"Really, something is going on out there!"

Angie dressed quickly, and then rummaged in Tyler's leather bag. "You got that Beretta? I lost my hand blaster… I need something lighter than that Glock cannon of yours. Never mind, here it is."

Tyler watched as Angie pulled the pistol from its holster, checked the clip, jacked a round into the chamber, and jammed it into the back waistband of her jeans so smoothly it seemed like a single motion. There was a time he'd have been proud of what she'd learned… but this time it felt different.

"Hey, Angel. I said you could stop, last night. I said I'd take us both the rest of the way."

"I'm good til it's over."

When she turned and faced him, Angie saw through the chocolate eyes, right into the (new? newly visible?) man inside. The look that flashed across Tyler's face drew her casual assurance up short.

How long have I been hurting him like this? She went to him and gripped his arm, her other hand pressed to his chest.

"This isn't about 'you don't have to'," she insisted, "I know what you promised me, and I know exactly what you meant. But we both know it's not gonna work that way. It can't." He was looking hard at her. "C'mon, it wouldn't just be you covering for me, and you know it. I'd be hiding behind everyone else. We're surrounded by people who can't just 'stop' because they've had enough. Besides, I know how you are about slackers. You know you couldn't just let me lay back and wait."

"Try me." The contrast between the desperation of last night and her casual behavior now was something he couldn't believe easily, and she knew it.

"I was wrecked last night, I was beat down by what happened. I know you want to give me whatever I need, but last night I needed a place to hide, I guess, and a place to go crazy." Angie paused to read Tyler's expression. It was the open, listening expression, so she went on. "I begged for something that isn't right, and isn't real. And that's gonna happen sometimes, I don't know when it's gonna stop. I mean we both know I'm crazy, right?" She could see the weak joke wasn't weakening his resolve. And she knew that in spite of her meltdown last night, things were going to continue the way they had been going... love wasn't strong enough to change that. Right down to the wire, and neither one of them had ever really believed differently.

Angie reached her hands up to frame Tyler's face , as he did often to her when he wanted her to focus on what he was saying.

"You hate that beard," she observed with a faint smile, pausing to run her fingers back and forth. "You keep it for me. So do this one more thing for me that you'll hate… break that promise I didn't really want, okay?" She tried to look as hard as he did, but as always it was no contest. When he reached both hands behind her she thought he'd try to take the Beretta. But he just tucked it in more firmly, and pulled her a little closer against him.

"My kinda woman," he said, and kissed her more gently than he'd expected to.

"I'm betting on it," she returned, "I didn't kiss this many toads not to end up with a prince… even if he's the Prince of Darkness." Then he was looking at her in that studious way that made her feel awkward, even after all this time. She turned from him to open the door.

Before she could step out, Tyler yanked her back by her belt and wrapped an arm around her from behind.

"No matter how this ends I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you. Got it?" he growled in her ear.

She nodded, leaning into him. God, she loved how he felt. "Got it."

"Good." He gave her a light shove. "Now let's see what the hell's got the campers stirred up."

"Stirred up" was something of an understatement. There was a clutch of rebels near the open-air "motor pool" where their few beat up vehicles sat. Willie sat on the ground, and Julie was examining a wound on his head that exposed the green scales beneath the "skin". The smell of diesel was in the air, and there were torn up tire marks nearby. A distant rattling and roar could be heard.

"Those two hillbilly brothers jumped Willie and took the jeep," Elias ranted to nobody in particular. Given their remote location and with everything in wait-and-see mode, "sentry duty" was assigned more or less to give people a sense of doing something, anything at all besides just wait-and-see. The only real "guarding" went on at the farther perimeters, so anything in camp was easy pickings. When their pickup was commandeered by Maggie and Robert to transport some rebels to another camp, "hillbilly brothers" Jimmy and Jay decided to trade up (or so they thought). They'd already discovered there was nothing much worth stealing from these raggedy losers, so being able to pound Willie was an added bonus.

"They won't get far," Caleb listened and smiled as the echoes of a dying jeep reached them. "Tank's almost dry, and the oil pump is shot."

"Yeah, well I wanna know what they meant by 'let's finish the job'," Elias demanded of Willie, who was on his feet again. "You said you were messed up when they found you."

"It did not seem important," Willie offered vaguely, but Tyler had already caught on.

"I knew they were nothin' but inbred assholes," he grumbled, and headed off in the direction of the dying vehicle sounds.

"Shit, bro, let 'em go," Chris drawled. He didn't like them any more than Tyler did, but they weren't worth going after.

"I don't think so," Tyler answered over his shoulder, then added with a reptilian grin, "Anyway, I'm sick of sitting on my ass, I'm gonna kick some while I got the chance."

Reassured that Willie was okay, Angie rolled her eyes. "Had to happen… he can only play nice for so long, huh?" she observed.

Farber smirked and nodded. "Why don't you go bring him back after he's had his fun," he suggested. "Judging from those two clowns, it won't take long."

"Well I can use the fresh air, I guess." And with that, Angie took off after Tyler at a casual trot.

The jeep had lasted even less time than Caleb imagined it would. It crapped out only a few hundred yards from camp, leaving Jimmy and Jay kicking and cursing it before they hauled their few possessions out and prepared to walk. Jay heard the crashing of brush behind them and turned to see Tyler striding toward them in the distance.

"That leather-jacket motherfucker again…" Jay muttered. "Thinks he's badder than badass." Jay didn't like the way that jerk had manhandled him and his brother. And he talked like some kind of lizard-lover.

Jimmy had the shotgun slung over his shoulder and was already walking away. "Let it go, man, who cares who he thinks he is. He's not gonna follow us."

"He's not gonna have to." Jay ignored his brother and marched along the dirt track toward Tyler.

Dumb fucks, Tyler thought, then barked at the approaching redneck, "Smart move, assholes, steal the one thing we got that was ready to croak, and pick the one person to beat on that would piss me off the most." The genius with the shotgun was taking off in the opposite direction. Tyler shook his head with a disgusted smirk and had already holstered his Glock when Jay suddenly stood his ground about twenty feet away, and pulled out the one thing that had been worth stealing.

"Piss on this, fuckwad," Jay snarled, and for the first time in living memory The Fixer was taken completely by surprise.

Ah, shi—

The first shot spun him around; the second knocked him onto his face.

Everyone in camp heard the shots, but Angie was close enough to tear up the road in time to see Tyler go down. Whoever pulled the trigger on him was walking away. Not running, walking. She heard herself holler, as if from a great distance.

"HEY!"

When Jay turned around he saw a scrawny broad with short scraggly dark hair, reaching behind her back with one hand. He didn't bother raising his stolen weapon again. "Gotta problem, bitch?"

The last word gargled out in a spray of blood.

One, two three… just like Chris had taught her while Tyler was in Mexico, because she'd never be a sharpshooter. Quick and dirty: one to the throat, two to the chest, and three to the gut, squeeze the trigger and spread the damage, if one doesn't do it the others probably will.

He was dead before he hit the ground.

Then Angie was on her hands and knees next to Tyler, still clutching the Beretta in one hand, the other one scooping uselessly at the blood that seemed to come from everywhere, as if she could force it back inside. She started begging, "Tyler, c'mon, get up,"and then shrieking, "JULIE! JULLLIIIIEEEE!" so madly she couldn't even hear the approach of running feet. She barely noticed as Chris Farber picked her up bodily and broke her grip on the Beretta she'd pointed again at the dead stranger lying nearby, squeezing the trigger until the clip was empty.