Bonney won the place fair and square, and there was nothing that little redheaded brat could do to make her leave.
Finders Keepers
"Get out of my car, you crazy bitch!"
Bonney rolled here eyes and raised her middle finger over the dashboard. A rock thudded against the windshield in reply.
"Make me!" she yelled at the pest outside as she popped another piece of snack into her filled mouth.
The kid screeched, kicked the bumper and stomped to the driver seat door. He was quiet for only a second before roaring out a battle cry and yanking at the door, but the lock held fast. Bonney's threw her gangly grimy frame to it and yanked back; the creak and grind of metal signaled trouble to her. Back and forth the tug of war went, the children yelling one after the other.
But the kid outside was winning, Bonney could tell. He was strong for a little brat, and she was weak from two days without food. Even keeping her feet planted on both sides of the door frame and pushing against them while her arms pulled with all their might, the car shook with each yank from the outside.
She gritted her teeth, getting angrier and angrier by the minute. Just when she found a comfortable hole to rest her head in (with a food stash to boot!) along came that loud, wild-haired brat, yelling in her ear and pulling at her hair until he had wrestled her out of her metal box, then taunted her and made ugly faces her way.
Well, Bonney didn't stand for any of it. Hiding close by, she kept an eye on her rival. The moment the kid stepped out of the car (to take a piss or whatever it was he was going to do), she dove into the musty cushions and slammed the doors close. She had possession of the car since. But now, just half a day into her victory, she was going to get thrown out again.
Another tug from the outside and electric pain shot through her arms, ending with what sounded to her like a pop at her shoulders. Her fingers numbed and her grip slipped in her sweat. Grimacing, she held on for the next mighty yank. As it came, the door handle flew from her hands. Her feet kept her from shooting out with it, and instead sent her flying further inside, landing in a messy heap of arms and legs on top of her spilled stale snack.
The boy wasn't any luckier. In all his want to get the door to budge, his true purpose was forgotten; he was set only on making each yank stronger than the last. So when the door finally opened, he was not ready for it. The metal bulk came at him with ferocious speed, not giving him any time to think. It swept him clear off the ground and dragged him to the end of its wild swing.
Bonney waited in dreadful anticipation in her heap, her mind struggling to move her unwilling body. When at last she got her feet under her, still wheezing, she crawled to the open door. She scowled when she glimpsed the brat's feet behind the half-rebounded door. But the feet were still. Bonney inched away from the door and craned her neck as far as she could to catch a glimpse of her enemy without risking helplessness to a surprise attack. And then she laughed, both in mean-spirited amusement and relief.
Propped up against the front tire was the boy, a red spot darkening between his empty eyes. She laughed long and hard before sparing him a second glance, finding him still down but coming to. Smug from another battle won, Bonney grabbed the door handle, slammed it shut, and to the boy yelled, "And stay out!"
She did not hear from the boy again that day. Bonney half expected him to come running at her with renewed fury once he was back on his feet, but all he had done was march away in a huff out of the junkyard. She had cackled at his retreating back and proceeded to celebrate by draining the stale but plentiful food stash hidden away in the broken down car. She was stuffed and sleepy by the time she was done.
Bonney was jolted awake by a drawn out rusty creak that tilted the car back and then forward, a crunch from above coming with the latter. She hadn't realized she had fallen asleep, and now nighttime had fallen. Her terror subsided into clipped annoyance. She scowled up at the roof, crossing her arms with a huff. For a while, nothing came from the brat that was definitely trying to up one on her. Then the shaking started. Like lurching waves, the kid tilted the creaky hunk of steel forward and the back, over and over, not saying a word.
"Yeah, that's so scary," Bonney hissed at her unseen enemy. "I'm pissing my pants." She climbed on top of a backrest and pounded at the ceiling. "Knock it off!"
Still no response, and the car continued to sway. Bonney rolled her eyes and sat back down, deciding to wait it out. Whatever the kid had planned, he was bound to get tired sometime. The rocking and creaking didn't stay slow and rhythmic for long; it would suddenly shifted its tempo, like a troublesome seesaw partner trying to drop her to the ground, at one point so slow Bonney thought it would finally stop and another time dropping so fast, the girl fell off her seat. It creaked a gleeful rhythm after. The increasingly irate girl screamed at the insult and leapt up the backrest again, pounding against the ceiling.
"When I get my hands on you, you brat," she yelled, "I'm going to strangle your skinny little neck!"
She continued screaming until someone slammed heavy fists on the hood. She turned and found her tormentor there, hands planted on the edge and glaring, teeth gritted in fury. Even shadowed by the bright moon behind him, she could see his bright eyes ablaze. Bonney was equally furious.
"You little shit-" she started to say.
"Will you shut up?!" the boy yelled over her. "I'm trying to sleep here."
"You shut up! Don't think for one second I'm going to fall for that."
"The hell are you talking about?"
In their heated exchange, the pair did not noticed the car start moving again. They continued to lob insults through broken windshield until one violent tilt sent the kid sprawling over the hood and Bonney into the dashboard. In the quiet after, the shaking stopped and came metallic creaks from the trunk cover. The kid outside paled and backed away, then ran with profanities at his tail.
The little girl left inside the car sat very still, coaxing herself to look back. The creaking had stopped by then and no shaking was perceptible. She searched her peripheral vision as she inched close to a door. It was bright back there, lit up by the moon, but she couldn't see much. She grabbed the door handle as she twisted to look at what lay behind the rear windshield.
It was empty, an illuminated span of rust and pealing paint, backgrounded by the shadow play on mounds of junk and trash. Nothing stirred as she scanned its entirety; her heart calmed from its relentless flutter. With a sigh of relief, she released her tight grip on the door handle. In her peripheral vision, a pair of glowing eyes peered at her from a irregular silhouette, a pale hand planted flat on the glass surface.
+.+
A burlap sack flew into an open window and landed with a noisy crunch. Hands gripped the windowsill and heaved their owner after them. A bushy mess of blond hair was first to peer through, followed by the lanky frame of a teenager.
Killer sighed and sat on the sill, letting his breath catch up to him. High pitched screaming still rang unwanted in his ears. On the floor behind him, the sack had spilled its contents on the floor. A glass-eyed mask laid among the rusty junk, grinning up at the ceiling.
"Hey, is she gone?" a giddy question shot at him from his desk. Without looking, the teen knew his little red-haired friend had beaten him back to his room.
"Yeah. Hopefully, for good."
Kid cackled over his victory. He jumped from his seat, striding up to the discarded sack and picking up the large, hairy mask. Holding it an arms length from him, he mirrored its toothy grimace. He laughed again before addressing the still-panting teen.
"It wouldn't have killed you to let me in on this, you know? I almost shit myself."
It was Killer's turn to grin now. "But that was the best part," he said, dodging the rusty can that flew his way soon after.