“Jobless, toothless, hairless, you’d still love me. Even if you treated me like that homeless guy, then that alone would be enough to keep me happy for the rest of my life.”
In the here and now, though, Annie’s heart felt out of place in her chest.
She wanted one more night like their wedding, another night like their first “parent date” at the Thai restaurant. Annie wanted all of that back, to feel those moments once again. Memories alone would not be enough, not with everything that was happening.
She pushed forward on the throttle, averting her eyes away from the sign, focusing on the other businesses’ signs a bit further down the road (a Toyota dealership, a veterinary clinic, and a used furniture store called Mac’s), directing herself towards that fantasy of returning to the good times.
The best part about seeing that blue and green sign—scripted fancily with the words DREAMS OF BANGKOK—was that it represented a marker that she was desperate to see. She was going in the right direction, no doubt about it. Even better than that, she was less than a mile from home now.
This is the time, Annie. This is the stopping point. This is where you pull off the road and face those bastards, one on one.
She couldn’t help but stare at the sign, wishing for a bowl of spicy coconut soup, fantasizing that things would be okay with Christian again, that he would reach across the table, grab her hand, and squeeze it so tight that it hurt. She wanted him back. The way things used to be, before everything had gone to hell.
That won’t happen if you don’t face what’s coming.
“Shut your mouth,” she said, unsure of who she was actually talking to. She was going crazy and it was easy enough to blame the storm.
Face the music, Annie. Face it!
The motor halted, releasing oily fumes into the air as the skids on the bottom of the snowmobile slushed through a frosty bank of snow.
“No. No.”
You don’t have much time. Face them or you’ll never face anybody ever again.
Annie tried to turn the engine back on, but it refused.
That isn’t going to work. You’re out of gas, dumbbell.
She cursed beneath her breath, lifting her leg over the seat. She leaned in closer to the gas gauge to find that it was true. Her inner voice wasn’t just blowing smoke up her ass. It had some salient points.
Annie was out of gas.
And in the distance, the hum of two engines slowly came into earshot.
The Shiny Bald One and The Yeti were coming to eat her.
Annie decided that she wouldn’t let them.
Chapter Four
It looked pretty convincing—not the most craftily formulated deception she’d ever created (likethosetimesyoufuckedTonyyouslut), but it might work.
She didn’t have much time to spare, moving frantically between sobs of fear that they would be coming around the bend at any moment. Something frenetic was rising in her chest… something she couldn’t get a grip on.
Her snowcrow (as she decided it would forever be called, whether it saved her ass or not) was composed of her jacket, zipped and stuffed with a burly block of snow. It was hunched over the handles of the snowmobile. From a distance, it could have easily been a woman to any onlooker. It would be more obvious to the approaching marauders that she wasn’t reacting to the sound of their approach. They didn’t come off as the brightest pair of dunces, but surely, they wouldn’t fall for an immobile snowcrow. By the time they realized that it wasn’t her, she’d have to take her first shot at them. She only had four bullets left, so they’d have to be true and straight.
Annie couldn’t help but recall the old “trickster” tales that the slaves used—their way of undermining their white superiors, in telling tales that would sink deep into the conscience, fueling eventual rebellion. Or at the very least, it might break their power in a way that felt good enough to allow the slave a warm night’s sleep. Here she was, trying to play the role of trickster, no different than the Tar Baby and the Br’er Rabbit, hoping to catch a couple of nasty monsters.
She couldn’t see The Shiny Bald One’s face, but she could feel electricity in the air, preceding him on his path to destroy her. He was on his way.
With a huff of cold air, she planted her knees in the snow, clutching herself tight to repel the cold. The nearly useless sun was just beginning its descent. The world was covered in shadows from the trees on either side of what was once a major thoroughfare.
Annie steadied herself, staring at the darkening horizon.
Something inside of her told her to act just like the ice, to be like the snow, to emulate the whole damn world. It was the only way she’d survive—through pure coldness.
The copse of trees sheltered her, providing a clear line of sight to her snowmobile. The moment they stopped, she’d unload on them. Any hesitation and she’d be dead, same for if she jumped the gun. Timing, more so than ever before, was the essence of her survival.
A buzz filled her ears as the snowmobiles came closer, side by side, scooting along the surface of the snow, fighting to avoid what she now called “The Sink.” Annie had less of a problem with the sinking, mostly due to her light-as-a-feather frame and she considered that it may have saved her on this occasion, giving her enough of a leg up in the race so that she could prepare herself.
“Come on, you bastards,” she said, eyeing the horizon as the two tiny dots became bigger, now about the size of a nickel, and then about the size of a quarter, and then they stopped. They turned their engines off, almost in unison.
This was it.
Any moment they would figure out that huddled mass on the seat was a snowcrow; a dummy to attract a couple of even bigger dummies. Annie smiled as she honed the revolver on the pair. She squinted one eye tightly, aligning the notches at the opposing ends of the barrel, breathing in slowly in an attempt to keep her hands steady.
Her hands, gripped tight to the weapon, wouldn’t stay still, like she had drank several cups of coffee. No, no, no, that sickly voice, refusing to go the hell away, said inside of her head. You’re scared shitless because this might be the last moment of your life if you miss them.
The Shiny Bald One and The Yeti trudged away from their transports, calling out, “Get off that thing before we mow ya’ down.” They both held weapons in their hands, ready to react if she took off again, but it was too far away for Annie to be sure. She wasn’t exactly an aficionado on modern weaponry, but Shiny had a shotgun and she was pretty certain that Yeti was carrying something smaller, like a police officer’s service weapon. One thing she could see for certain was that Yeti didn’t look as comfortable with the weapon as his partner in crime.
Get Shiny. Get Shiny because the other one isn’t nearly as crazed. He’s just going along for the ride. Yes, he raped you just the same, but that is pack-animal behavior. He might be the biggest in size, but he’s the smallest in power. Kill the leader. They were always trying to assassinate Hitler. Know why? Not because of scope, but because of influence. Because of the meaning in the effort. Because a bit of crazy makes everybody else around them crazy.
Narrowing her focus on The Shiny Bald One (who looked less shiny than ever, more bleak and gray in the stormy clouds and flutters of snow), Annie pulled the trigger.