Throwaway

by Heather Huffman

  Out-of-body experiences were becoming strangely normal for Jessie these days. That’s how it seemed as she and Spence were loaded onto a 20-foot boat and lined up along the railing. Jessie didn’t begrudge Vance for standing with their captors. He’d never made any bones about his intention to stay alive at any cost. He certainly hadn’t asked for any of this.

  There was no sun to sink in the horizon, but gray skies turned to black signaling the arrival of night. Jessie closed her eyes, focusing on the wind and the stinging rain pelting her face. If this was to be her last sensation, she wanted to experience it fully.

  She knew the Mississippi would ravage their bodies and if they should turn up, they’d become a message to anyone else who might want to go against Aleksander.

  “I’m not mad at you anymore,” Spence interrupted her thoughts.

  “You’re not mad at me?” Jessie’s eyes flew open. “Really? Because if I remember correctly, you’re the one that got involved with these people first. Everything that’s happened since then points straight back to your initial decision.”

  “Truce?” he suggested with an odd little smile.

  Jessie couldn’t help half a smile of her own. She took a breath to tell him she accepted his truce when the sound of gunfire exploded in her ear. A shocked expression was forever etched on Spence’s face as he fell backwards over the railing.

  Just like that, he was gone. Jessie didn’t have time to process the picture of the mighty Mississippi gobbling up the offering. She blinked once, took a deep breath, and dove in just as the second shot rang out.

  She thought she heard Vance shout, but the boat, the rain and the sound of several tons of dirt being carried downstream all resounded in her ears. Were those more shots?

  There was so much dirt in the big brown water; she could taste the metallic grit. The boat didn’t even slow down. She allowed herself a split second to catch her bearings; the river clawed at her legs, pulling her towards its hidden secrets.

  Her earlier apathy disappeared as a voice somewhere inside of her shouted “swim.” She obeyed.

  Using every one of her carefully honed muscles, she began to fight the river. She was disoriented and exhausted, but she continued to slice through the rapidly moving current. All of her life she’d heard warnings about this Mississippi—those who went in didn’t come out—she now ruthlessly shoved the memories of those warnings aside.

  She did not know how long she swam. Her sole focus was propelling herself towards the shoreline she knew would be there. Fears of man-sized alligator gar lurking below with their wicked teeth toyed with her. Did they eat flesh? She couldn’t remember. She did remember seeing one in a tank once and that was enough to urge her onward.

  The constant tug of the current wore at her. Some time after her muscles began screaming in protest, they went a fuzzy kind of numb. When at last she crawled up on a muddy riverbank, she was too exhausted to worry about things like water moccasin holes. She did not know where she was, but it was solid ground and for the moment that would have to be good enough.

  It was dark—dark enough she knew she was still a ways off from the city. For the first time in her life, she was alone in the woods, undoubtedly in one of several parks that dotted the riverfront north of St. Louis. Tremors wracked her body as she trembled from the exertion and the cold. She wedged herself in between a grove of trees to block the wind and allowed the darkness to overcome her.

  She awoke disoriented and unable to focus on much beyond how incredibly tired her body was. Light filtered through the trees. Somewhere in the distance she could hear a family bickering. The mother thought they were lost. The father swore they were not. A teenager bemoaned the idiocy of her parents. A younger child apparently picked some poison ivy as a souvenir. The clichéd scene made Jessie smile. Then it made her wonder if she was lying in poison ivy.

  Once she ascertained that she was not in a bed of itch-inducing plants, she leaned against the tree and closed her eyes. She knew she needed to get to the Plymouth, but the question was how. It was on the south side of the city and she was pretty far north. She was also covered in Mississippi grime without a penny to her name.

  It was hard deciding much; with her eyes closed, visions of Spence’s demise plagued her. Her eyes flew back open, brimming with tears. Had she and Gabe done that to him or had he done it to himself? Did she have blood on her hands?

  But the girl was free. A lot of girls were free now. That had to count for something. She wished Gabe were there. Had he known about the raid and left her to face it alone? She didn’t think so.

  But now was not the time to sit and wonder about things that were really neither here nor there. Now, she had to figure out how to get to an address in Affton on the south side of St. Louis.

  With that goal fixed in her mind, she stood and brushed herself off before realizing with a wry smile that the effort was futile. She fought the underbrush until she stumbled onto a path, eliciting a startled scream from the mother of the bickering family.

  “Sorry folks,” Jessie held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Are you alright?” the man studied her with a frown.

  “Fine, thank you,” Jessie tried to smile reassuringly.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “What are you doing out here?” she tossed back.

  “Communing with God,” the teenager answered with a derisive sneer directed at her mother.

  “Sounds fun… I guess you could say I was out here for a baptism,” Jessie responded. She certainly was dead to her old life. The analogy amused her.

  “A baptism? In the Mississippi?”

  “Sure. Rebirth can happen all kinds of crazy ways, right?”

  “Right,” the mother spoke for the first time, an odd expression on her face. “Do you need a ride somewhere?”

  “Carey,” the husband looked at her in shock. “We have to be at my parents’ soon.”

  “No worries—I wouldn’t want to dirty your car anyway.”

  “No, I want to give you a ride… please?” the mother insisted. Jessie wondered what caused the sudden sense of camaraderie between herself and this woman.

  “I need to get south of the city,” she hesitantly conceded—it did solve a problem for her. “Anywhere south of River Des Peres would be amazing.”

  The husband opened his mouth to protest but was silenced by a glare from his wife who told her they’d be delighted. Jessie couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like the woman followed up by asking her husband under her breath if he listened to the sermons he preached.

  She didn’t like putting them out, but her options were rather limited at the moment. Together they found their way out of the woods and back to the family’s green Honda Pilot. Jessie sat in the back with the kids, who stared at her as if she were an alien.

  “Why are you so dirty?” the boy asked.

  “Don’t you ever play in the mud?”

  “Mom wouldn’t like it,” he sighed mournfully.

  “One day you’ll be grown and then you can play in the mud, too.”

  “Cool.”

  “Really?” the teenage girl did not look amused.

  “Where should we drop you off?” their father interrupted.

  “Anywhere is fine. I really can’t thank you enough.”

  “Seriously, where do you need to go?”

  “Affton. Gravois Road… but you don’t have to go that far, really.”

  “It’s no big deal,” this time it was the husband assuring her. Whatever the wife said must have hit home.

  It was an awkward ride, but she couldn’t complain. They dropped her off in a Dairy Queen parking lot at the corner of Gravois and Mackenzie. She waved goodbye to the family in the green Honda Pilot, gave the Dairy Queen a longing look, and started walking. Crossing Gravois was the hardest part. Once she made it to the other side alive, she was pleased to realize how close to the address she was.

  The Public St
orage facility was tucked back from the road. She entered the 5-digit code at the gate and it slowly lifted. Her guess about the odd ZIP code had been right. The first building of storage sheds she found were labeled A. She kept walking towards the back of the lot, passing two other buildings before she came to a set of carports labeled D. And there in lot number 35 was the Plymouth.

  To Jessie, the big car was a welcome friend. As she slid behind the wheel for the first time, the weight of the past 24-hours crashed over her. Images of Spence, the look on his face. The blood. And then he was gone. Her shoulder throbbed and she realized with a start that a bullet had nicked her. How had she missed that?

  Tears came then. Her entire body trembled with sorrow and shock. She allowed herself the luxury of tears for a moment, then pulled herself together and put the key in the ignition. The big engine roared to life; there was something very assuring in its deep, rumbling growl.

  She needed to keep moving away from St. Louis; that much was certain. Fortunately, she had an entire tank of gas before she had to worry about where the next tank would come from.

  She drove in silence, with nothing but Gabe’s lingering scent to keep her company. She didn’t mind so much. Her mind needed time to process.

  Without any real clue where she should go, Jessie realized she’d made her way to Highway 44 west—the road she’d taken with Gabe. Before her, rolling hills that had been vibrant green just weeks ago were now muted in tone, as if they were taking a deep breath before bursting into the song of fall. Though she’d never seen it, she was certain these hills would be alive with color soon.

  She toyed with the idea of stopping in Eureka. The picturesque little town held special meaning to her now. Practical took precedence over sentimental and she pushed on.

  By the time she pulled into the rest stop just out of St. Louis, Jessie was feeling the full effects of no food and extreme physical exertion. She rooted through the car, looking for anything that might help her. The glove box held a map and registration papers. The back seat furnished the hat she’d worn that night at Nick’s. While finding it brought some measure of comfort, it did little to feed her growling belly.

  Her last hope was the trunk, and it offered up the mother load. The clothes she’d bought on their trip were neatly packed in suitcases, along with a few sweaters and t-shirts that appeared to be Gabe’s. She held them to her nose, savoring the masculine scent that clung to them.

  Tucked into the side of the suitcase was a large manila envelope. She grabbed it and a change of clothes, then headed for the bathroom before her bladder gave way.

  Jessie felt like a new person after washing some of the grime off in the restroom sink. A bath would have been heaven, but the quick rinse and new clothes did wonders. Her old clothes were balled up under the seat; she was afraid to leave a trail just in case she was being followed.

  Back in the car, she finally opened the large envelope. In it was a credit card in the name of J. Howard. Jessie smiled. Thanks to the book Gabe had given her, she knew that moniker. Howard was the assumed name Jesse James was living under at the time of his supposed death.

  Along with the credit card was a bank card, checkbook and a note that read, “Vance found your savings when he moved your things. Hope you don’t mind, I opened a bank account with it. Everything you need should be in here. Love you.”

  Jessie wanted to weep with relief. Instead, she fired the old car to life and headed to the nearest fast food restaurant. Once her belly was full, she pushed herself to go another 100 miles before checking into a Holiday Inn just off the highway. After lugging her suitcase to her room, she indulged in a long bath before ordering a pizza to be delivered.

  She fell asleep in front of the television before the sun had even set, and woke up with barely enough time to get ready before checkout. After a breakfast of cold pizza, she went to grab the map out of the glove box. Sometime in the night, her next step became clear.

  With no easy way to contact Gabe, she decided to head towards the small town they’d passed on their way to the cave. It seemed like a good place to hide and it would buy her time to track down his unit.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jessie was happy to learn that she was relatively close to Ava, her end destination. The town was cute; it even had an actual town square. After a few hours of wandering she found the lone apartment building. It was a large square with two floors of apartments on all sides. She called the number on the sign and made arrangements to tour an apartment the next day. In the meantime, she checked into the Super 8 motel and went in search of food.

  “I’m sorry Ms. Howard. We can’t seem to find much of a credit history on you.”

  Twenty-four hours after she’d gone in search of food, Jessie found herself standing in the middle of a decent but dark little apartment listening to a kindly older man tell her why she didn’t qualify for the apartment.

  “I understand,” she nodded. Apparently there was a limit to what Gabe could accomplish on such short notice. “How much did you say this apartment is?”

  “It’s two-fifty.”

  “Per month?” she choked.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes…” he was starting to get irritated.

  “Well, how about if I pay you for the first year up front?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “How else can I establish credit?” she smiled prettily at him.

  “That’s not normally how we do it,” he hedged.

  “Please?”

  “You got cash?”

  “Why don’t I write you a check and I won’t move in until it clears the bank. How’s that?”

  “Welcome home,” he smiled broadly at her and extended his hand.

  And home it was. After a few more nights at the Super 8, Jessie dove headlong into furniture shopping. It didn’t take much to fill her small apartment, but when she was done everything was set up just right. She chose warm colors when decorating to complement the dark brown carpets. The end result was incredibly cozy.

  The weeks blended one into the next. The crisp air and ever-changing trees reminded Jessie of the passage of time. She was grateful for that, and would have been numb without them.

  Once the shock of that fateful day had begun to subside, Jessie realized she was lonely. She missed Gabe, Harmony and Vance. She wondered how they were doing.

  And she wished she had someone to tell on the day she first noticed her cycle was weeks past due. With little fanfare, she’d gone down to the general store and bought a test. It didn’t seem possible that it came back positive, but it did.

  An odd mixture of happy and nervous fluttered through her as she tried to process the information. She and Gabe were going to be parents. Would he be happy? She hoped so. Either way, it was something she’d thought beyond her grasp and yet, here it was.

  The apartment suddenly seemed too small, too empty. Even if she had no one to tell, she wanted to at least be in the company of other people. She slid on her jacket and locked up her apartment—more out of habit than necessity.

  She drove the Plymouth the short distance to the square and parked it in front of a little diner she’d been meaning to try. Ma’s seemed like an appropriate place to celebrate. The restaurant was full but somber, making Jessie think she’d inadvertently walked in on something she shouldn’t have.

  “I’ll be right with you,” the waitress called out as Jessie slid onto a stool at the counter.

  She helped herself to a menu and was ready to order by the time the harried waitress appeared.

  “Sorry for the wait, sugar. We’re bustin’ at the seams tonight since the news about Ma’s son got around.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m new in town…” she furrowed her brow.

  “He died—over in Afghanistan. Just got redeployed… barely off the plane and was hit with a roadside bomb. Poor soul,” the waitress took a moment to cross herself before getting the glass of milk Jessie ordered.

  T
he burger lost some of its appeal after hearing the fate of Ma’s son. It occurred to Jessie that she’d been so immersed in her own trauma, she hadn’t put much thought into the fact that Gabe was in very real danger. She missed him, but the question had always been when he came home—not if.

  When she’d choked down enough food to be polite, she paid her tab and wandered out onto the street. Not sure how best to start her search, she piled back into the Plymouth and just started driving. When she passed the Douglas County Library she did a u-turn.

  Once she was sitting in front of the Internet browser, she wasn’t sure where to start.

  “What are you looking for, honey?” the friendly librarian called out when she saw the look on Jessie’s face.

  “A friend. I guess I’m not sure where to start.”

  “Google,” the woman smiled. “Everything’s on Google.”

  “Good point,” Jessie flashed her a winning smile before following the advice. As she began to type, the search engine began suggesting searches. A morbid curiosity took over Jessie, and she selected the second choice supplied by Google: Afghanistan troop deaths. Another click and she was on the government’s website for casualties in the Afghan war. One more and she was staring at a list of names.

  And there was one name that stood out from all the rest. Gabe Adams, Sergeant First Class, hostile - IED attack.

  Pain slammed her in the chest. In frantic denial, she scrolled across the line, hoping that it was another Gabe. Not hers. Let some other woman deal with this injustice. Claws dug into her heart and twisted and she knew that she couldn’t foist this misery off on someone else—it would be hers.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled at the concerned librarian before stumbling across the parking lot to her car… his car. Somehow she made it home without causing a wreck. It took her three tries, but she finally managed to unlock the door. She kicked it closed behind her before falling to the toilet, where she lost her lunch.

  When she was pretty sure she could move again, she crawled over to her bed and burrowed under the covers. And there she stayed for the better part of two months.