“He alone?” Someone yelled back.
They let me get to the driver’s door, the window down. They scrambled inside for extra rounds and radios.
“Do you believe in God?”
God almighty.
There is no other.
I took the nicer of the rifles, a Remington .270 with a modest scope, and a tackle box of bullets. A hundred yards away, the fourth truck was in the middle of a three-point turn. I hit the driver in the neck and the truck rolled lazily into the ditch. Two other men piled out of the truck and returned fire in my direction, bullets ricocheted off the road and whizzed past. Bullets sank into tree trunks and pinged off the tailgate, but the men were only shooting in the dark. One leaned over the bed, illuminated by the third brake light. The other took cover behind an open door.
The Remington .270 showed them the way.
As fast as it started, it was quiet. And in the silence, Audrey shrieked from the ditch.
“What are you doing?”
I pointed up the road. “The strong do what they can.”
“Are you insane? Are you?”
I hadn’t made a woman that angry since Mom. I almost felt bad for Audrey. There was no use.
“Answer me, Jack.” She was on the road, storming toward me in the dark.
I pointed to the trucks as if they were on display. As if my whole plan was obvious. “No one would believe one man did this,” I said. “They won’t think to watch out for a guy with a bum leg. They’ll be looking for a gang.”
“What good is it, you trying to get killed? Leaving me at their mercy?”
“You’re at your own mercy, aren’t you?” I reached into her coat and pulled out the pistol. “Aren’t you? If you know what’s going to happen?”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe in that.”
“You don’t believe there’s an easy way out?”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Why come this far and let me tag along? Why try? Why not kill yourself?”
I had no answer. I wasn’t going to mention Dad. Wasn’t going to mention as I stood in front of her, swallowed by the blackness of the road and the cold of night, I was thinking of shooting myself in front of her. That I’d already thought it ten times over.
“I just want to make it as far as possible,” she said at last. “That’s all.”
“I…” my mouth hung open.
“What?” She demanded.
“I like your company. And I’m outraged at this,” I grabbed her arm. “I’m furious about it. I’m alone again. I was enjoying not being alone.”
The argument was over. We walked up the road in silence. We walked to the vanishing point. We disappeared into the wooded shoulder and the darkness of trees.
“How is your arm?” I asked finally, calmly.
“My what?” She asked the ground. “Oh. It doesn’t really hurt. I haven’t thought about it much. It’s numb mostly. I like your company, too.”
“Good. We’re stuck together now.”
“I don’t mind being stuck with you. If your life is going to turn into a war zone, there are far worse people to be with.”
“Watts.”
She sighed. “Watts was a war zone.”
“Tom mentioned you stayed with him sometimes. When you and Watts were at it.”
“I wanted a divorce. Watts didn’t believe in it.”
“You could have left.”
She took hold of my hand and stopped walking. She lifted her jacket and shirt and put my hand to her ribs under her left breast. It was concave, the ribs felt swollen where they’d healed. “I did leave. I just wanted a day or two away. I went to Daddy’s. Daddy had to sit there and watch while Watts....”
“I’m glad he’s dead, then,” I took my hand away. “But I hate it for Tom.”
“There was a heartbroken man,” she said. “Wasn’t anything he could do. He felt helpless. We both did.”
“You had to go back.”
“But I didn’t have to love him. You can shut someone out of your heart pretty easily.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I’d be surprised if you had a heart.”
“My Mom. I lived with her a while after Dad died, but she didn’t want a thing to do with me. I could tell she didn’t want me around. I spent all my time making her mad. I burned her clothes. Crushed her cigarettes. I killed her dog. I slit its throat in front of her. It was a cruel thing to do and I regret it. She got rid of me. The court tried to send me to live with some family. I didn’t know them. I was old enough to work. I left their house and went to work.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I deserved it for what I did to that dog. I’m not cruel. I always loved Dad better than her. He was smart. Hard-working. She,” I stopped at the thought. “She didn’t love me.” It was something I’d never said.
We crested the hill. A house was visible across a field. I could still hear the creek below. What looked like an oil lamp burned inside the house. A yellow light flickered in the window.
“We should stay clear,” Audrey said. “I don’t want to take any chances.”
I tried to agree, but was blinded by a flashlight. Audrey and I stopped to shield our eyes. The light bounced around, shaky and dim.
“Can you get a good shot?” A girl asked.
“Not really, hold the flashlight better.”
“Are they fat like the one in the barn?”
“No. They stopped.”
“Hey!” I yelled.
“I don’t think they’re dead.”
“Shut up, I know that.”
“Get the flashlight out of my face,” I shouted.
“Them guns loaded?” The boy asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
“So are ours.”
We dropped the Remington and the Winchester. The flashlights moved out of our eyes and onto the guns. A boy and a girl crawled out of a feed barrel. The girl quickly picked up the guns, a barrel in each hand, the butts dragging the ground. The boy carried something larger than a twenty-two.
“I know you got a handgun. I see it bulging in her coat.”
Hesitantly, Audrey held out the gun.
“You, too,” he aimed the rifle at me.
I held out mine, too.
“You best come back to the house,” he picked up the guns and stuffed them in his jacket.
“She best be careful with those rifles. I said they’re loaded.”
“You think I’m stupid?”
“You think my sister’s stupid?”
“I don’t know you or your sister. But the guns are loaded.”
“She’s fine,” he said. “Come on before I get bored and shoot you anyway.”
“How old are you?” Audrey asked.
The boy got behind us and whacked my splinted foot with the butt of his rifle. I dropped to the snow. “Old enough to notice him favoring his right foot. Move it.”
“Well,” Audrey said. “I’m twenty-seven. My name is Audrey and he’s Jack. His leg is hurt.”
“I know it. Walk.”
The little girl walked in front of us, leaving snake tracks with the rifles. “Georgie, you shouldn’t be so nasty. You wasn’t even supposed to leave your room tonight. Now you have to tell Daddy why you was out after curfew.”
“You do, too. So shut up, brat.”
“I’m gonna tell Daddy you was being nasty and unsportsman.”
“Shut up.”
The girl never looked at us, just dragged the rifles lazily along. “He’s ten since you asked,” she told us.
“Almost eleven,” he mumbled.
“And he’s not friendly. So he hangs out with his sister a lot. But she—that’s me—can’t hardly stand him. He’s a pain in the a-s-s.”