by M. D. Massey
“You have family in Tennessee?” I ask between bites.
Angus stops eating and glares at me. “What’s it to you?”
“Just making conversation.”
He purses his lips. “What about you, Blondie? You got family? You say you’re goin’ to California to see your daughter, but that ain’t what your papers say.”
I squeeze the beer can so tight the aluminum crinkles, echoing through the silence. Angus reading my papers hadn’t even occurred to me.
“Who’s Roger Clifton?” Angus grins like he just loves seeing me squirm.
I swallow and take a deep breath, trying to ignore my racing heart. “Roger Clifton is my father.” I hold Angus’s gaze. Just saying his name leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
“So what’s the story there? Must be interestin’ if it’s got your feathers all ruffled like that.” Angus takes another bite, grinning like a chimpanzee. A little bit of grease trails down his chin, and my stomach convulses.
“It was just an excuse to get me to California. I have no intention of seeing my father. But they wouldn’t have let me go to see my daughter. She’s not mine. Not legally.” I try to relax, I really do. But I can’t. Every muscle in my body is wound tight and all I want to do is dive across this fire and punch him in the nose for looking at me like that. So smug. So happy he’s gotten under my skin.
“Look,” I say as calmly as possible. “I don’t like to talk about my father, but I’ll tell you my story just so we can establish some trust. Just this once. After that, the subject is closed. Off limits. Understand?”
Angus gives me a mockingly sympathetic look. It makes me want to squeeze his neck until his eyeballs pop out of their sockets. My hand wraps around the can more tightly, and I pretend it’s his throat.
“My father was….not nice to me. To put it mildly.” I take a deep breath so I can get the words out. “He beat me. Often. I left the day I turned eighteen. He was passed out drunk, had just cashed his welfare check that morning. I grabbed his car keys and all his cash and walked out the door. Never looked back.”
“Why Kentucky?” Axl asks. He’s been watching me this whole time. His eyes are sympathetic, unlike his brother’s.
“I just drove until I ran out of money. Kentucky is where I ended up. I found a job at a strip club, crashed on the couch of one of the other girls for a few months, and pretended Roger Clifton didn’t exist. It worked just fine until all this started.”
Angus sits up straighter with the rabbit halfway to his mouth. He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Stripper, eh?” He gives me a big grin. “Maybe you could give us some entertainment.”
I fight back a shudder. He gives me the creeps but I don’t want to show it, so I laugh. “Maybe one night, if I get drunk enough. Not tonight, though. I’m too tired.” I try to make it as casual as possible, and from the excited gleam in Angus’s eyes, I assume he buys it. But I need to be careful with this guy. He’s the type who would take any flirting as consent.
Angus goes back to eating, and I turn away. My gaze meets Axl’s. He’s watching me closely. Eating his rabbit while his eyes study me thoughtfully. Maybe he’s the one I should be more worried about.
“We got no family,” he says. “It’s just Angus an’ me.” Angus glares at his brother, but Axl shrugs. “What? She shared. Only fair.”
“What happened to your family?”
“Mom’s dead. We got different dads—both of ‘em are MIA. It’s just been the two of us since I was seventeen.” Axl takes one last bite. He tosses the rabbit bones over his shoulder and wipes his mouth with his sleeve.
These two are exactly like the men I grew up with. Angus could almost be my father. He has the glare down pat and the same hardness in the way he carries himself. Axl, on the other hand, seems different. He’s more like one of the trailer park victims. Uneducated and blindly following in the footsteps of the men before him, never considering that there might be something better out there. That he might be better. He’s not weak and he’s not a follower, he just exists.
“How’d your mom die?”
“Does it matter?” Angus growls.
He spits into the fire and it sizzles, breaking through the silent night. A sudden shudder racks my body. It hadn’t occurred to me how eerily quiet it was before now. It’s scary how suddenly the world has changed. Terrifying.
“I’m turning in.” Angus gets to his feet. “You take the first watch, Axl. You got plenty of sleep in the car.” He turns and smiles at me. “Wanna join me? Bet we could both squeeze into one of them sleepin’ bags.”
I have to choke down a gag. “I got some sleep in the car. I’m going to hang out here for a while.” Thank God I grabbed a few blankets as I was leaving my apartment. I got lucky.
Angus grunts. “Suit yourself.”
He ducks into the tent, and I shiver. It’s a good size, but I have no desire to be in there alone with him.
“You cold?” Axl gets to his feet. “You shoulda packed warmer clothes. That ain’t the kind of stuff you wear travelin’.”
He walks over to the car and opens the back door without waiting for an answer. When he comes back, he’s carrying a flannel shirt. The quilted kind redneck men wear in the winter instead of jackets. I hate them. They remind me of my father. But the gesture is so sweet I take it anyway.
“Thanks.” I flash him a smile while I pull it on. I am cold. I didn’t realize it until now.
Axl moves his chair closer to me, then takes a seat. There’s only about two feet of space between us now.
He glances toward the tent. “Sorry Angus hit you.”
His tone is too blunt to be apologetic, but it still makes me feel good he said it.
I study him and try to figure out what he’s thinking, but his expression doesn’t give anything away. He stares into the fire, his fingers curled around the gun in his lap. He doesn’t look at me and he doesn’t say anything. He just sits there, slouched over and staring off into the distance.
“It’s not your fault.” I take a sip of my beer and wince when the liquid fills my mouth. It’s warm. I set the can on the ground.
“He ain’t that bad. Just Angus. It’s the only way he knows how to be.”
My mouth goes dry. This is the most I’ve heard him speak since they picked me up. I don’t want him to stop. Maybe if I make small talk. “So what did you do for a living? Back in Tennessee.”
“Construction. When I could get work.” He still doesn’t look away from the fire. “Shitty economy and all that. Made it tough.”
That explains the muscles.
“So you stripped? How was that?” He finally looks at me, but his face is expressionless. Just like his voice.
“Paid the bills. Got me away from my dad.” I shrug. My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. I grab the beer again. Who cares if it’s warm?
He stares into the fire like it holds the secret to life or something. “Must’ve been tough. For datin’, I mean.”
“The kind of guys I dated didn’t really care,” I say dryly. It’s an understatement, really. They were the kind of men who bragged about my job. Even brought their friends in to see me. I’ve never been married, but I bet if I were that old saying would prove to be true. I’d probably end up with a husband just like my dad. Lord knows those are the kind of guys I tend to go out with.
His stormy eyes search mine. “People should come with warnin’ labels.”
I laugh. It’s so sharp and bitter that it surprises even me. “No kidding. What about you? You have a girlfriend, ever been married?”
He guffaws. “Hell no. I’m only twenty-two. I ain’t gettin’ tied down to no woman at this age. Maybe later. Maybe…” He grins, and I relax a little. Finally he’s loosened up. “What ‘bout you? You been married?”
“I’m too damaged.” The firelight flickers off his face. It makes him appear more vulnerable, more his age.
He lets out a small sound, somewhere between a grunt and a sigh, and turns back to the f
ire. “We’re all damaged. Even them people livin’ in them fancy houses out there in Hollywood. Maybe they don’t show it as much because they got money, but they got baggage. Same as you an’ me.”
I shake my head, but he doesn’t look over at me. “I’ve known plenty of people who weren’t damaged.”
He takes his eyes off the fire and purses his lips, studying me. “Like them men that came to see you dance?” There’s something strange in his tone. Disgust, bitterness. Something else I can’t quite place.
“Like you’ve never been to a strip club?” I roll my eyes but don’t look away from him.
“Never said I hadn’t. But I’m as damaged as they come, never pretended to be nothin’ else.”
“What makes you so damaged?” He still hasn’t told me what happened to his mom.
“My story ain’t nothin’ new.” His hand clenches the gun in his lap a little tighter and he purses his lips, making him suddenly look more like Angus. “Dad left when I was a baby. I grew up in a trailer park, and my mom was a drunk. She spent her time either neglectin’ me or smackin’ me around. Nothin’ that really gets a whole lotta sympathy these days.”
“You want sympathy? Doesn’t really seem like your style.”
His eyes grow hard. Darker than before. Like the clouds that fill the sky right before a tornado hits. “Hell yeah, I want sympathy. My mom didn’t pass me off to strangers and I wasn’t locked in a closet to starve, but I been through plenty. I deserve it. I can’t tell you how many times I had to make my own dinner, how many times I had to walk home from school in pourin’ rain ‘cause my mom was too wasted to remember she had a son. I’ve been bruised and neglected, and I deserve to have that acknowledged. Never got it, though. Social workers came, took me away for a few days, only to send me home soon as mom sobered up enough to show up at the office. My situation wasn’t bad enough to warrant help.” He glances over toward the tent. “Angus looked out for me, when he could. He was in juvie a lot, but when he was home he taught me how to be tough.”
My stomach twists into knots, and a sour taste fills my mouth. It’s a sad life if that’s the only role model you have.
“I think your situation is worth sympathy,” I whisper.
His eyes soften. A small smile tugs at his lips. “That says a lot, comin’ from you.”
I sit up straighter. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He tilts his head to the side and purses his lips again as his eyes pierce mine. I squirm. It’s like he’s reading my mind. Like he knows all my secrets.
“You got a little experience when it comes to baggage. If you’re willin’ to give me sympathy, that’s somethin’ at least.”
He’s smarter than he gives himself credit for.
My throat tightens. I swallow and jump to my feet. Talking about myself isn’t something I usually do. “I’m going to get some sleep.”
The idea of climbing into that tent with Angus is less than thrilling, but right now it seems better than sitting here with Axl.
4
When I open my eyes it’s still dark, but I’m alone in the tent. I’m still wearing Axl’s flannel shirt. It smells like the outdoors. The brothers’ muted voices drift through the canvas walls. That must have been what woke me. I pull out my cell phone and push a button so the screen lights up. It’s only a little after four in the morning. Did Axl get any sleep?
I crawl out from under the blankets and pull my shoes on. Axl was right. I didn’t dress for travel. All I have are silly shoes like these: three inch wedge heels with open toes. Cute, but totally impractical.
“Mornin’ sunshine,” Angus says when I crawl out of the tent.
They’re sitting around the campfire chatting. That’s it.
“Why are you up already?” I yawn as I drop into the camp chair next to Axl. “Did you get any sleep?”
“Some.” He shrugs like sleep doesn’t matter. “I don’t sleep much.”
I wonder why.
“You get enough?” His tone is still blunt, but there’s a softness to it that wasn’t there yesterday. Like having me around doesn’t piss him off anymore. Good. Maybe we can be civil toward each other from here on out.
Angus looks back and forth between us, and his eyes narrow. “You two get a little too friendly last night after I turned in?”
Seriously? Axl’s nice to me and Angus immediately assumes it’s because we had sex. Right. Like I’d ever be into Axl. He’s everything I’ve been trying to run away from. Well, not everything. It’s not like he’s Angus or anything, and he’s good-looking, I guess. But still, I’m not going to sleep with the guy!
The longer I think about it the hotter my face gets. Angus is an ass.
I open my mouth so I can tell him to go to hell, but Axl beats me to it. “Shut up, Angus,” he says.
“Don’t tell me to shut up, you little prick. I got the right to know if you’re screwin’ her. I ain’t gonna have you ditchin’ me for some two-bit floozy just ‘cause she was willin’ to open her legs for you.”
My whole body is hot now. I jump to my feet. “Back off, Angus. I didn’t screw your brother and I have no intention to. Just like I have no intention of screwing you!”
Axl flinches. Why? Did I hurt his feelings? I didn’t mean to, but I’m not going to let Angus cause problems where there aren’t any.
That little vein on Angus’s forehead pulsates. He and I stare at each other. The longer I hold his gaze, the bigger his vein gets.
Just when I think Angus is going to explode, Axl bolts from his chair. “Shhh! Did you hear that?”
My heart leaps to my throat. I clamp my mouth shut. What am I supposed to be listening to? Axl clutches his gun tighter and my heart—still lodged in my throat—pounds harder. Then I hear it. Footsteps. Definitely human.
“Who’s there?” Angus pulls his gun from the waistband of his pants.
None of us move. My hands clench and I bury my nails in my palms. If only I had my gun.
“Don’t shoot!” a quiet male voice calls. His voice shakes.
All three of us turn toward the sound. It only takes a few seconds before I make out the figure of a man walking toward us.
“Put your hands in the air and approach real slow!” Angus raises his gun.
Axl raises his too. He’s tense, but calm. Whereas every visible muscle in his brother’s body stretches tight. Angus looks like he’s ready to explode.
“Okay. Just don’t shoot.”
The man steps forward with his arms raised high. He’s tall and thin, lanky. It’s hard to tell if he’s a kid or a man. He has brown hair and a plain face. Forgettable. He’s the kind of guy you’d see huddled over a desk at the library on the weekends with dozens of books piled around him.
The firelight glistens off the beads of sweat on his forehead. Why’s he sweating? It isn’t hot, so he’s either very nervous or he’s sick. The urge to run is so strong my legs twitch. I take tiny step back. As if a few more inches of space between us will somehow save me from the virus if he is infected. Right. A slightly hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat, but I swallow it down. It almost chokes me. He can’t be sick. He can’t. Other than the sweat he looks fine. He isn’t coughing or hunched over like he’s weak.
The guy’s eyes dart back and forth between the brothers. His hands shake. It makes me nervous. “I’m clean. I swear. Don’t shoot me!” he says.
Not sure if I trust him. People aren’t trustworthy. My life is proof of that.
“You got travel papers?” Axl demands.
The guy nods so fast he reminds me of a bobble head. “I do. I’ll get them. Just don’t shoot.”
“Shut up!” Angus growls.
The man slams his mouth shut and slowly reaches into his back pocket. I tense, half expecting a weapon. But it’s a piece of paper, just like he said.
“Here.” He holds it toward the brothers with a shaky hand.
Axl steps forward and jerks it out of his hand. He unfolds it.
�
��They’re real ‘nough.” He glances back toward the guy. “Where’s your car, Joshua?”
Joshua shakes his head, and a bead of sweat runs down the side of his face. He swipes his hand over his forehead, wiping his brow. His eyes are huge. He’s still shaking, but now that I’ve had a second to look him over, I don’t think he’s sick. He’s so scared of the guns he’s about to pee his pants. “I ran out of gas. There was no one to help. I’ve been walking since this morning and no one stopped.”
“Where’s he goin’?” Angus asks. He hasn’t lowered his gun.
“Says Arizona.” Axl gives the papers back to Joshua and looks at his brother. “Put the gun down. You think this kid’s gonna overpower us?”
Angus grunts, but lowers his gun.
“Now what?” Axl asks his brother.
He’s not infected. Turning him away seems like a shitty thing to do. “We could give him a ride,” I say.
The brothers both look at me like I’m insane.
“You gonna volunteer our car like it belongs to you?” Axl says. All the softness from a few minutes ago has disappeared, like a puff of smoke on a windy day. Poof. “Angus an’ me’ll decide what we’re gonna do with this guy.”
Guess I’m back on the outs.
Axl shakes his head like I’m the dumbest person he’s ever dealt with. It stings, but I shrug so he doesn’t know. “Just an idea. Doesn’t hurt my feelings.”
He spits, which hurts even more. What did I do to piss him off so fast? Angus grins at me, of course. He’s just loving how quickly Axl’s soft side—what little there is of it—disappeared.
Our little spat doesn’t affect Joshua, who suddenly looks like we just offered to give him the answers to the universe. “If you give me a ride, I can pay you.”
“Is that right?” Angus says.
Angus must be dumber than he looks. What’s he going to do with money if this really is the end of society as we know it?