Shoot Like a Girl

by L. L. Akers

  Trunk broke her train of thought. “So, Edith…I’m really glad you didn’t lie to me. I hate a liar. The way I see it, the truth will always set you free! Hallelujah! Can I get an amen?”

  “Amen,” Edith answered, in barely a whisper.

  He waved his hand in the air. “Yeah. No use heading to York County, South Cackalacky, for nothing, right? You saved me a wasted trip. For all I know, that truck is long gone…sold on Craigslist to some other schmuck. It was the girls I was after. Shame that set got broke up. What exactly happened to the poor girl?”

  He leaned forward and put his elbow on his knee, and his chin in his hand, examining Edith closely.

  She shivered in fear under his stare.

  He suspects I’m lying.

  In for a penny…in for a pound.

  Edith reached for a tissue, not really needing it. She began to tear it into little pieces, dropping them into her lap. “It was an accident, of course. Mei did it. She was trying to shoot Elmer’s shotgun one-handed. One hand was all she had, after all.”

  Trunk laughed and Edith shot him a deadly glare.

  He choked down his laughter. “Sorry. I thought you were making a joke.”

  Edith frantically shook her head. Her legs were beginning to shake. “No. So Mei shot Olivia, and she felt just awful. She decided not to go with Gabby and Emma, their little sister. She went her own way.”

  Trunk frowned. “All by herself? She hit the road, on foot, all alone? That doesn’t sound like Mei. She was willing to do just about anything back at that rest area to not be alone out on the road,” he said and winked again.

  He’s playing with me. He knows I’m lying.

  Edith dabbed at her eyes—which truly were watering now, thinking of what really happened. “I’d prefer not to talk about it, if it’s all the same to you.”

  Trunk nodded. “I see.”

  He turned to the hall and yelled, “Backfire, what’re you finding back there?”

  Backfire walked out, a small fancy bag dangling from his fingertips. “Look here, Boss.”

  Trunk held his hand out and Backfire brought it to him. He pursed his lips and turned it over and over, examining it. “This looks familiar.” He looked at Edith. “Care to tell me why Mei would run off without her purse, Edith? ‘Cuz lemme tell you…I could barely keep that girl’s one paw out of this bag, even when I had her on the ground bumping uglies.”

  Edith began to shake again. “It’s not Mei’s.” She bit her lip and looked at the floor.

  Trunk opened the purse and first pulled out a brown bottle with a few pills in it, holding them up to Edith, who slowly raised her head to look. “Naw…you’re right. This can’t be Mei’s purse. A junkie never ever leaves her stash…” he said.

  He dug in again and pulled out a plastic identification card and held it up by two fingers.

  Edith glanced at the card—not seeing the name or picture as it was turned around backward to her—and then plucked another Kleenex out of the box, dabbing the sweat on her forehead delicately and looking down again at the floor.

  Trunk smirked. “Whoa. A real pressure cooker going on here. What do you think, Edith? Whose name is going to be on this card?”

  Edith sank her crooked back into the old plaid couch as she cowered. She seemed to visibly shrink. “Olivia’s,” she said quietly, still holding onto her story.

  Trunk put two fingers on the end of his nose, and then pulled them straight out into the air, making the universal sign for Pinocchio. “Liar, liar, pants on fire,” he quietly sang under his breath.

  A tear rolled down Edith’s cheek, so great was her fear.

  He stepped over to the couch, and stood over the old woman trembling under his scowl. “I’m not a liar, Edith. I say what I do and I do what I say.” He paused a long moment.

  “Get out the branding iron, Backfire.”

  28

  Tullymore & Grayson’s Group

  After the hair-raising ride into town, and the fatal ending of their last encounter, Jake unenthusiastically rolled Ruby into the parking lot of the grocery store with a heavy heart that was still pounding.

  He couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

  They’d killed that young man and woman.

  Just kids, really.

  His head was pounding too, and he couldn’t stop sweating. He felt like he needed to puke—but all that was from more than just aiding and abetting a double murder. It’d been happening for almost a week now.

  He wished he could take it back. He wished they’d never have left the farm this morning.

  They died for nothing. All they wanted was help.

  It was a mistake to leave Tullymore. Heck, it was a mistake to leave Grayson’s farm. There was a big fire somewhere. They’d yet to pass any large fires, but a heavy cloud of smoke hung everywhere, the acrid smell burning their noses.

  They’d passed more abandoned cars after leaving the mangled mess of the motorcycle accident behind them. Some of the cars had people living out of them. Some were burned, yet some looked shiny and brand new as though just driven off the local dealership lot.

  All the people they’d passed looked hungry, tired and desperate. They didn’t see a dingle police car, ambulance, or fire truck. Where were the emergency services? Surely, they had gas. Jake had the note from the dead motorcycle riders in his pocket. He was hoping he could still send help to whomever needed it at the address that was on the paper.

  Not a single gas station was open for business. Each one had looked as though World War III had occurred at their pumps. Even the supply-tank hatches were open, their lids thrown far and wide. Probably from people somehow siphoning right from the underground tanks.

  Jake felt some relief in that at least they’d missed all the riots and looting that had surely happened.

  He drove slowly through the parking lot. The grocery store was deserted. Like a chicken in a ditch, Jake’s head swiveled on his neck, looking for trouble. He was getting spooked now, expecting danger around every corner. He edged around the outside of the lot until they could get a better look at the building.

  It was gutted.

  Grayson whistled and repeated Jake’s thought from earlier. “Looks like a natural disaster happened here.”

  Metal shopping carts were strewn everywhere. All of the front glass was shattered. Empty plastic grocery bags blew across the parking lot like tumbleweeds. Ripped and torn food packages peppered the yellow lines painted on the pavement. Several cars were abandoned, some having been burnt down to nothing more than four steel wheels on the ground.

  Jake pulled up to the storefront and slowed to a stop to get a closer look. The outside walls were painted with graffiti and the inside was eerily dim and quiet. It was too dark to see beyond the first twenty feet. All he could make out were the outlines of empty cash register lanes. He shook his head in wonder. “What the heck happened here?”

  “Mass hysteria. Let’s roll on, Jake. There’s nothing to be found in there. If there was, there’d still be people here,” Grayson said.

  Tucker slapped the top of the cab and leaned over to talk to Jake through his open window. “How far can we go looking? We still good on gas?”

  “Not far, brutha. What do you want to do?” Jake answered robotically. He really just wanted to give up and go home to Gabby. That was after they made one more important stop that he dreaded more than anything.

  Tucker pointed up the road. “If you go this way and head down highway 901, we’ll run into the government buildings. I bet we can find some milk at those offices. Isn’t there still some kind of WIC program for the needy there that gives baby stuff to new moms?”

  Tarra spoke up. “As far as I’m aware, the WIC program is cereal, whole milk and cheese. But, they just issue a coupon to be used at stores. They don’t keep the stuff at the offices.”

  Tina stepped up between them so her voice could be heard in the truck, too. “When my friend had a baby last year, her pediatrician sent her home with seve
ral samples of formula. Where’s the nearest doctor’s offices?”

  Tucker nodded, glad to see Tina talking again. She hadn’t said a word to anyone since the motorcycle incident, but had ridden with her face pointed away from everyone. He ignored the trail of dried tears on her cheeks. “That’s a great idea, Tina.” He leaned up to Jake’s window. “Take India Hook a few miles up to Herlong. There’s a set of offices across the way there. I know The Sunshine Practice is there. Let’s check it out.”

  Mickey mumbled something, looking as though he disagreed with the plan.

  “Speak up, Mickey. You got a better idea?” Tucker asked, in a friendly tone.

  Mickey readjusted his seat on his half of the bale of hay that he shared with Frank, clearly uncomfortable. “No. I think that’s probably the best idea for the baby formula, but we’re already here. Why not go in and take a look. There might be something else left in there. There’s hundreds more things we need.”

  Tucker nodded in agreement. Although right now the formula was his main objective because of the tiny life depending on it, he knew he couldn’t waste an opportunity to add to their food and supplies either. That would be a bad decision. They needed to at least check out what remained of the grocery store.

  He leaned over the side of the truck again to talk to Jake. “You hear that, Jake? Mickey thinks we ought to go in and look around. He’s right. There could be something useful left behind. Maybe they didn’t take everything—we could look in the stockroom, under the shelves, in the employee break room. Better to leave with something than nothing, right?”

  Grayson and Jake spoke in whispers up front, not sharing their thoughts with anyone, but a few moments later, Jake reluctantly pulled up just past the broken window, parallel parking Ruby in front of the store. He turned the engine off and he and Grayson stepped out.

  Jake spoke to the group, “Okay, we do it this way. I’m staying with Ruby. Tina, Tarra and Grayson stay with me and we’ll watch for anyone coming. Tucker, you take Mickey and Frank in with you and look around. But other than the baby formula, we even-split anything you bring out. Deal?”

  Tucker looking down at Jake from the bed of the truck with narrowed eyes. “No deal, dude. If me and my guys are risking our necks to go in there to find stuff, why would we share it with your group? No offense, but that hardly seems fair.”

  Grayson laughed. “It’s our truck and our gas, Tucker. You wouldn’t be here without us.”

  Tucker jumped out of the truck, landing directly in front of Grayson, and once again the two were nose to nose, screaming so loudly no one could understand a word they were saying.

  Jake hurried around to the other side and slid between them. “Stop it! Y’all are making too much noise. Okay. We’ll send one of ours in with you. The rest of us have to guard the truck—unless you want it to get stolen so we’re stranded out here?” He glared at Tucker.

  Tucker backed up a step.

  Jake continued. “But still, an even split on everything except formula. Does that work for ya’ now?” He cocked his head at Tucker, disappointed in his friend for continuing to lose his shit, especially with his brother-in-law.

  Tucker gave a brisk nod of agreement, clearly still not happy.

  Jake glanced at Tina and Tarra, and then Grayson. Other than the women—who were clearly more fit than he was—he was the best person to go in. He couldn’t run faster than anyone with his bum leg, but they’d need Grayson out here handling a gun since he clearly sucked at that. If someone came along, Jake would do better to throw it at them than to try to shoot them. “I’ll go,” he volunteered.

  Tarra shook her head. “No, Jake. I’ll go. Tina wants to stay out here and guard the truck with you and Grayson. We’re splitting up. I’m with Tuck—”

  “—oh no you’re not…” Grayson interrupted. “The men will go in. You ladies both stay out here with Jake. I’m with Tucker.”

  Tucker looked from Tarra to Grayson and sneered. He pointed at Tarra. “I’ll take her,” he said, and he and his men walked away, expecting Tarra to join them.

  Tarra smirked at Grayson. “Sorry,” she said, and then jogged to catch up with the group.

  29

  Grayson’s Group

  Puck slid down the tree fast as lightning, with his good arm wrapped around it, his bad arm shielding his face.

  Graysie stood way back, holding as still as possible, with one hand holding Ozzie’s collar and the other holding the neck of her T-shirt up over her nose. At least most of her face would be covered if the bees came after her, too.

  But they hadn’t found her yet.

  Six feet from the ground, Puck jumped off, landing on his rear end and scrambling up on his feet. He paused in shock, seeing Graysie still there and standing still. “Run, Graysie!” he said, swatting at the hundreds of bees that had followed him down in hot pursuit. “Run, Ozzie!”

  The sound of a zillion buzzes filled Graysie’s ears, but she tried to speak low and calm—and fast. “They don’t see us yet. You run really fast, Puck, and try to run through low-hanging leaves and branches. Don’t run on a clear trail. Hurry! Really fast! When you get to the house, jump into Daddy’s truck and slam the door. Kill the ones that get in with you fast, too. Now hurry! Run!”

  By now the bees were stinging whenever and wherever they could land on Puck while he continued to swat his arms around and turn in a circle. But for once, he listened to Graysie and took off at a dead run through the trees, with a blurred line of bees zipping angrily behind him, weaving to and fro around the limbs and branches that Puck was running through.

  Graysie gave him a head start, and then slowly walked away from the swarming bees, not wanting to catch the attention of those that stayed behind. When she could no longer see the tree they’d come from, she too ran, trying to catch up close enough to see Puck.

  But he was gone.

  That boy can run! she thought.

  A few moments later, when she was panting and almost to the edge of the woods, she heard the truck door slam shut.

  Ozzie, thinking that meant Daddy’s Home—a noise he knew well—broke out of Graysie’s grasp and darted away in a mad dash, barking joyfully.

  “No, Ozzie!” she screamed.

  But it was too late.

  Graysie broke through the edge of the woods, into their back yard to see Ozzie barking frantically at the door of the truck, while simultaneously biting at thin air—except it wasn’t air. Inside, she could see Puck, still swatting at the few bees that he’d brought into the vehicle with him.

  She ran toward the truck, fully expecting to be attacked. But she couldn’t leave Ozzie there to defend himself. She held her T-shirt up over her nose and dived toward him, grabbing his collar, and pulling him away.

  Olivia and Gabby ran out the back door. “What’s going on?” Olivia asked. “What’s all this ruckus out here?”

  Graysie paused and looked around her with wide eyes. The bees were gone, other than a few that still hovered around her dad’s truck. “It was bees. They chased us.”

  Gabby raised her eyebrows at her niece. “Us?”

  Graysie pointed at Grayson’s truck. “Puck. He’s in the truck.”

  Puck’s face popped up at the window, looking at them with wide eyes.

  Olivia’s eyes widened and she put her hand over her mouth. “Oh my. Oh, Puck!”

  Puck’s face looked like a jack-o-lantern that had blown up red, instead of orange. Already, one eye was nearly swollen shut.

  Olivia whipped around to check Graysie and Ozzie. Graysie was fine, but when she saw Ozzie, she dropped to her knees. “Oh, Ozzie! You, too?”

  Ozzie whined and leaned his head against his mistress. Already, one side of his nose was puffing up. He plopped down on the porch and rubbed his paws over his snout, looking as though he was trying to hide.

  Gabby sighed. “Well, at least we can put your credit cards to good use again… right, Olivia?”

  30

  The Three E’s


  Twin streams of tears rolled down Edith’s pale cheeks as she stared at Trunk’s back. Standing over the newly dug grave, he held a shovel in one hand, and in the other a jar of Elmer’s favorite beverage. It was his tomato juice that she’d made from the tomatoes out of their own garden and canned in glass Mason jars for long-term storage.

  The blood-red liquid looked fitting in the barbarian’s ruthless hands.

  The heathens had eaten at least a few days’ worth of food, going at it like swine, before packing up nearly all of Elmer and Edith’s pantry into Elmer’s truck that they planned to steal when they left. Now they’d dug into all of Elmer’s special treats. Her poor husband wouldn’t have so much as a stick of jerky or a chocolate-covered cherry when he finally made his way home.

  They’d hadn’t left them a tater or radish one in the cellar either. She and Elmer would probably starve before the next harvest was ready.

  She angrily swiped at the tears, willing them to stop rolling.

  Edith wasn’t crying in fear anymore; fear of the worst happening wasn’t a worry now. She didn’t need to wring her hands and let her mind wander about what if’s. Trunk had already taken great joy in describing to her exactly what was to happen, and she couldn’t imagine anything worse than that.

  Tears weren’t coming because she was scared of them—although she was—terrified, actually. But she was quietly weeping in silent rage at the world. A place that allowed men like this to walk free and terrorize young girls and old women and everything in between.

  A world that worked together to put up a façade to make little old ladies like her—and Rose—think bad things only happened to other people in faraway places; not to them. They were convinced by people far smarter than they, that they could pray the bad stuff away from themselves and their loved ones and live their quiet lives, all warm and cozy, cocooned in their safe homes.