The gunpowder cloud stung her eyes, lovely green barely showing through slitted lids. The sizzling brass fell to the ground below her, landing in a twinkling metal shower near her basketball shoes. The grass was still wet from the morning rain and droplets of water shimmered in the sunlight around her ankles. The empty Beretta landed with a soft thud between her feet. The rising spray of water from the impact brought a tiny rainbow into existence for half a heartbeat before it evanesced away into nothingness.
The slide on the big .45 locked back. Empty. She remained standing, screaming, defiant. She leaned forward on the balls of her feet, fist clenched, as though her scream itself were a weapon. She wanted to unleash all her pain and anger and loss upon the world in an unconquerable wave of shattering destruction. She wanted them all to die.
Up on the bridge, something in the second burning shed exploded, sending forth a great gout of fire and smoke. It came erupting from the makeshift door and window, sending men scattering in fear of it. The tin roof lifted halfway off, twisting itself almost in two from the blast.
She threw up her arms in a V of victory.
“SUCK MY DICK, YOU COCKSUCKING MOTHERFUCKERRRRRRRRS!!!”
She didn’t recognize her own voice. It was harsh, strained, cracking.
“Jesus Christ!” someone shouted from up there, somewhere, his voice thick with fear. They were all still clinging to the ground; terrified it would start up again. Someone was screaming horribly. Maybe he had been caught in the fire?
Good.
All at once, she remembered herself, her importance to the world, her hoped-for importance to Joel. She dropped down behind the white car, Joel’s empty, smoking gun clutched in both hands. She was panting, her lungs burning. She felt like she’d sprinted for miles. Her chest heaved as she gulped lungfuls of cold, damp air. Acrid gunsmoke was all around her, filling her hair with the smell of it. Her eyes were wide. All the colors of the world before her seemed brighter than they had ever been. She swiveled her head in the direction of the van. Had she protected him? Was he still alive? Had she done good?
She found him there, almost halfway up the onramp, crouched behind the rusted heap, his big shotgun in his hands. His eyes were fixed on her. He wore a look that she had never seen on his face before.
Astonishment.
Proud of herself, she smiled sweetly at him. Half a heartbeat later, a fearsome hailstorm of bullets and buckshot rained down on her car. Every gun up there was trained on her position. She huddled, making herself as small as possible. For a moment, she remembered her old Snoopy doll and dearly wished that she were holding it like she used to in those lonely nights in the Saint Philomena’s Children’s Home for orphans, where she’d spent the first ten years of her life, much of it with that Snoopy doll that Sister Anne had given her for Christmas when she was four. She’d slept with it every night for the next two years, before that fuckstick Kevin Chiang stole it from her and set it on fire. She had only been six at the time. She pretended that Kevin was up on that bridge somewhere, and that he was about to get what was coming to him.
All right, Joel. You can take it from here.
Chin tucked against her chest, shoulders drawn up tight around her neck, arms wrapped around her knees, she glanced in his direction again. He was already gone. She couldn’t see him anywhere. She knew that meant he was somewhere where no one was looking, moving in to kill these bastards.
Bullets sang around her, metal whined, glass broke. Mud from a near miss splattered across her face, fouling her cheek and nose. She smiled.
Have to do better than that, you cockwipes.
The thick mud oozed down her face. She didn’t wipe it away.
War paint.
Don’t think for a moment that this makes you and me even, God. You may not be keeping score in this fucked up world anymore, but I still am. I haven’t forgotten!
The firing continued, but the bullets were no longer hurtling in her direction. There were shouts of panic and fear. They were under attack from a new, unexpected direction.
“Joel.”
He needs me.
She recovered her little pistol, dumping out the empty, oversized clip and shoving the partially loaded spare into the waiting magazine well. The slide snapped closed with a click. She pulled the shotgun to her, cradling it briefly. The pistol only had three rounds in its magazine. There wasn’t time to dig around in her discarded pack for more. The shotgun held the only two available shells she could find at the moment. She looked at Joel’s empty gun. She had no more ammo for it. She left it resting in the wet grass. If there were a later, she would come back here and get it for him. She was good like that.
She crawled to the end of the car where Joel had been moments before and peered over the hood. Joel was on the run, charging the shitty makeshift camp on the bridge, his shotgun in his left hand, held by the pump, his revolver in his right, spitting fire. Bam! Bam! A scream. Bam! Empty! He dropped the pistol and swung the big shotgun up to his empty hand. He had cleared the distance; he was almost at the first smoking shack, where the two armed men had been earlier. It was the perfect range for a gun like that.
Get ‘em, Joel!
Thunder. Flame. More screaming. He worked the pump, sending a bright red shell smoking its way through the air. More thunder. More fire. More smoking crimson casings tumbling down from the bridge above. More screams.
She wanted to watch him do this all day. It was exhilarating. But she knew his fortune could change at any moment. Luck was like that, he insisted. She took a deep breath and dashed for the van as fast as she could.
Follow his lead. Stay out of his line of fire. Stay in cover when you can. Aim your shots.
Sliding on the wet grass, unable to stop in time, she thudded into the side of the Fed-Ex van, shoulder checking the rusty metal. She was glad he wasn’t there to see her do that, not after the amazing show she had just put on. Snagged on the jagged wheel well, the left sleeve of her denim jacket was now torn more than half away from the rest of the coat. She tugged it free, watching more of the denim and leather trim peel away. Part of her Tim Horton’s shirt came with it as well.
Fuck. I loved this jacket. I’ll probably never find another one like it.
Finally taking in the full the extent of the damage her garment had suffered in the crash, she idly wondered why her purple and red shoulder wasn’t hurting. Seeing the hurt makes the pain real apparently, because her shoulder began to throb as if on cue. She would have to worry about it later. She popped her head around the side, checking to see if the way was clear to advance up the ramp. She had to get to Joel. One of them was going to start worrying soon.
The hunter didn’t see her. She heard his thudding footsteps on the damp earth. He was running fast, moving towards the car she had been hiding behind moments before. He had come down from the far end of the bridge, trying to sneak around behind them. He had a pistol in his hand. She recognized him as the one who had abandoned his heroics earlier, when she had winged the jackass with the cowboy rifle. He reached the car and came around it with his pistol ready, pointed down at the grass where she had been.
“Gone!” He looked down at her discarded motorcycle helmet, Joel’s empty gun, the remains of the blue nylon rope sling, the scattering of spent brass casings. “Fucking cunny! Bitch!”
Like most of these men, his accent was strange to her ears. She misheard the words. She wouldn’t have known one of them anyway. Ellie’s collection of profanity was impressive, but it wasn’t complete.
I am a cunning bitch, fuckwad. Lemme show you how much!
She raised her pistol. Aim your shots, he’d told her. She did.
“Hey! Billy Buttfucker!”
He looked up; saw her standing by the van. His eyes went wide with fear. He wasn’t expecting his flanking effort to fail. Wasn’t expecting to be caught dead to rights like this. Certainly wasn’t expecting to find a young girl drawing down on him, of all things. He tried to bring up his revolver but they both knew it wouldn’t do him any good. Three shots. Two of them hit. Down he went, landing hard in the mud where he had stood. Part of his skull landed somewhere else.
She stuffed the empty .32 in her jacket pocket. She would never part with it. Her switchblade was all she had of her mother. This small pistol was the only part of Joel she truly knew she had. Both items were sentimental. Both were deadly. She treasured them.
She thought about making a dash back to the dead man to grab his pistol or maybe make a quick search of her pack, but then she realized that the gunfire up on the bridge had stopped. There was grunting, shouting, the dull thwack of flesh being struck hard.
He’s out of ammo! He needs me! Fuck, Ellie! Get your shit together!
She ran as fast as her legs would carry her, past the rusted cars, jumping over chunks of broken concrete, weaving around scattered debris, never stopping for cover. Her breath hissed through her bared teeth. Her shotgun was ready in her hands. Two shells left. Two chances to help him.
She rounded the top of the onramp, turned left, in the direction of the rusty encampment, rushed at the dead bodies of the men who had been trying to draw a bead on Joel. One was missing most of the meat on his leg – only bloody bone where a thigh should be; the other had parted with most of his head. She leaped over their bodies, trying not to see the gore. Onward, towards the sound of the fighting, towards the still-burning shack, and the gutted, blazing, smoking one behind it. Somewhere further up, she could hear the raucous sound of terrified chickens. There wasn’t time to think about it. Fire was still burning in many places in this part of the camp, scattered in a crazy pattern from the splashed fuel set loose during the explosion. She tried to avoid it as best she could. The flames licked at her. She gripped the shotgun tightly. She couldn’t let herself feel fear. Not now. Joel was ahead somewhere, fighting for his life. She had to help.
She swung out wide in her headlong blitz, as much as the tight confines of the camp would allow, trying to avoid the twisted, fiery shed that had exploded so spectacularly earlier. She saw that there were several steel barrels ahead, lying both inside and around the destroyed shack, burst apart with sharp edges all around. They reminded her of the teeth of a shark’s mouth, the ocean monsters she had seen in her treasured old copies of National Geographic magazine. Fuel drums probably. There must have been a leak, a puddle, a lucky spark. The dark cloud of smoke was ahead, the tendrils of which were already reaching out for her, stinging her eyes. She rushed headlong into it.
The searing heat embraced her, there was no escaping its terrible touch. For a terrifying heartbeat, the world was swallowed in oily, choking, searing darkness. She’d had nightmares just like this all the time as a child. This was just like her visions of the hell the preacher at Saint Philomena’s had so often spoken of. The place he’d said she was already bound for at the irredeemable age of eight if she didn’t stop causing trouble and become a good girl instead. Lectures filled with threats followed by punishments. He never had time to talk to her about anything else. Just be a good girl, or else. Now get out of my office, I have important things to do.
Good girl? How could I be? No one ever bothered to teach me, you old asshole.
Daylight! She burst through the smoke. It spiraled behind her, twisting in her wake, trying to claw her back to no avail. Hell would have to wait for another day.
Joel was far ahead, more than halfway across the bridge, trading punches with two foul looking men. One of them was bleeding badly from his nose. Absurdly, she unexpectedly remembered her favorite CD. It had been Riley’s disc really, but Ellie played it in their shared room constantly, almost on a loop, until Riley would throw pillows at her to make her stop. The guy on the cover of that album had a bloody face just like this man. Bloody Nose was trying to grab Joel’s arm, trying to pin it, trying to stop the punishing blows. The other man seized the opportunity to land a jab against Joel’s jaw. He staggered a bit, but didn’t fall. Joel was the toughest man Ellie had ever known, but two-on-one odds weren’t a good bet for anyone.
Gotta get closer. Can’t shoot either of them from here. I’ll hit Joel too.
Her legs were growing tired, but she pushed them forward anyway.
Come on, Ellie. Just a little more. Almost there.
She zipped past more of the sheds, noting how they were a mixture of living quarters and storage units. These men had been living here a long time, from the looks of it. Empty food cans. Old milk jugs filled with water and other things. Homemade cages housing a fluttering storm of feathers and squawks – chickens going crazy with fear. Animal skins, raccoon, deer, coyotes, drying on homemade racks. Squirrel meat, skewered and seasoned with salt and pepper, smoking over a cobbled-together grill. She sniffed the aroma of the meat hungrily as she scrambled around a long table stacked above and below with plastic laundry baskets filled with clothes, shoes, useful personal belongings. She doubted that any of the items were donated to these men out of charity. On the other side of the last table was another dead man to jump over. A bent pipe lay next to him; Joel’s handiwork, no doubt. She didn’t notice him stirring as she sailed over his body on her way to her friend.
Almost! You can do it!
Joel knocked the smaller of the two men down. Only Bloody Nose was still standing. Ellie was actually a little impressed by how tough he must be to take a beating like that from Joel and keep going. Bastard or not, you had to respect tough. The one who had fallen was reaching for something in a nearby metal bin: a long, heavy wrench of some kind. He was staggering to his feet. Joel didn’t see him. The man didn’t see her. She had closed the gap. Her shotgun was sure to rip him apart at this range.
Just in time. Good job, legs.
“Get away from him!”
The man’s head swiveled around. He saw a young girl skidding to a stop on the cracked asphalt, wet with water, oil, and blood. Her canvas basketball shoes fought for traction, her legs worked to keep her upright, to no avail. She was going to tumble over.
Fuck me! Not again!
She spilled, sliding across the hard, unforgiving ground. Her knee was going to be sore for days to come. He lunged for her. Missed. She slid past his grasping hands. She almost cheered as she passed beyond the reach of his fumbling fingers. She kept going until her shoulder stuck the guardrail, wiping the triumphant smile from her face. The same shoulder as before. Bruises on top of bruises. She spun hard, flipping over, face down. Her right arm slipped right through the gaps between the steel bands of the railing. Her knuckles scraped against the harsh concrete. She kept her grip on the handle of shotgun. Barely.
“Ow! Fuck!” She had hit her head on the asphalt pretty badly. Add a headache to her list of complaints later.
Shoulda… kept… the helmet… on…
Hands on her again. Pulling hard. Not Joel’s. The grip on her ankle was painfully strong.
“Come here, you little cunt!”
Still on her belly, she tried to grab the railing with her free hand, tried to pull away from him. She realized instantly that she was not strong enough to hold on for long. She kicked at him with her free leg instead, calling him every name she could think of. Something struck her thigh, it went numb. She screamed.
Forgot about that fucking wrench!
“You little whore! I’m gonna bust your head open like a piñata!”
She twisted around, craning her neck, trying to see him. He was standing tall, pulling at her leg with his free hand, holding a wrench with the other. Her hips were almost off the ground at this point. She didn’t know what the hell a piñata was, but he seemed intent on pulling her up, dangling her by her leg, and beating her to death with that big wrench. Her shotgun had other ideas. So did he, once he saw it come snaking out from beneath the guardrail, her finger on the trigger. His eyes went white all around the edges.
“Who’s the whore now?!” she shrieked, swinging the gun to bear, terror taking the badassedness from her voice that she so desperately felt she deserved at that moment.
She pulled the trigger and the arm holding the wrench exploded at the elbow. He dropped her, blood spraying from his stump. They were both screaming. She looked in horror at what she had done. She had never used her beloved shotgun on a person before, not at this range. She saw that a pistol bullet had grazed the shoulder of that same arm earlier. The blood was already beginning to clot beneath in the long, ragged groove in his shirt. It was him! The man with the cowboy rifle! She didn’t know what else to do but pull the second trigger, put the other spray of pellets into his gut to put him down. Anything to stop the agony playing out before her. He flew back, blood and other things erupting from his stomach. She never even felt the gun kick in her numb hands.
“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck…” She crawled backwards from the gore that spilled from the man, arcing through the air like a thick, wet rain that she had called into being. She scooted back towards the guardrail. Away from the writhing, screaming, burst open thing that the man had become. Some of his blood was on her jeans. She tried to wipe it away.
Without warning, the world began to do cartwheels again. She was being lifted up. Strong, furious hands. Not Joel’s. The man she had missed earlier in her rush to reach Joel was grabbing her, lifting her, trying to throw her off the bridge. She had a quick flash of herself splatting all over the asphalt below. She pushed the thought away and began to do her best to wiggle free of those awful hands. The shotgun fell from her grip. He kicked it away, over towards the dying man, into the spreading pool of blood. Somewhere in the distance, alarmingly far away, she saw Joel swinging hard at Bloody Nose with a rusty tube. Something large and oblong was attached to it. She thought it was a muffler, but she wasn’t sure.
“JOEL! HELP!”
She was going over. The cloudy sky and the dark asphalt traded places. He was going to throw her off headfirst. She tried to reach for her switchblade, but her right arm was being gripped too hard. The knife was in her right back pocket. She strained her left arm, but that shoulder had taken too much abuse today. It wouldn’t make the reach, no matter how hard she willed it. She yelped with pain as he twisted her around so she would be sure to see the end coming.
The man’s voice was eager, victorious. “Get ready for it, bitch!”
She kicked as hard as she could, but one of her legs was numb, unresponsive. She tried to connect her only flailing heel with his elbow, irrationally hoping to explode it like before.
More hands on her. Strong. Fierce. Grabbing one of her ankles.
“Let go of her, you sonofabitch!”
“Joel!”
Relief surged through her in the half-second before she became the rope in a tug of war. She squealed sharply as they pulled at her. She felt like her bones were surely going to come loose at the joints. The bastard shifted his grip on her, flipping her over to face the sky. Her legs twisted around in Joel’s hands. The bastard had her by the neck, his other arm looped under her armpit, across her chest. Joel had her by the ankles, tugging hard, forcing her throat against the other man’s arm. Joel was choking her with his efforts. She tried to bite the man, but his arm was under her chin. Her teeth couldn’t find his flesh. Spots appeared before her eyes. Her hip smacked into the sharp edge of the guardrail as they swung her about. Stinging pain barely felt as she began to slip into darkness. It was the same side as the leg that took the blow from the wrench. She would limp for days after this. The hunter reached across her stomach, grabbed the waistband of her jeans from the inside, his knuckles digging into her lower belly, grinding into the cotton of her panties, using the denim handhold to pull her towards him, hard. The feel of his hand down there made her sick in a way she couldn’t quite describe. Later, in better times, she would choose to retell this event as the worst wedgie of her life.
The man howled, her mother’s switchblade in his thigh. She didn’t remember pulling it out of her pocket. She had never felt it in her hand. He let go of her and she began to tumble, her skull rocketing towards the ground. Joel tossed her aside like a sack of laundry before her head could smack anything. She landed on the same bruised shoulder and rolled limply away to safety.
“C’mere you motherfucker!” Joel’s voice was a bloodcurdling bellow. It echoed off the rusty sheds and across the countryside. It sounded wonderful to her ears.
Fuck him up, Joel. I’ll be right there… in just a minute.
She lay on her stomach, her head resting on her curled arm. She could feel that her denim jacket was torn into at least two pieces. Two and a half, maybe. Her white shirt was torn along the left shoulder, split almost all the way around the seam. She tried to focus her eyes. The spots were disappearing quickly. Behind her, blows were being exchanged. Dull, heavy thwacks of fists against flesh. She tried to catch her breath. Both men were grunting with the effort. Her every joint ached.
“I got… to get up…” she wheezed into the thick denim wrinkled around her elbow. “Needs… my help…”
Ellie turned her head with great effort, looking just in time to see Joel kick the bastard over the side of the railing. A swiftly fading scream. A dull, wet crunch. He was dead.
Gonna have to get my switchblade out of his leg later. That’s gonna be messy.
She closed her eyes. Just for a minute. Just long enough to get some wind in her lungs. The feeling was returning to her leg where he had struck her with the wrench. She groaned in pain, drawing her legs up slightly and wished the nerves down there had taken their sweet time coming back to life. Why the rush? The hip was giving her plenty of dull, throbbing pain as it was.
No need to gang up on me all at once, nerve endings.
“You doin’ okay, kiddo?” Joel was standing over her, providing some very pleasant shade on the warm, wet asphalt. Thoughtful of him, really.
“I’m fine. Nothing broken. Still have most of my limbs, I think,” she mumbled into the crook of her arm. “Just taking a break. Figured I’d earned one, boss.”
A soft chuckle. She smiled. She liked to make him laugh. Strong hands turned her over slowly, considerately. She tried very hard not to whimper. She looked up at him through half-open eyes. He was kneeling beside her, backlit by the clearing sky behind him. She lay there on her back, helpless but safe before him. She blinked a few times.
“Hey, you.” Her voice was very soft. She was very tired.
“Hey yourself, kiddo.”
She smiled. So did he.
“You sure you’re okay, Ellie?”
She nodded and made a short, affirmative “Mm!” noise.
He helped her sit up. She ached everywhere. His hands were covered in blood. They could be fierce, deadly things, but they were gentle with her. She wanted to lean against him, just for a minute. After the events of today, she decided to risk it and take a chance. She rested her head against his chest. He didn’t push her away.
Don’t ditch me, Joel. We’re a team. Don’t ditch me like all the others did.
“Don’t move,” she chided, closing her eyes in gratitude. “You’re the only thing keeping me from falling over right now.”
He chuckled again. She felt it rumble inside him. He squeezed her shoulder. “You did a hell of a good job today, kid.”
So fucking glad he picked the good shoulder.
“Fuck yeah, I did.” She felt a yawn coming on, out of the blue, didn’t quite manage to suppress it. “You gotta admit, Joel… When you were hauling ass for that van down there… When I was shooting the hell out of those guys… For just a few seconds, I was so awesome, you were my sidekick.”
He chuckled and squeezed her shoulder again. She snuggled into him, just a little. She wanted to sit like this forever.
Keep me around, Joel. I’m useful. You know I am.
”Yeah, yeah. I’ll admit it. I was plenty impressed, you reckless little shit. ‘Course, the next thing I knew, you were up here with me, about to get tossed over the side like a sack of old potatoes.”
“Yeah,” she shrugged, admonished, wishing he had let her have her moment of victory for just a minute longer before popping her bubble, “Not my finest moment. But we got through it. We always do.”
“So far, I guess.”
He pulled a rag from his shirt pocket and began to dab the mud from her face. Gingerly, he wiped away her war paint. She was happy to let him, happy to let it go. This battle was over and she wanted to be a kid again. She basked in the attention. She wondered if perhaps someone had taken the time to treat her just half this kindly as a child would she would be less starved for affection now? She knew it was a weakness of hers and that Joel didn’t care much for weakness. But she couldn’t help herself sometimes. And in those moments, Joel was surprisingly kind to her, which was sort of amazing, given how gruff he tended to be the rest of the time. Doubly amazing when she considering how she had glimpsed him beating another man to death with a rusty muffler just a few minutes ago.
I bet he gives great hugs. Gotta find a way to trick him into doing that one of these days.
She sighed, knowing that the moment to get up, collect their guns, and search the camp would be here far too soon for her liking. But until that moment came, she would drink in every second of the time she had now.
Fine. One point to you, God. But don’t think we’re close to being square. Not even.
Joel let her rest against him for a few more minutes, until he was sure she was ready to stand. She was, but she would have preferred to sit with him a while longer. Nonetheless, she did not complain. She rarely did.
He helped her up.
. . .
“Looks like these sons a bitches practically had their own little fort up here.” Joel was digging through a collection of boxes stacked near a dirty mattress inside one of the rusty sheds. A new rifle with a fancy folding stock was slung across his back.
He had called it a ‘Mini-14’. The long, banana-shaped magazine fitted into it was almost full. It had been hidden under a mattress in a different shed, probably squirreled away as a weapon of last resort. They must have never thought they would need it against one aging man and a young girl on a motorcycle. She wondered if it would be a good replacement for the scoped rifle. Maybe if it were, he would let her carry the Winchester, since surely he didn’t need two rifles.
Her own shotgun was once again slung across her shoulders, where it belonged. Joel had fashioned a new sling for her using a sturdy old leather belt and two key rings he had scrounged up. Feeling it secure around her torso again made her feel totally badass. It was like Christmas morning had come early. She smiled warmly. She would have to be extra nice to Joel for the next few days.
Maybe I'll take some of those eggs we found in the chicken coops. Tomorrow morning, I’ll see if he’ll let me cook. I can try my hand at making scrambled eggs for us. God knows I made enough of them back when I was on kitchen detail with Cherry back at the school. But this time, I won’t spit in ‘em.
“Smarter than I woulda given ‘em credit for anyways,” he continued, finding a few fresh batteries for their flashlights. He was having all the luck in this shack. Ellie was glad they weren’t keeping score today.
“Why’s that?” Ellie asked, digging through the pockets of the ratty clothes hanging in the corner of the shed. A rag, a few spare parts, a single round for Joel’s .357 revolver. She had surreptitiously discovered a few nudie magazines tucked under the edge of the mattress closest to her. She tried to hover in that general area while she worked, not daring to swipe them with him nearby. He wouldn’t approve of her curiosity. She’d played it off the first time, on the road to Pittsburgh, but she didn’t think he’d fall for that ploy again.
Beyond those meager items already in her hands, there wasn’t much else left to find over here. She moved to another corner of the shack, exploring the insides of broken down boots, old shopping bags, pots and pans. She tried as casually as possible to keep one eye on the edge of the mattress that concealed the magazines and hoped that Joel wouldn’t stumble upon them before she slide a couple of them into the safety of her backpack, now returned safely to her shoulders. Her trusty switchblade was in her pocket. Again, she cut her eyes quickly to the porno’s hiding spot.
Be patient, my darlings. Ellie hasn’t forgotten about you. Soon you’ll tell me all your secrets.
“Shit heels built their camp up on this overpass,” Joel was saying. “Good place for an ambush. Gives you round the clock coverage of the road and a great view of the surrounding area. Blocked off with cars on each side. No one can get to you easy.”
Shit heels. I am so using that word one of these days.
She tried her best not to think about Joel’s knowledge of such things as this ambush camp and these dead hunters. She didn’t want to think of him as one of them, no matter how long in the past it might have been – she hoped it was many years ago, before she was even born. When she did let the thoughts slip in, she couldn’t stop her mind from imagining herself as one of his victims. It filled her with dread. Joel wasn’t the sort of man you would want as an enemy. She wondered briefly, and not for the first time, about what he had done to the women who had fallen into his grasp. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, so she told herself the same comforting story she always repeated when the thought of old, bad Joel doing that sort of thing popped into her head.
Joel wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t do that to a woman. He just wouldn’t.
He would never do that to me.
Although… the thought of him getting a little rough… the thought of him making me… do stuff… It is kind of a turn on.
Fuck! Why am I so fucking weird about stuff like this?
“Overpass?” she asked, checking an old aquarium that was now filled with all manner of interesting plastic junk. “What’s that?”
“Here ya go, Red.”
She smiled as he rolled three 28 gauge shells across the floor to her. She scooped them up with a delighted whoop. Her shotgun was back in business. She loaded a pair and tucked the spare one away for later. When they got the Honda back on its wheels, she would add this one to the little bag of ammo in the storage compartment.
“An overpass is this thing we’re on. When a highway passes over another highway, the top road is called an overpass. The other is the underpass.”
“Overpass. Got it,” she said, inspecting a handful of pistol shell casings she found in a little baggie. All empty. “This whole time, I thought this was a bridge.”
“Sort of the same thing, I guess.” He was holding up a mostly empty box of 12 gauge shells. Five rounds rattled around inside. He pocketed them.
“So…” She began tentatively. Time to broach the subject. She didn’t want to know, not really, but the voice inside her head told her that the knowledge might be of use to her one day in the future. “How did you know this was an ambush? What gave it away?”
“The debris laying all over the damn highway beneath the overpass. Just enough small stuff to force you to slow down as you’re about to reach the underpass. But not enough big stuff to draw attention to itself until you’re too close and you see just how much of it there is. Hard thing to spot when you’re on the move at highway speeds.”
“Unless you know what to look for, right?”
“Yep.” His voice was much too aloof for such a terrible confession.
The single word made her wince. She tried very hard to think of Joel as anything other than a hunter. Moments like this made it very difficult. Didn’t he feel any remorse for what he had done?
Stay good, Joel. Please stay good. If I can be good, you can be too.
“Oh! Hey! Guess what one of those bastards called me.”
He was game. The scavenging had been particularly good here, enough to offset most of the ammunition they had burned through, at least. Maybe a little extra. No way to know for sure until they took stock of their inventory tonight. “Who called you what?”
“That asshole with the revolver like yours. The one who tried to sneak up on us. He came running down from the other side of the bridge to get us from behind while you were up there blowing everyone to bits with your shotgun.”
“He did? I missed that.”
“Pffft. Don’t sweat it. I totally handled it. Like a pro.” She popped the lid of a small plastic bucket that sat beside the moldy mattress on the floor, under the roughly cut out window. She instantly regretted it and put the lid back on. Tightly.
“Good work. Just what I would expect of a professional gunfighter. So what did he call you?” He was done now, leaning in the doorway, watching her scrounge, making sure she didn’t miss anything.
“A cunning bitch.” She said it with pride, looking back over her shoulder at him. She narrowed her eyes for emphasis, still marveling at the bastard’s assessment of her. “Cunning means sneaky or devious or something like that, right?”
“It sure does.”
She beamed. “Cool. You think the label fits? ‘Cause I kinda like it. Maybe I’ll get it tattooed across my back one of these days. Big letters, so everyone will know not to mess with me.”
“The cunning part fits you, sure enough. But I’d leave the rest out when you go to the tattoo parlor. Might scare away the boys one day,” he offered with a good-natured shrug of his shoulders. “Just my suggestion, is all.”
She rolled her eyes and smiled. She didn’t know what a tattoo parlor was, but she knew she’d like to visit one now, just so Joel could take her there and tell her more about them. The only way she had ever heard of to get tattoos was to pay one of the older students a pack of stale cigarettes and then wait while they pricked your arm for an hour with a needle and a broken ballpoint pen.
And who said it had to be just boys I’m trying to not scare away? Maybe I like to keep my options open, old man. Badass action chicks like me do that sort of thing, you know.
She and Riley had always joked about getting matching tattoos, but could never settle on a design. Riley wanted a flaming skull, Ellie wanted a shark. Or fierce dog. Or maybe a knife dripping blood. Or an ace of spades. Or rearing black stallion with red eyes. Or…
Who am I kidding? I didn’t really want a tattoo. But if push came to shove, I would have gotten a flaming skull, just to please Riley. And I would have cherished it.
I was always happy to let her boss me around. She was the only one who could.
Until you showed up, Joel. You’re the only one who can boss me around like she did. It's kind of awesome.
She found she didn’t want to think about Riley on a triumphant day like this. She pushed it out of her head.
With a sizzling air guitar riff to mark the occasion, she had officially finished searching her half of the shack. She stood up and wiped her hands on her shirt. It had only one long sleeve now. The cotton covering the left arm had been torn almost entirely around the seam .She had cut it of and planned to use it as a rag to clean her guns. Her precious denim jacket had been discarded also, too ruined to be of any use to her anymore. She had placed it in the fire with great ceremony, thanking Kristi Chau for her fine gift. But she only did this when she was sure Joel wasn’t looking. He thought she was weird enough as it was.
She had been shocked to find two new bullet holes in the fabric, one in the collar flap by the neck. For a moment, she wondered how close she had come to dying that day but then she shivered, and suddenly didn’t want to think about it anymore.
Ellie gave the shack one last look. This was one incredibly dirty sleeping area. Just touching this stuff had left her with an immense need for a bar of soap and a motel sink filled with water.
They were practically done with the entire camp now. Everything had been searched.
“So what’s next, old man?”
“Well, little girl, we go out there and enjoy some of that squirrel that’s cookin’ on the barbeque.” He dusted his hands off and went out the door. “C’mon. This place stinks. Let get some fresh air.”
She followed him, limping slightly, disappointed slightly, hungry more than slightly. The chance to swipe a few of the nudie magazines had slipped beyond her grasp and she tried to let them go gracefully.
You fine, naked people are my gift to the next kind souls that come along this road. Farewell, my almost-friends. It was not meant to be.
“Roasted squirrel,” she said liltingly, stepping out into the brightening day. “Yummy.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t like it.” He was ahead of her, striding through the camp like a conquering king. As least, to her eyes anyway.
“Hey, I’ll admit it,” she said, trying to catch up. “I turned my nose up at it the first time you served it up. But I’ve seen the light now. Tree rat beats hunger pains every time.”
Weird the things you can get a taste for when you’re outside the quarantine zone, out here in the real world for long enough.
As they walked to the center of the camp, where the meat was still cooking, she looked up at the clear sky and saw several birds circling overhead.
“Look, Joel. Birds.”
“Mm hmm. They’re waiting for us to leave.”
“What for?”
“They want the same thing we do: To eat.” He indicated the dead hunters lying around with a quick sweep of his hand.
“Ahh. Gross. Well, circle of life and all that shit.”
“Yep.” He slowed, allowed her to catch up. He passed her a small handful of .32 bullets that he’d found. She took them happily.
“Sweet! Two-Gun Ellie is back in business!” She dug out the smaller of the two magazines and began to slip the rounds into it.
“One-Gun Ellie. And where the hell is my gun anyway?”
“Down there by the bike. Can you fix that, by the way? Or are we walking again?”
“I’ll have to take a closer look. But I don’t think the damage was too bad. Maybe we can limp it along to a garage or someplace. Get some tools. Give it a good goin’ over.” He passed her a stick loaded with squirrel meat and a smattering of green apple slices.
“Cooh. I hayh wahkhuh,” she said around a mouthful of savory meat.
“I hate walking too. And chew your damn food, girl.”
“Nevuh.”
He inspected the old metal locker near the smoldering grill. It was the only thing they hadn’t searched yet. It was sealed shut with a padlock, but the hasp itself was pretty rusty. One broken shiv and a few dislodged rusty screws later, it swung open easily enough. The shelves were lined with bottles and cans of beer. Judging from size of the locker and the collection of colorful stains on the shelves, this had once been a paint locker, probably in somebody’s basement or garage.
“Well, warm beer is better than no beer,” he grumbled, trying like hell to see the bright side of things for once, the way she always did. This was free beer, after all.
“Yaaah! Cah Ah haff wah, Johh?” She’d already eaten half the meat on the stick and was working hard on getting the rest of it inside her as fast as possible. If there weren’t plenty more skewers still sizzling on the grill, she might have considered gnawing on the stick too.
“Hell no, you can’t ‘have one’. Beer ain’t for kids, Ellie.”
She swallowed defiantly. Her aching throat protested. She had yet to remember that she had been screaming during the gunfight earlier. That moment wasn’t to come for months.
“I’ve had beer before, Joel. Now come on. Let me have a beer. Just one! Pleeeeease?”
He sized her up, watching her tear the last piece of meat from the skewer and trying to smile at him while doing so. All the times she had teased him came back to him and he saw an opening for a bit of revenge.
“Did you turn twenty-one when I wasn’t lookin’? Or is your little butt still fourteen?”
“JOEL!” She stamped her foot. In that moment, he had a fleeting image of his ex-wife on the day she had stormed out for good. “I’m not a goddamned baby and you know it!”
He tried to juxtapose the sweet girl he had seen reading comics by the campfire last night with the wild hellion he had watched blast the bejeezus out of the hunter’s camp this morning. It was a hard thing to reconcile. She was a kid in so many ways, but she had her moments of glory too, no doubt about it. True, she hadn’t really hit much with all that ammo she had fired off. Only winged one guy in the arm, near as he could tell from condition of the men he had fought up there. Maybe you could count that guy that got burning kerosene splashed on his arm, if you were feeling generous about things. But that was about the sum total of it. Still, she’d been screaming like a banshee and sending bullets bouncing everywhere. That helped put the fear into them. All that hollering drew their attention and kept all eyes off of him while he was exposed, running out in the open. No doubt, that particular unsettling sound was surely the last thing they had expected to hear when they’d woke up this morning.
And to be fair to her, that explosion was the coolest damn thing he’d seen in a while.
“One,” he said sternly, locking eyes with her and holding up a single finger for emphasis. “One beer.”
She almost danced, grinning and chewing excitedly. If it weren’t for her limp, she would have bounced up and down. Instead, she dropped the empty stick and clapped her hands together in a way that was both endearing and obnoxiously celebratory about getting her way. Cute. And sexy too.
He exhaled, wishing he didn’t see her as being so sensuous and lovely sometimes, as he turned to study the contents of the locker.
“Budweiser or Coors?”
“Can I have that Miller?”
“There’s only one can. And you ain’t getting’ it, gunslinger. That one’s for me.”
“Pleeease?”
“Only kids pout. And pouters don’t get beer.”
“Budweiser, please,” she said in her best adult voice.
The birds drifted overhead until every bit of the last squirrel-kabob was eaten and more than two beers were drank. The pair of forms still moving down there gathered up all the loot they could carry and drove away on a wobbly motorcycle. The rest of the meat, slowly cooling on the asphalt, was left behind for the birds and the other animals of the woods. Later that day, a big yellow dog would feast. He was lonely, but a full belly can be quite soothing in its own way.