Faith in Strangers
Chapter 1 – Gas Station
11:36pm June 20th 2012
The warm summer air whistled through the bullet holes in the '71 Mustang's windshield, ruffling the red fur of my face slightly. It might have been relaxing, had the cracked glass not been a constant reminder of things I wished I could forget.
But I guess we all had it coming.
My sweaty paws held the wheel like a vice, as if the smallest swerve of the car might alert the whole damn world to what I'd done, and I found myself nervously checking the rear view mirror for about the thousandth time, but like all the times before, there were no blue and red flashing lights and no wailing sirens. I would have turned the radio on, but the antennae had been shot off.
"Fuck"
My teeth clenched hard as a fresh wave of pain spiked through my left shoulder, telling me again that there was a twisted piece of lead lodged somewhere in all that muscle and bone. Being practically surrounded by guns for the past few years, the curious fox in me had always pondered what being shot might feel like. Where on my body would that fateful bullet hit? How long would it take for me to die? I counted myself lucky that the last question hadn't been answered yet, but the unexpectedly large amount of bleeding I was doing kept the thought fresh in my mind. It seeped relentlessly from the wound, making me horribly nauseous and staining my once black jacket and white shirt a dark new shade of scarlet. There was blood on the front passenger seat too, but that wasn't mine. Even over the low growl of the engine I could sometimes hear it drip from the headrest.
Thinking of the mammal that'd once been sat there made me sniffle, so I hastily wiped my eyes with the arm that didn't hurt and focused back on the road. My options were limited, but I knew if I kept on this highway, I could be out of state within the hour. Then I just had to avoid every police officer in the entire country for the rest of my life, and somehow explain to the hospital how my 'mysterious' gunshot wound had appeared. I sighed. There was no way I could go back to Sahara Square, and ignoring the fact that the ZPD would almost certainly catch me before I could blink, there was no guarantee that the boss would be any kinder. My fuck up had cost lives, and that would mean punishment. Being stuck between a rock and a hard place had left me with only one choice: run away and hide from both.
Against the endless blurry canvas of barren fields, night sky and yellow headlights I noticed a lonesome gas station sign in the distance, and an unsavoury idea crept into my head. I fumbled around in my jacket pocket, wincing as my shoulder objected, until my right paw closed around the familiar plastic grip of the Colt 44 Revolver. I reluctantly pulled it out and flipped the bullet chamber open. There were two rounds left.
"One for me and one for the car," I muttered dryly.
The cold chrome finish of the gun seemed to conceal how dirty and hideous a tool it had become. I wanted it to feel pain like I did, I wanted to watch it bend and snap like a stick under the wheels of the traffic, but I knew I needed it for what I was about to do. My paws had begun to shake, either from blood loss, nerves or a cruel combination of the two, so I shoved the revolver back into my pocket, trying to steady my ragged breathing.
The gas station was only a few yards away now, and I saw I was in luck. The refuelling area was completely empty, and the small convenience store was still lit up. Passing the flashing neon sign, I slowed and turned into the dusty parking lot. I stopped the car by one of the old pumps, and after what had felt like years of driving, finally cut the engine. The relief was glorious as I slumped back in my seat, inhaling deeply and allowing a few brief moments to enjoy the new found silence.
I looked towards the lonely store, where the silhouette of a rabbit at the cashier desk caught my eye. The last decent part of my conscience was imploring me to just drive away until I ran out of gas, to leave this innocent mammal out of the shit-storm I'd helped create, but I was desperate, and the selfish part of my mind had always been louder. With another groan, I pushed the car door open and lethargically climbed out into the barmy air, where I was hit by another rush of dizzy sickness as I straightened my shoulder. The store had 'Bunny Burrow Bargains' crudely painted in orange on one of the windows, and the scent of carrots and wheat was heavy in the air. I smirked half-heartedly, realising I'd driven deep into redneck rabbit country.
My Mustang looked as beaten and bloody from the outside as I did, with jagged holes littering the red bonnet and radiator grill. I'd always loved this car, and leaving it here felt like leaving a part of myself behind to rot. I frowned. Maybe the world would be better off with less of me around.
Stiffly, I walked through the store's automatic doors and into the blindingly bright, air-conditioned interior, keeping my left arm tightly up against my chest in an effort to lessen the pain. I could see the rabbit clearly now. She looked young; around late teens or early twenties I thought, with pleasant ash-grey coloured fur, ear tips dusted black and a light pink nose that didn't want to stop twitching. Under a pair of weathered and greying denim dungarees she wore a white oil-stained t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up past her elbows. She was leaning on the counter, her tired, half-lidded eyes staring absentmindedly at the phone in her paw. Even from a distance I noticed the brilliant purple of her irises.
My mind began to wander, thinking about where the doe might live, who her parents were, and whether she was happy working night shifts in a place like this, with mammals like me roaming around. As I approached, she looked up from her phone in surprise and smiled warmly at me. I felt a stab of guilt in my gut.
"Sorry, you caught me off guard there! I don't tend to get many customers on night shifts, and foxes are pretty rare round here," Her voice was exuberant but a little distant, "What can I do for you?"
I swallowed anxiously.
"Do you have a car?" I asked; my voice fatigued and blank.
Her expression turned more quizzical, "Uhhh... Why do you ask?"
A long conversation was the last thing I wanted at the moment, so I huffed impatiently, "Just tell me," I said more forcefully.
The corners of her smile slowly faded as I noticed her staring intently at my left shoulder. I had tried to pull the jacket's lapel as far across my chest as possible to cover some of the blood, but by now the red had spread across almost the entire shirt.
"S-Sir, do you need me to call an ambulance?" She questioned quietly, starting to look visibly nervous.
This was it; there was no going back now. In one fairly swift movement, I pulled the revolver from my pocket and pointed it directly at the rabbit's head.
"I'm not gonna ask again Carrots. Do you have a car?"
The effect was immediate. Her eyes grew wide as saucers, her body stiffened and her breathing became erratic and shaky.
"...yeah it's uh... It's out round the back of the store," The reply was barely audible as she choked out the words between breaths, "J-Just, please, don't shoot... You can take anything you want, I'm not gonna stop you, I swear."
An adrenaline-fuelled high and a deep sense of shame both rushed through my system, adding to my already rapid heartbeat.
"Where do you live?" Was the next question I needed answering.
She hesitated before replying, keeping her terrified gaze locked firmly on the gun, "Just outside B-Bunny Burrow, on a farm."
I should have expected it, but that wasn't the answer I'd been wanting.
"Does anyone else live there?"
"Y-yeah, my family..." There was the slightest hint of defiance in her voice.
I sighed dejectedly, "Is there anywhere in this fucking farmland that's not stuffed full of bunny hicks?"
Her brows furrowed as she quickly shook her head, "Rabbits aren't usually too concerned with privacy."
Finding that hard to believe, I moved the gun closer to the bunny's face and her eyes followed it.
"I need you to give me your phone," I tried in vain to make myself sound intimidating, hating every second of it, "Then you can show me your car, ok?"
"Ok," she nodded nervously, handing over a Smartphone that I uncomfortably tucked inside my jacket. The pain in my shoulder had ignited familiar cravings for alcohol, and I noticed several medium-mammal sized bottles of 'Buck Daniel's' on a shelf behind the counter.
"I'll have one of those too," I said, gesturing my gun towards the bottles.
She turned, reaching uneasily to pick one off the shelf before placing it on the counter. I snatched it up with the gun still in my paw, unscrewed the top with my teeth and gulped down almost a quarter of the sweet whiskey in one go, savouring the burning warmth that spread through my chest. Putting the bottle into my outer pocket, I pointed the firearm back at my target.
"Ok, let's see this car."
Her movement was tense as she walked towards the store's back door, the silver muzzle of my gun only inches away from the back of her head. Passing the shelves lined with drinks and snacks, she unlocked the metal door and we trudged out into the night. The harsh glow of the outside light was enough to give me a view of her car. It was an old pick-up truck, smaller than I was used to, sporting a '01 license plate, and light blue under the many layers of dust and dirt. At any other time I might have found its kitsch aesthetic endearing.
"You're driving," I muttered as she started towards the passenger door.
Bracing myself for the incoming pain, I opened the truck door and clambered unsteadily onto the bunny-sized passenger seat. The rabbit followed on the opposite side, seating herself behind the steering wheel. She paused, inhaled weakly, and turned a key in the ignition, making the engine splutter to life with a dirty roar. I rested the Colt on my lap, making sure to keep it discreetly aimed at her below the truck's dashboard. In silence, she drove the pick-up steadily out of the back parking lot, turning left onto the highway that I'd become very friendly with.
As I rolled down the window, letting the soft night breeze cool my face, I thought about the possibility of the bunny trying to run or fight back. Would I be able to shoot her? Was I heartless enough to deprive brothers, sisters, partners and parents of someone they probably loved for the second time in my life?
I didn't think so.
Images of her head exploding in a cloud of red flashed through my mind, forcing back a familiar nausea that I never wanted to experience again. Too much blood had already been spilt today, and I wasn't going to add to the body count.
"U-um, where do you wanna go?" I heard her ask quietly, wide eyes locked on the road ahead.
"Keep driving until I tell y-"My sentence was cut off as I felt the bullet in my shoulder grind against some bone. A bout of burning agony flooded my senses, making my stomach churn and my eyes water.
"Pull over..." I spat out between clenched teeth.
"But we've only been driving a few minutes," She countered anxiously.
"Just do it," I writhed in my seat, each bump of the road bringing a new wave of sickness.
Gradually slowing the truck, she pulled it over by a dusty wire fence.
"Give me the keys," I demanded hurriedly, and she complied, switching the engine off and handing me a rubber carrot key-ring with the car key attached.
With no time to spare, I opened the truck door and promptly vomited the little I'd eaten today onto the road. It was both satisfying and disgusting.
I knew it was pathetic, but being sick seemed to have dusted away some mental cobwebs. The hopelessness of my situation had begun to sink in as I leant hunched over on the dashboard, feeling the throbbing in my shoulder gradually subside to less scream-worthy levels. I'd lost all motivation to even try and hide from the law, let alone keep someone else hostage. Like the bunny had been trying to tell me; there was nowhere to go, nowhere I would be safe, and no one I could turn to for help. I gently slouched back into the hard seat, closing my eyes and letting my breathing slow. Maybe I could just rest here for a while.
Minutes passed, with the only noise being the distant chirrup of cicadas and the faint sighing of the wind through the window.
"What's your name?" The rabbit inquired softly, breaking the relative silence.
Surprised by the question, I glanced over at her. She still looked scared, but her blue eyes were now sparked with curiosity and her ears were slightly less pricked. I didn't want to reply, so I decided to stare out the open window instead.
"I-I'm Judy," She continued uneasily, "If you wanted to know."
I turned to her again, replying coldly, "I didn't, but thanks anyway."
She looked away defeated and an uncomfortable silence followed. I huffed. Perhaps telling her my name might not be the end of the world; it wasn't like I had anyone else to talk to.
"My name's Nick," I muttered.
The faint ghost of a smile flashed across her nervous face.
"So uh..." She loosely gestured to her own shoulder, "how did that happen?"
Memories of the gunshot that had been close to killing me burrowed into my head like parasites.
"'That' isn't something you need to know about," I retorted sourly, grimacing.
Another long quiet ensued, and in the dark truck interior I found myself missing the small snippets of conversation. I wasn't sure why, but talking to the rabbit that I had only moments ago been threatening with a gun made me feel slightly warmer inside, even if she was asking questions I simply didn't have the strength to answer yet.
"D'ya like working in that shop?" I hesitantly asked.
"Not really..." Judy said, "But it's a job, and it helps me pay rent when I'm at college, so I shouldn't complain."
It seemed the bunny farmer was full of surprises.
"You go to college?" I asked.
"Mhm, down in Lapinsville," She replied.
I didn't know where that was, but the name suggested lots more rabbits.
"What's your major?" I inquired, expecting something like 'carrot agriculture'.
For a few seconds she didn't respond, preferring to fiddle with her paws, but after a sigh she finally came out with it.
"Criminology"
My eyebrows rose with the realisation of how ironic our current situation was.
"Well, consider this a paws-on learning experience," I said with a weak chuckle.
I was curious now, "What's a bunny like you gonna do with a degree like that?" I asked.
"I uh... I dunno yet," She said uneasily.
After years of practice, lying was one of the art forms I considered myself best at, and that made sniffing out someone who wasn't used to bending the truth quite easy. Judy was definitely lying about her job prospects.
Not wanting to make the air any tenser, I let it slide.
"I almost went to college," I said, looking out the windscreen to the dim road ahead, "But stuff got in the way. Stuff always gets in the way."
"Why, what happened?" She asked.
"This thing happened," I replied, holding up my gun briefly, "I dunno, I mean, I was mixed up with the wrong crowd way before then, but it all seemed to get more serious after high school."
"Was it to do with drugs, or-?"
"Mostly," I said, nodding, "I went from selling to other kids in the playground, to doing thousand dollar deals with mammals in pin-stripe suits about a year later. It was pretty crazy, and not in a good way."
"Jeez..." Judy muttered.
"That's why I got given the gun; to protect myself from all the other crooks with guns," I said bitterly, "And this is where it got me..."
She sounded surprised, "Wait, that was a gift?"
"Yeah, a friend gave it to me for my birthday," I felt a lump rise in my throat, and my voice went quiet, "That day was fucking terrible."
Looking at her concerned expression, I realised how personal everything was getting, and I began to fidget like a bored kit.
"Fucking hell, what am I doing?" I sputtered out shakily, gripping the handle of my Colt slightly tighter, "I shouldn't be telling you this."
"Hey," She replied, "If it'll help, I don't mind listening."
Her words sounded more sincere than any I'd heard in a while, and her face held no semblance of malice or deceit. I frowned at the floor, considering whether or not detailing my personal history to a relative stranger was wise.
"You really wanna know the story behind this gun?" I asked warily.
She nodded.
I sighed, "Just gimme a sec."
I put down the gun, pulled the bottle of stolen whiskey out from my jacket pocket, unscrewed the cap and chugged back another quarter of the sweet liquor.
Stealing myself, I took some deep breaths and began to talk.