by A. R. Braun
My wife was a hippie, one of those annoying modern-day pacifists that make most people want to shit bricks. But with her slim, tanned legs; firm breasts—not too large and not too small ‘cause more than a mouthful’s too much—plus her apple butt and tight vagina; who the hell could resist her? I was into Megadeth’s new album, Super Collider, and had gotten religion to a certain extent, performing every instrument but the drums in a thrash-metal studio project called Harbinger of Doom. I hired a session drummer. Never one to be a fanatic, I still liked to have fun, but yelled about morals in my compositions.
She thought the first Christian-rock band was named Spooky Tooth, hence my fucking nickname till I die. The Crusaders and Mind Garage were first, unless one wanted to get anally specific and say Elvis Presley did it first. Spooky Tooth wasn’t even a Christian band; they’d written “Better By You, Better Than Me,” the song Judas Priest later covered that some thought was the reason a couple of children committed suicide. But you couldn’t tell Hayley that. Like many women, she was a know-it-all.
I reached behind me and pulled her hands around my waist. “We’re going to survive—if we’re lucky.”
She frowned and looked deeper into the glass, as if an answer lurked there. “What do you mean, ‘if we’re lucky’?”
Maddening, how Hayley always repeated my words. “There are people out there carrying hardware way more powerful than my Glock. God knows what they’ll do.”
Her countenance fell as she released me. “Let’s take my Chevy then.”
I wheeled on her. “Where are we going to get gas? Who’s got money with the banks closed?”
She started to cry, breaking my heart. That’s all I needed right now. Hayley held me. “Spook, I’m scared.”
I hugged her, rubbing her warm, quivering back with one hand and stroking her enchanting-smelling hair with the other. She wasn’t the only one shaking.
The only coward, in my opinion, was the one who didn’t face his fears.
“Me, too, baby,” I returned. “Me, too.”
***
Right before we got to the door, Hayley chickened out and started screaming about getting eaten by wolves or coyotes. Then the lights went out. That decided her.
We had one of the few shacks in Gooney Hill with a generator. But where would anyone get gas now?
We walked out onto the porch with our suitcases. I was huffing while I moved through the front yard of dead grass, and all our neighbors came out of their shacks at once. I dropped my suitcases and lit a cigarette.
Hayley put her luggage down and crossed her arms. “I thought you quit.”
“I did, until today.” I threw my bangs out of my eyes again. “Like it matters anymore.”
She grabbed my arms and cried, “Please, let’s take my car—at least until we can’t get gas.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, calm down and let me finish my cigarette! I need to stop and think for a minute!”
To our left, a group of muscleheads with very short hair were exiting a huge, blue pickup, almost a monster truck. Another group of rednecks with bandanas and shirts with the confederate flag on them whispered words I couldn’t hear while they stared my honey down.
I threw my cigarette in the gravel driveway and red sparks erupted. Then I grabbed my suitcases. “The Chevy it fucking is.”
***
My wife drove as she bit her nails. It’s a wonder she had anything left. I puffed cigarette after cigarette, blowing smoke out the cracked window. My bangs weren’t in my eyes anymore. They flew from my forehead like our hope. Neither of us spoke for a half-hour, but I knew the woman would break the silence. Either that or the universe had shifted out of balance.
“I’m so scared I think I’m gonna blow a gasket.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I wish you’d close that goddamned window.”
I looked over at her. Her silly tie-dye shirt, green corduroys, and ice cream swirl socks—with pink, green, and white stripes—were getting on my nerves, along with her anxiety. I turned back to the window and blew more smoke out, coughing like a curmudgeon. I also counted to ten. “Hayley, it’s not going to help to panic. We’re both scared, but let’s try to have some balls, huh? Um, mayonnaise, I mean.”
She shot me an attentive look. “Can I play my Phish CD?”
I slapped the dash. “No!”
“You’re nuts. They went to Julliard.”
I laughed. “Then Julliard taught them to suck.”
“I put up with your acid rock!”
“Just drive,” I growled, going death metal on her temporarily.
“Shit.”
I was looking at my high-tops, noticing—absurdly!—that I needed new shoes. I’d stopped paying attention to her, but she got through, barely. I thought she was bitching at me . . . until I looked up.
A wreck loomed before us. A crowd of bad-ass mofos crowded the street, their gigantic crushed trucks blocking the way. They were gawking at my wife and whispering to each other. Not good.
I slapped the glove compartment. “Great. Shit, shit, shit!”
Hayley stuck her hands out. “What do we do now?”
“I’ll handle this.” I hopped out of the Chevy, gripping the Glock that sat in my pocket of my baggy shorts. I walked over to them cavalierly.
Eyes goggled, Hayley opened her car door. “Spooky Tooth, don’t get hurt!”
I pointed at her. “Get in the car!”
The men laughed. “Spooky Tooth,” a mammoth of a man with short hair said. His bulky build was stuffed into a dirty pair of dark-brown jeans and a similarly colored shirt. The other men busted a gut.
“Get ‘er done,” a hulking man added. He had hair to his collar and a bushy beard. He wore overalls and a cap bearing the name of a seed company.
Great—country pieces of shit. Of course, I’d lived in the country, but had never been cornpone. I couldn’t help being born in Gooney Hill.
I stood before them, determined not to show them fear, my feet spread apart and my arms crossed. “We need to get through.”
A man with a shaven head and a plaid shirt with the sleeves cut off approached me, stopping just short of my nose. “We want that cute little woman you got.” They laughed again.
I sighed, shaking my head and slightly turning to the right so they couldn’t see me grab the Glock. I whipped it out and started shooting, not finishing till I’d taken them all down. Blood gushed, covering my shoes. Now I really needed new clodhoppers. The bumpkins had made hard thuds as they’d fallen, some of them shot in the heart or the eye. Others lay groaning, still alive. I’d caught them in the stomach, the cheek, or the mouth. Bloody teeth glistened on the asphalt, along with steaming gray matter. Crimson pooled onto the road. Soon it would boil. A fierce wind shoved the sickening coppery scent of death into my face, and I gagged.
Hayley jumped out of the car. “Oh my God, what did you do that for?”
I hurried to the vehicle, not wanting to wait around until one of them pulled out a pistol, if any of them were still alive. “They wanted to rape you. Change of plans—I’m driving. Ride shotgun, honey.”
She shook her head and gave me that are you out of your mind look women did so well. “You’re not driving my car! You don’t even have a license!” She looked at my shoes. “And you’re getting blood all over my floor.”
I gingerly moved her over to the passenger side. “Like that matters now.”
Hayley blanched. “O-okay.”
I got in and gave the gas pedal a few stomps, the car in neutral.
She slammed her door and touched my shoulder. “What are you doing?” she yelled.
“Didn’t you hear? I’m gettin’ ‘er done.” I was smirking as I looked in the rear-view mirror. “Hold on.”
She fell back in her seat, smacking her back against it. “Oh, shit.”
I laughed as I gunned it, deciding to go through a couple of trucks.
“Don’t ruin my Chevy,” Hayley cried.
I ignored her a
nd braced myself. Inhaling the strong gas fumes, I bashed through a couple trucks—built Ford tough, my ass—ruining her machine’s precious front end.
She punched me on the arm. “Asshole. You ruined my car.”
I gritted my teeth. “I told you, we’ll have to abandon it anyway. The banks are down, so no gas, remember?”
Hayley put her face in her hands and wept.
“Oh, God.” I rubbed her back. “It’s going to be all right, Hay’. It’s just survival.”
She cried for a half-hour. As for me, I’d never killed anyone before, so I was in shell shock. I tried as hard as I could to tell myself those pieces of shit that drove pieces of shit deserved it, that they were going to rape my woman. It didn’t help. I felt like a lunatic and despaired of life. It wasn’t long before I pulled over and puked, staining the road with yellow gunk. Hayley leaned out of her window and joined in.
***
An hour later, I spotted a convenience station on the side of the road in the boondocks. I slowed to a crawl. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m hungry. What about you, babe?”
Hayley shook her head.
I pulled in, noticing a couple other parked cars. “Come on, you’ve gotta eat.”
“Whatever.” She looked straight ahead.
I’d heard that people feared you after you killed somebody. If that was true, I had a different presence. She kept surreptitiously glancing at my crimson-caked shoes.
Hayley said, “Just don’t shoot me.”
I parked in a space where I would be able to see her from the store, then ran my fingers through her hair. She flinched. “Now Hay’, you know I’d never hurt you. I was protecting you.”
She sniffed and nodded. “I guess.” Her eyes finally met mine—hers so blue and like an ocean of beauty. “Should I call you Spooky Gun now?”
I chuckled. “Wait here and keep the doors locked.”
She gave me a quick kiss and then stared at me. “I love you.”
“I love you too, babe.” I got out of the car, careful to lock it, but Hayley beat me to the punch. The bell rang as I walked in, surprised the door wasn’t locked. I was also shocked the lights were on, unlike in our long-lost apartment. The owner probably had a genny, gassed up because the service station still had plenty of go juice. I noticed a blond, middle-aged woman filling up a tote basket chock-full of supplies. Lines scored her face like scars. That’s Hayley in ten years. A long-haired guy with a beard was doing the same thing with a cart. I looked in the cashier’s direction. An angry-looking young man with military-regulation hair stood with his hands grasping something under the counter. Gee, I wonder what.
I swiped a tote basket and filled it with food and personal items I knew we both needed, not looking at the customers but checking on my woman in case anyone got the bright idea to kick in the car window and steal her. No one lurked in the parking lot.
Then I heard something bash into the front door as if someone had thrown a Coke machine at it. I looked up. The long-hair had pushed through the door with the cart and was making a run for it.
The clerk, carrying a shotgun, jumped the counter. He followed him out the door and shot the long-hair in the back. Blood leaked out like catsup until it touched the seat of his pants. He stiffened and then fell back, still gripping the cart, which toppled on top of him as he landed on his ruined back. Blood pooled out from underneath him.
My mind swam. How many people can get dropped to the concrete in one day? The other woman let go of her tote bag and shrieked. She ran behind the counter and out the back.
The clerk cussed like a truck driver as he set the felled items back into the cart after he’d placed it upright. He didn’t seem to care one whit about the man sputtering and dying on the ground. Hayley had her face in her hands.
The clerk shoved the cart back into the store, fuming as he replaced the items. “That piece of shit! Like this crap is free!”
I glanced downward at my tote basket, thinking this stuff wasn’t going out to the car. Hayley’s tampons sat on the top of the pile like a crown. When I looked up at him, he was glowering at me.
“You gonna pay for that?” he yelled.
Fuck me running. “Man, you know the banks are down, right?”
He pointed the shotgun at me. “Yesterday, a couple of punks shot my boss. She was a gorgeous red-haired woman about to turn thirty. You believe that shit?”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
He pumped the action on the shotgun. “Well, you’re about to be sorrier if you think you’re walkin’ out without payin.’ ”
Sighing, I put down the tote. “Sir, I’m not gonna try to run off with your stuff, but I don’t have any money.”
He pointed to the basket with his gun. “Then you leave that.”
I didn’t want to argue with a man probably holding a hollow-point shell with my name on it, but why didn’t this guy understand? Denial? No matter. I wasn’t going anywhere with the payload.
My heart sank as he pointed to the Chevy. “You can have it if you leave her. Won’t replace my boss, but she’ll help.”
I trembled when he spoke of Hayley that way. “That’s my wife.”
His dead-eyed stare told me he didn’t care.
“Tell you what,” I added, “she’s probably got cash in her purse. I’ll go get the money and leave the tote basket here. Then I’ll pay you and we’ll be straight, all right?”
He moved closer and scowled at me. I noticed a pungent stench and beard stubble, wondering when the last time he’d showered and shaved was. Perhaps the power was off in his apartment, too. “No. I need a new woman. You say money don’t matter anymore. Neither does the law.”
I’d put my hand in my pocket as soon as I’d heard “No.” I kicked the shotgun away from me and unloaded the Glock Nine on him, hitting him in the leg and in the gut.
Still holding the shotgun, he cried out and went down on his back, but reared-up to fire. I dove, rolling till I was behind an ice-cream case. Groaning, he fired and blasted the cooler a couple of times, blowing off the plastic lid and opening a hole in a bunch of ice-cream candy bars. I peeked out and fired back, but didn’t hit anything but the counter and the computerized cash register. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
He kept filling the cooler with lead. It would’ve been better if he’d fired to the opposite wall, hoping for a ricochet, but apparently, he wasn’t thinking clearly. I wasn’t sure he was thinking at all. Then he sat up and blasted the cooler again. I felt it buck again as ice cream flew out and splashed on the floor. I peeked out and saw him reloading. My chance had come.
I leaned out, ready to shoot, but had to hold my fire because Hayley was already there, bashing him over the head with the bottom end of a gumball machine.
Goodnight, Gracie.
Gasping and breathing hard, she dropped the device, which thundered onto the floor. Hayley walked backward and bumped up against the counter, holding onto it with shaking hands. “Oh my G—” She took a few deep breaths. “Did I kill him?” she asked in a panicky, schoolgirl-like voice.
I jumped up, reloading the Glock. I shoved it into my pocket. The boxes of shells were in my other pocket along with my empty pack of smokes. “No, you just knocked him out. Good job. We have to hurry. Grab a couple cartons of cigarettes.” I ran, snatching my tote bag and slowing to step over the man gone bye-bye. I picked up the basket the woman dropped. “Hayley, move!”
Shaking like a woman surrounded by zombies, she did so.
“Fuck it.” I dumped the two tote bags in the mostly full basket and pushed it outside as the long-hair I steered around had endeavored to do. Hayley was out the door before I was, and she took the driver’s seat.
“Open the trunk,” I cried.
When the trunk popped, I upended the basket into the space, sighing because a couple broken bottles of chocolate soda now fizzed on the floor. There was room because we’d stuffed the suitcases in the back seat. I slammed the trunk and ran around to the passen
ger side.
A monster of a red pickup rolled in.
I looked at Hayley, who again bored me with her tears. “Gun it, girl! Get us the fuck out of here!”
The pickup pulled in right behind us.
“Fuckety-fuckety-fuck!” I slid over, helping Hayley drive.
She scrunched up against the door as I cranked the wheel and stepped on the gas. Thank goodness no one was in the parking space to our right. The wheels screeched as I tore out, the truck pulling a hard right to try to bash into me, but I was too quick. As I sped backward, it backed in front of me. I didn’t hit the brake and put the gear in drive till the back of Hayley’s car nudged the trees. Then I made a sharp left. No one was on the highway, so I tore onto it and pushed the pedal down. Apparently, the men in the truck were too hungry to give chase, for they didn’t pursue us . . . but they did shoot out Hayley’s back window and taillights with rapid-fire precision. We screamed when the window exploded into a shattered mess.
Another near miss; we’re not goddamn cats—how many lives can we use up?
***
I tore into a carton of cigarettes that she’d set in the junk holder. Hayley was pushing the Chevy for all it was worth.
“Fucking menthols?” I asked.
She looked me over with her eyebrows raised. “Sorry.”
I lit one. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll be a nice change. Who cares if I crystallize my lungs now?”
She put her eyes back on the road. The air-conditioning never worked in her bucket of bolts, and I had the window rolled all the way down. Hayley didn’t even have hers cracked. I swear, the woman didn’t sweat, but I’d been with her for four years, and she farted, let me tell you—queefed, too. I pulled on the relief of the bitter smoke that tasted minty fresh like a goddamn forest leaf.
She squeezed my shoulder, then ran her fingers through my hair. “Spooky Tooth?”
My heart melted as I blew smoke out of my nose. “Yes, luscious?”
“Where are we going?” She pulled up to a T-intersection as she hit the steering wheel over and over. “Just fucking where?”
I took her free hand and kissed it. “Honey, sweetie, light of my life, please calm down. You’re only gonna make it worse.”