As We Know It

by Carrie Butler

  “There’s a hydration bladder back there. You didn’t know?”

  “Apparently not.” I clench the utensil. “I thought you stopped drinking.”

  He goes back to take another bite, glowering at me. “I did. I just needed help sleeping.”

  “And yet, you’re opposed to medication.” I stab at the fish. “Una vez borracho, siempre un borracho…”

  “What was that?” He raises his brows.

  “Once a drunkard, always a drunkard,” I hiss. “You know, Naveen thinks you weaned yourself off of it through some miraculous force of will.”

  “Let him think that. I told you, it’s just when I need to get some sleep.”

  “You can’t put a Band-Aid over a bullet hole.” I heave a sigh and keep eating.

  He stiffens, staring off into the trees for an agonizing minute. Unfortunately, it also takes me that long to realize why he reacted that way. Given the nightmare he fought his way out of last night, I should’ve gone with different phrasing. Who’s insensitive now?

  “Sorry.”

  Vincent grunts in response.

  We finish our breakfast, pack up the campsite, and get back on the highway with minimal conversation. He carries the bag high on his back, gripping the straps, and I can only guess how much it’s killing his back. Between the weight of his gear and the guilt he’s trying to carry around, it’s a wonder he can go on at all. But how do I vocalize something like that? Every time I try to help out, every time I try to emphasize how much I’ve come to appreciate him, it comes out all wrong. We start arguing, and the next thing I know, we’re back to silence.

  Like this…

  “See that?” Vincent finally asks, nodding toward a sign leaning left in the shaken soil. It’s advertising some kind of convenience store up ahead.

  “Yeah?”

  “Keep your head on a swivel. Anyone stopped around here will have headed for this place, ready to raid it for supplies.”

  I climb over a particularly gnarly gap in the road. “You think there’s going to be looting?”

  “If looting is the only thing going on there, we’ll all be lucky.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Convenience store, my ass.

  What’s left of this building is a full-blown catchall. Signs behind a caved-in canopy advertise the two G’s of roadside shopping—gas and groceries—making it the perfect place to ride out a natural disaster. “So, are we going to try it?”

  Vincent stares ahead, as if calculating the risk. “Do you remember how far the next store is? I don’t do a lot of driving these days.”

  “I came through Astoria.”

  “Well, shit.”

  I don’t see the problem. Even if jerks are swiping things that don’t belong to them, they couldn’t have taken everything. We’ll just leave some of that cash wad behind. In and out. “We’re going to need food, unless you plan on us fishing, hunting, and foraging three times a day. That’s a lot of spent calories and not a lot of ground covered.”

  “You’re saying you want to check it out?”

  “Why not?”

  The windows give jagged views of a dark interior, but for the most part, the place looks structurally sound. Viva wood construction, I guess.

  Vincent looks up and down the road before ducking back into the shade of the tree line. With hasty, paranoid motions, he digs out some money and shoves it into his pocket. “If there are other people in there, we don’t want them to know we have supplies. In fact, you might want to lose the bling while we’re at it.”

  My ring? As much as I resent what it stands for, I’m not eager to leave it unattended.

  “I promise not to pocket it,” he adds, with a hint of humor.

  “Fine, fine.” I hand it over and turn away. “If you think this is what we need to do, I’ll keep a lookout. You do your thing.”

  Silence.

  I glance over my shoulder, and he’s staring at me with something akin to awe. “What?”

  “Just thinking.”

  “Thinking… ?”

  “Maybe it’s a good thing you came along, after all.” He heads back into the brush without another word, as if he hasn’t just dropped a compliment bomb on me. How did we go from bickering to appreciation?

  My cheeks burn, so I refocus on the road. Thankfully, he doesn’t take long. Within minutes, he’s back at my side, surveying the lay of the land. “So, food. Any food, right? Anything else?”

  “Toilet paper.”

  “What? We have leaves.”

  “You don’t know.” I make creepy eyes and point down there. “You don’t know…”

  “Toilet paper’s going to take months to biodegrade.”

  “Maybe the earth will open up in an aftershock and it’ll disappear.”

  He facepalms and strides toward the store. “Come on, then.”

  Victory!

  We pick our way through the debris of what used to be a canopy for cars to drive under. My lungs choose this moment to start aching again, but I press on. The things we do in the name of quilted comfort.

  “Hello?” Vincent calls in the doorway, his hand hovering over his right hip. “Still open for business?”

  Voices from somewhere in the back fall into hushed whispers, followed by quick footsteps. “H-Hello?”

  An older woman in Capri pants and a button-up top steps out from around the counter—hardly what I’d expected, but a welcome sight. She reminds me of Mrs. Claus, sans the mall costume.

  “Sorry,” I tell her. “We didn’t know if you’d still be open during this.”

  “Oh.” Her laugh comes across almost mechanical. “We’re doing what we can.”

  “Mind if we look around?”

  Her gaze darts to Vincent first, then me, then the security bubble up in the corner. “N-Not at all…”

  The place looks like it’s Black Friday in the afternoon, picked over and sad. Still, beggars can’t be choosers. I scan the aisles for toilet paper.

  Hmm, microfiber shop towels. Maybe that could pass for—

  Vincent grabs my arm without looking, drawing me close. “What’s back there?”

  “That?” The woman trembles, forcing her lips to twist upward. “Just a small cafe. Unfortunately, without electricity…”

  “What’re you talking about, Grandma?” A younger guy, blond, maybe early twenties, leans around the doorway. “We got food we can share.”

  I try not to make snap judgments about people, but the fact that he has to hold his pants up annoys me.

  “O-Oh, yes.” The older woman wrings her hands. “How terribly forgetful of me.”

  “Tell you what,” he says, looking at Vincent now. “How’s about your girlfriend finds you two somethin’ to eat, while you help me with the generator out back? I need another set of hands.”

  Girlfriend comment aside, like I’m going to leave Vincent with this Slim Shady wannabe. “I can come.”

  “Naw, sweets, you just kick it with Grandma. Won’t take but a moment.” He saunters around us and gestures Vincent toward the door. “Please?”

  My supposed boyfriend looks at me, tenses, and then blows out a sigh. “Sure.”

  Sure? Just leave me here with the old lady, why don’t you.

  As he breezes past, he makes a big show of cracking me on the ass, and the blond kid laughs. I’m about to yell when I realize he subtly patted the small of my back, too… where my gun is hidden. Was that some kind of signal I missed?

  “W-Well, then.” The old woman presses imaginary wrinkles out of her clothes. “Shall we?”

  I swallow as she slips around the corner and hurry to follow suit. This is stupid. I’m probably imagining things. If these people wanna give us free food, hey, I’m all for it. “My name’s Elena, by the way.”

  “Oh.” She turns to look at me over her shoulder with pinched brows. “I’m—”

  “Bait.” An arm reaches out and throws her across the room into a table. “Get over there.”

  “Hey!” I ta
ke an outraged step forward, but freeze when a cold barrel is jammed against the side of my neck. Now I really need that toilet paper.

  The man presses his rifle into my skin, tripping my pulse into hyperdrive. “You’re gonna get down on the floor and put your hands behind your back. Nice and slow, all right?”

  I try to nod, but I’m shaking too hard. Where’s Vincent? What the hell did that kid do to him? My knees go weak as I fall to the linoleum.

  If these guys are robbing the place, why bother sending out their obvious hostage? Hell, why have a hostage at all? It’s not as if the cops are going to show up.

  “Face on the floor!” He kicks me in the side, and I wheeze. “We’re going for a ride soon.”

  No, my brain screams, no! People don’t come back from rides. It’s Stranger Danger 101. “N-No hablo ingles. ”

  “Nice try, chubs.” He pulls a walkie-talkie from his belt and jams the button. “Got room for another one?”

  “Where’s Vincent?” I force the question out, and it rings around the tiny room.

  “The boyfriend? Tell ‘er what happens to boyfriends, Gertie.”

  The older woman, presumably Gertie, lies curled on her side under the table. Soft sobs accompany her heaving shoulders, but no reply is given.

  This must wear our captor’s patience thin, because he slings his gun back on his shoulder, stalks over to her, and grabs a fistful of graying hair, pulling her up by the roots. “I asked you a question!”

  “He’s gone!” she sobs, her face contorted in pain. “I know that.”

  “And with ol’ what’s-his-name out of the picture, who’s gonna take care of you? We are. We just gotta get a few more girls.”

  As if on cue, his walkie squawks back. “We can get two more on the truck. Maybe three.”

  What the hell is going on here?

  He rolls his eyes and lets go, refocusing on the device. “I better see asses on laps with numbers like that. Stack ‘em up. We owe Eddie a big shipment this time.”

  “Only ‘cause you tried to pass off those meth heads as teenagers.”

  “They were nineteen!”

  “In ‘95, maybe.”

  “Shut up. I got fresh meat. Big tits and ass.”

  “D’you taste her yet?”

  The man gives a dark chuckle, studying the ceiling while he talks. “Give me a minute.”

  My skin crawls, but I can’t move. No one warns you these situations petrify you in place, unable to form a coherent thought to save your life. Literally. I’m still kneeling here like Vincent is going to come busting in any minute, ready to save the day. Like he’s still alive and kickin’—because he is.

  Because he has to be.

  I sneak a look at Gertie. She’s holding her head and whimpering to herself, but there’s nothing I can do to comfort her. If they’re using her to separate weary travelers, eliminating perceived threats, and loading people onto a truck like they’re cargo, they’ve got to be trafficking. That’s the only thing that makes sense. They’re taking advantage of the chaos, because they know disappearances won’t be questioned right now.

  Disgust boils my blood, evaporating my fear. People are already hurting out here, and they’re making it worse without conscience. Without consequence! And how the hell do they expect to move all of us anyway? The highway is in shreds.

  Unless… they haven’t scouted that far yet.

  So, what’s going to happen when they realize their precious shipment isn’t going anywhere? We’ve seen their faces—at least, two of us have. If Gertie and I don’t bust out now, we’re going to be the first bodies discovered in a mass grave next month. But how can we pull off an escape? She’s in no shape to run for it, especially with him lugging around that intimidation piece.

  I need a distraction. What would be enough to make a monster let his guard down?

  The answer hits me like a punch in the gut, but I know it’s the only way. There’s no time to plot the scenario, weighing out the possibilities. Either I act or I don’t. Fifty-fifty chances of survival, and I didn’t come this far to die.

  But Vincent did. The thought triggers an unwelcome epiphany, and tears prick my panicked eyes. If that other guy jumped him, he wouldn’t have fought back. The tsunami didn’t do him in, so this was his chance. That’s why he went with him so willingly. He knew something was up!

  So, then… he’s gone. I’m on my own.

  Truth be told, I could give up, too. Given even the slightest trigger, I could collapse into a sobbing mess of heartbreak and hallucination. I’ve felt myself teetering at the brink of madness for a while now. But then there’s Gertie… and the women in that truck… and anyone else unfortunate enough to evacuate in this direction. I’ve got to try something, even if it’s a Hail Mary.

  Clearing my throat, I slowly rise to my feet, keeping my hands up in surrender. “Excuse me.”

  “What?”

  “I heard what you said”—I cross one shaky leg in front of the other, sashaying closer with an urgency I can’t afford to betray—”so why don’t you take that taste now?”

  He looks me over, nostrils flared, jaw tight.

  I pull at the sleeve of my jacket, gliding the material over my shoulder. “What can I say? I’ve always been attracted to men with… power.”

  Okay, so I got the idea from Princess Jasmine. There aren’t a whole lot of deceptive seduction scenes I can emulate.

  The man leans back against the counter. “You’re a crazy bitch, you know that?”

  “So I’ve been told.” I try to keep my voice low, pulling the other arm free before tossing my jacket aside. “Ever see a woman pull her bra out through her sleeve?”

  “Maybe.” He crosses his arms. “But why don’t you show me how you do it?”

  I laugh, going along with his obvious attempt at humor, and reach behind me as if I’m going to undo the hooks. The Taurus is cold within my grasp. I just have to unholster it quick enough for—

  He grabs my arms, and my heart jolts so forcefully I stop breathing. Leaning in with dank, whiskey-tinged breath, he grounds out, “Don’t tease me.”

  “I…” Blank. My mind is blank. I grip the handle tighter.

  “What’ve you—?”

  BANG-BANG!

  The muzzle flashes against his shirt as I empty two point-blank into his stomach. Rage ignites across his features as he reaches for his own weapon, but it’s too late. He’s already sliding down the counter, wide-eyed and catching crimson spurts between his fingers.

  Gertie scrambles out from under the table, shouting in hysterics, while I struggle to breathe. Tears are streaming down my face, and all I can think about is how it smells like the Fourth of July. The gun almost slips from my grasp.

  “Hello?” a voice crackles through his walkie-talkie.

  Shit. I forgot about the other men. Someone had to have heard those shots. Now what? How many are there? Should I answer it?

  “Listen,”the man on the other end goes on in a distinctly familiar tone, “I’ve got your man on the truck disarmed and at gunpoint. Your other two friends didn’t make it. So, you’ve got three options…”

  That’s not… It couldn’t be.

  “One, you let those women go and come out with your hands on your head.”

  That’s Vincent!

  “Two, you let those women go and blow your own brains out.”

  I need to get that walkie-talkie.

  “Or three, I come in there and do it for you. Your choice.”

  I snatch the radio off the would-be rapist’s belt, trying to ignore the way his glazed-over eyes shift to follow my movements. “Vincent? Hello? Vincent?”

  “Elena?”

  “What do I do?” My voice breaks as I look around the room, slick blood spatter covering the countertop. “Where are you?”

  “Are you safe?”

  I eye the man slumped before me. “I-I think so.”

  “Good. I’ll come to you. Sit tight.”

  “But what about t
he—”

  The back doorknob twists, and Vincent bursts through.

  I jump, and my revolver is pointed at him before I realize what I’m doing. With my heart wedged in my throat, I lower my arm.

  Something dangerous flashes in his eyes for the briefest of moments as he takes in the scene. “What happened?”

  “Wait. Where are the other men? If you left them alone…”

  “I was lying. They were already out of the picture.”

  My stomach turns. “But I didn’t hear any shots.”

  “I didn’t use any.” Vincent brushes past me and points to Gertie. “You should go.”

  She pulls herself up on a chair, tear streaks lining her weathered face. “I have nowhere to go. My husband, they… they…”

  “I know.” He puts a hand on her shoulder, softening his voice. “But it’s not too late to get out of here. I busted the lock on that truck, so you’ll have plenty of traveling companions for the hike.”

  “But—”

  “My suggestion would be to take what you need and head down 53. There’ll at least be houses that direction. Someone will take you in, and you can wait out this mess together.” He gently turns her toward the door.

  Gertie frowns and peers around his arm at me. “But what about you two? I feel just awful about what they had me do, luring people in like that. I didn’t…”

  “It’s okay,” he assures her, bending to meet her worried gaze. “I promise. Just let us handle this.”

  “Well, all right…” She pauses in the doorway. Her departure pulls at my heartstrings a little, but I know she’ll be better off with a group. “Thank you.”

  I force a smile.

  The second the door closes, Vincent strides over to me, takes the revolver from my grasp and—

  BANG!

  I scream and jump back from where he’s drilled the dying man between the eyes, killing him instantly. The shock pierces my chest and fills my body with anxiety-laced static. I have to move, I have to pace. I pull at my hair. “What… what did you do?”

  “You don’t come back from a gut shot,” he explains in a quiet voice, pressing the gun into my hands. “He was about to bleed out, so I did the merciful thing. Now you didn’t kill him.”

  I try to accept his gesture, but I can’t bring myself to take it from his hand. He just executed someone without batting an eye. How is that not a trigger for his flashbacks? I don’t understand this. I don’t understand anything.