A/N: Hello readers! Long time no see, I realize. My life has been hectic and has left me with less time and energy to write as I would like. Nevertheless, I've finally finished this chapter, which was a work-in-progress for at least a few months. I hope you enjoy and I thank each and every one of you for your continued support. This story is far from abandoned, I promise.
The doctor's truck rumbled up the unpaved road that led to the home of the Tillman family. A large clan that had been a part of Holland Valley society since the 1960s, Morgan recalled there being nearly a dozen people living on their property.
As they reached the edge of the large main house's front yard, Morgan saw at least two dozen armed county residents, along with Sheriff Whitehorse, taking cover behind a stone wall that surrounded the property. Doctor DeFeo's truck slowed and one resident stuck up a hand to get his attention. Morgan saw he was one of three people surrounding a man propped up against the wall.
The doctor and his passengers exited. Doctor DeFeo had his bag of medical supplies already partially unzipped.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
The man had a tourniquet wrapped above the middle of his thigh. Morgan saw blood staining his jeans all the way down the leg.
"Someone in there got me. Fucking artery shot, I think."
The doctor grimaced, but nodded.
"Okay. Let's move him out into the light and I'll get working."
Morgan left the doctor to do his thing and joined the sheriff's side. Whitehorse was leaning behind the wall, peering over it with one hand propping up his Mini-14 on the top of the stones.
"What do we got, sheriff?"
Whitehorse shook his head.
"About twenty guys. All armed."
"Hm. How are we playing this?"
"We see what they want and see if we can talk this out."
Morgan pivoted his head in Whitehorse's direction, a look of disbelief on his face.
"What?"
"You heard me. Now's not the time for killing each other. We had enough of that already."
Morgan exhaled slowly.
"Okay, then. If you say so."
The door to the house was forcefully pushed open. The eyes of every Holland Valley resident was zeroed in at the person that emerged.
A man emerged. He was a tall White guy, about Morgan's age, clad in a fur-lined plaid jacket and jeans. A thigh holster containing a pistol was secured to his leg.
He looked around, surveying the numerous muzzles of rifles and shotguns leveled at him.
"So," he began, sounding uninterested, "who are you people? The homeowner's association?"
Three other men followed him out the house, holding rifles at low ready. They were wearing bits and pieces of various tactical kit over street clothes.
After a moment of silence, Whitehorse stood up from his position. He held his rifle to the side with one hand and used the other hand to make a placating gesture.
"Sheriff Earl Whitehorse, Hope County. Who am I speaking to?"
"Zach," the man replied.
He idly pointed at Whitehorse.
"I take it you and your friends aren't bringing me some home baked cookies to welcome us to the neighborhood?"
"What happened to the family that lived here?" Whitehorse asked.
"Buried out back," Zach said.
A string of curses and threats went up and down the line of Hope County residents. Whitehorse spoke when they settled down.
"Now, you know I can't let that stand. You killed some of our people."
"We did."
"So, I will offer you this once to avoid any more bloodshed. There's been enough of that, not just here, but the whole country."
Zach shrugged.
"I'm listening."
"Leave. You and your people."
"Leave?" Zach repeated.
"Yes."
"And go where? Ain't much out there these days."
"I don't know. But I do know you can't stay here."
"Or what?"
"We'll remove you."
"Okay," Zach said with a short nod.
"Okay," he repeated.
The man to Morgan's left snapped backward and fell. It took a second for the deputy to register the gun shot.
With that, chaos erupted.
Dozens of rounds were exchanged in seconds. Zach's men fired from windows, behind doors, and out in the front of the yard. Two more Hope County residents fell with fatal wounds. Morgan squeezed off as many rounds as he could before being forced down behind the stone wall. Shards of stone peppered his head and back as he gritted his teeth and shoved a new magazine into his rifle.
"What are we doing?" Morgan shouted to the sheriff.
"Do you think you can get around them to the side ?" Whitehorse replied.
"Yeah. Give me cover!"
Calls for covering fire rang up around the Hope County defenders. Morgan ran to the left, staying low to dodge stray rounds. He reached the trees at the edge of the property, using that for cover as he advanced on a side door he had spotted. The men who occupied the house were probably too preoccupied dodging bullets to register the appearance of one man.
Morgan exited the grove of trees unseen. He raised his rifle and took down one man who had taken cover by the side of the house. His element of surprise, still intact, Morgan advanced to the side door.
As he reached out with one hand to open it, someone from within kicked it open and sent it flying toward Morgan. The door rebounded off his face and sent him sprawling to the ground. His AR-15 fell from his grasp.
One of the bandits emerged, a shotgun at his hip. Morgan scrambled to get purchase on the grip of his sidearm. Morgan pulled his pistol and raised it just as the man also raised his shotgun.
An arrow flew over Morgan's head and slammed through his attacker's left eye socket. His head snapped back and the shotgun let off a blast of buckshot into the grass.
Like a vengeful ancient forest spirit, Jess emerged from the woods, arrow nocked and ready. Had she been there the whole time?
She looked down at him and Morgan smiled up at her.
"You know how to make an entrance."
"I watched lots of eighties action movies growing up," she said, sticking out a hand and helping him up.
Morgan retrieved his rifle and stacked up by the door with Jess in tow. The sound of gunfire continued unabated at the front of the house.
"We're gonna deal with these assholes now or what?" she asked.
"Yeah. You have my back?"
Jess nodded once.
"Always."
Morgan took a deep breath and pushed open the door, moving in and keeping low. His rifle was held up and ready. A few paces in, he almost ran into a man emerging from a side room. He shouts, raises his gun, but Morgan is faster. The man drops from two rounds through the chest.
Someone else emerges from a hall to the side, shotgun up. He receives an arrow through his brain and falls to the ground. Jess jogged past Morgan and retrieved her arrow.
"You go clear down here, I go upstairs?" he suggested.
"Sounds like a plan."
The couple split up. Morgan approached the staircase just in time for one of the raiders to emerge from an upstairs room. Both men shouted in surprise when they sighted each other. Morgan was faster and the body of the attacker came tumbling down the stairs and landed in a heap at the landing.
Morgan stepped over him and slowly ascended the stairs, slowly enough to keep his rifle steady should he need to react quickly.
Slow is smooth and smooth is fast. A mantra Eli Palmer had remarked to him what felt like a lifetime ago.
Such wisdom came in handy when a raider leapt out from behind a wall, a shotgun at his hip. Morgan put two rounds through center mass before his foe could pull the trigger.
Outside, the shooting was dying down. A few stray rifle shots impacted with the siding of the house. Someone was calling to stop firing.
Morgan looked out a nearby window. Zach and a few of his buddies were huddled against the wall. The leader of the group of bandits was clutching his flank as blood poured out of it. He shakily held a pistol aloft as Hope County forces advanced on him and his surviving comrades.
"Enough! Put down your guns and give this up!" Whitehorse ordered Zach and his men.
"Fuck you, old man. Fuck you. I ain't running from you fucking hicks," he sneered back.
"Come on, kid. Just stop this. There does not need to be any more bloodshed. There's enough of that these days," Whitehorse replied.
Morgan admired the sheriff's attempts at diplomacy, but realized it may indeed be futile.
Zach confirmed this by raising his weapon.
"Go to hell!" he shouted as he leveled his pistol at Whitehorse.
The men and women around the sheriff were much faster and cut down Zach and his followers in a hail of bullets.
"No, no!" came a voice behind Morgan. The deputy wheeled around and locked eyes with a young man holding a pistol-gripped shotgun.
The two men had a brief stalemate. Neither one wanted to act. Morgan found himself attempting to raise his weapon, but knew that in such close quarters, an aggressor could easily close the gap and reach Morgan before the latter could get into a proper stance.
His opponent seemed to realize this as he screamed and dropped the shotgun, opting to bound toward Morgan with his hands outstretched.
The bandit grabbed Morgan by his plate carrier as he got his rifle up and fired a shot that pierced the ceiling. The two men struggled for the rifle before it slipped from their hands and spun out on the floor.
Morgan shoved off his enemy's hands and moved to counter-attack. Morgan's first punch was blocked, but his second impacted the bandit's gut. His opponent groaned and stumbled forward. Morgan wrapped his arms around his neck and tightened his grip, trying to choke him out.
Undeterred, Morgan's foe rapidly launched punches into his stomach and abdomen. Despite his attempts to keep in control, Morgan reflexively slackened and the bandit escaped. The next thing Morgan knew, a hand was clamped down on his throat and he was forced off his feet and onto his back.
Growling like a cornered animal, the bandit slammed a fist into Morgan's face as the grip around his throat tightened. The deputy saw stars pepper his vision. The fist collided with his face once more. Morgan tasted the blood dripping into his mouth.
His free hand groped around for anything he could use as a weapon. Eventually, his fingers tightened around a metal object. Not knowing or caring what it was, Morgan whipped it up and into his attacker's head.
It was an ornate metal lamp. Morgan briefly mused that this was probably the most use it had seen in some time as the object collided with the bandit's head with a hollow thunk. His opponent cried out and fell onto his back, holding his temple as blood dripped past his hands. He briefly attempted to sit back up and Morgan replied by pitching the lamp toward his face, where it hit its mark. The man groaned and fell back down.
Morgan scrambled over to him, drawing his pistol from its holster in the process. He stuck the gun into the man's face and grabbed a fistful of his shirt.
The bandit stared down the muzzle of the 9mm and locked eyes with Morgan. Both men were silent save for their rough breathing. Slowly, Morgan's opponent put his hands above his head in surrender. His finger twitched on the trigger.
A thought flashed through his brain. He should just pull the trigger and end his life right now. That'd be easy. It's not like anyone would find out he killed a surrendering man.
He blinked twice, suddenly disgusted he could think such a thing. Morgan was better than that and he knew it.
He hauled the man to his feet.
"Get up," Morgan growled as he turned the bandit around and reached for the handcuffs he stored on his belt.
The bandit actually chuckled lightly.
"You gonna read me my Miranda rights or something first?" he snarked quietly.
Morgan usually would have a reply for that, but he was in no mood.
"Shut the fuck up before I just go and kill you instead."
The voice that came out of his mouth felt odd, as if it belonged to someone he did not recognize.
A new set of footsteps rapidly ascended the stairs. Morgan reached for his gun and relaxed when Jess appeared in the doorway.
"Downstairs is clear. All these assholes are either dead or giving up. Everyone else is moving in to secure," she reported.
Morgan looked up at her. Jess's brows furrowed in concern when she saw the blood dripping down his face.
"Morgan, you okay?"
"Yeah."
"Are you sure? That looks pretty bad, you should get-"
"I said I'm fine," he said, much more forcefully than he intended, "let's just get this guy out and over with."
She blinked, unused to that tone. The silence hung for a long moment before Jess nodded.
"Okay. Yeah. Lead the way."
Morgan prodded the bandit's back with his pistol.
"Move it," he ordered.
The man complied and Morgan moved to leave the house with Jess in tow. Unseen by the deputy, Jess sighed softly and looked at him with concern.
She had been on her stomach for the past twenty minutes. The entire time, she had been debating if it was worth it.
The young woman strained to look at the rest stop, which a sign advertised as the last one before Colorado. She had been wondering if anyone was already inside, but the place seemed deserted. It was a paradox- she wanted to wait and see if she spotted anyone lurking about, but the longer she waited, the more of a chance someone else would arrive and move in to take whatever loot the building may contain.
Her backpack was next to her, a little heavier than it usually was during this journey. She was flush with food taken from the man she murdered the previous night- murdered in self defense, thank you very much, she thought to herself.
But, more food and fresh water would not hurt. Maybe the place would hold other things she needed. It would be worth it.
She got to her feet and gathered her things. Soon, she was walking toward the rest stop quickly and with purpose. She had decided to wear her new-found holster and pistol visibly on her hip. Maybe it made her a target, but at the same time, it let people know she was armed and ready to deal with any bullshit. Not that she knew more than the basics of shooting a gun. She knew where the magazine went, how to reload it when it was empty, how to turn off the safety, and which direction to point it. It was a start.
The parking lot was crammed with cars, covered with weeks of dust and dirt. Just from the state of the parking lot, she could tell people had already been through this area. The cars had their windows smashed and trunks wrenched open. Trash and debris were scattered all over the parking lot. A few pieces of suitcases and luggage were also strewn about. She checked and found they had all been picked clean some time ago.
The double glass doors were askew, with one of them halfway off its hinges. The glass was spiderwebbed or simply shattered and her shoes crunched on broken glass as she made her way inside.
Wind whistled through the empty building. The inside was a disaster zone. Shelves were knocked over, tables broken and haphazardly thrown about. Food wrappers, plastic bottles, and other various pieces of refuse littered the floor.
As she moved into the interior, the young woman became aware of how large this place actually was. She remembered stopping in rest stops like this back when she and her friends would drive across the South and Southwest. She had fond memories of crossing into Texas and stopping at a gigantic mini-mall like this (because everything's bigger in Texas) and stocking up on candy, chips, and other junk food to sustain herself for the time being.
Those were happier times- before the events that would lead her to Eden's Gate and long before the events that would lead to undertaking the odyssey she ventured on now.
She searched slowly and methodically, but taking care to locate the most likely places useful things may be stashed. She had to balance being quick enough and careful enough. This stop was burning daylight and the longer she lingered, the greater a chance of someone else arriving.
She imagined what this place was like shortly after the EMP. Hundreds of stranded motorists, either ones already on the premises or those who walked off the highway after abandoning their disabled vehicles, must have congregated in the building itself. She imagined that for hours, these masses sat and waited for… something. What was that something? The young woman figured it was instruction, some set of rules they had to follow that would smooth over this disruption to their plans. She could just imagine the sitting and waiting that was done, the belief shared among those who did this that eventually someone would come and tell them to do something.
But as the hours dragged on, it would have become clear that such salvation would not come. And with that, came the most horrific notion many of the people who sought shelter in this rest stop would have had- they'd have to do something for themselves and no one was coming to rescue them.
The young woman absentmindedly tossed the small amount of food she found behind the counter of a sandwich shop service counter. She thought about the panic that must have gripped the people here on Day One of the EMP, how it spread like a virus through their ranks. Some people must have been hundreds or thousands of miles from home- families on vacation, people who were in the area for business, solo roadtrippers who had picked the wrong time to take in the Southwest.
She wondered where they all went. What plan they put together and how many accomplished it. She wondered just how many people who left this rest stop behind were still alive.
The gloomy thoughts were banished from her mind as she shook out the contents of a black backpack. She picked up a flashlight and stuck that into her own bag, as well as a pair of scissors. A book had also fluttered onto the ground. She picked it up and flicked through it. The title was Bush War in Bowa-Seko. She briefly flicked through the pages. It was non-fiction, the memoirs of a mercenary who became trapped in a war-torn central African country in 2008. Not her usual thing- she would have preferred a good sci-fi novel- but it seemed interesting enough. At this point, she would read anything.
She hummed as she put away the book and moved on. Idly kicking an empty can, she headed deeper into the aisles. Gazing at the signs hanging overhead to indicate what each aisle contained, the young woman decided to spend her time focusing on the areas that would be most likely to contain what she needed.
Predictably, the aisles containing food, snacks, and drinks were picked clean. Almost picked clean. She got down on her hands and knees and recovered things that had been kicked under the shelves during the initial looting weeks earlier- a stick of beef jerky, a candy bar, and a crushed-up, but sealed, bag of trail mix.
She skipped the aisles with souvenirs and branded t-shirts and stopped at the health products aisles. The shelves there were mostly emptied, save for a single container of multivitamins. She took those, thinking that popping a few every morning probably wouldn't hurt.
There had been one section in this particular area she had a mind to check out. The young woman found it was almost completely looked over and untouched. She had to smirk at that while reading the sign above the shelves- feminine hygiene.
Everyone wants guns and food, no one ever thinks about tampons and pads, she mused internally as she filled her bag with what she needed. Nature still existed and she would be on the road for a while.
She moved on. In the rear of the building were the bathrooms. She paused, wondering if it would be worth her time checking out. Perhaps an entire crate of food and a rocket launcher had been stashed in the bathrooms. Although the latter probably wouldn't be too useful.
She started at the men's bathroom, feeling a bit rebellious.
It's the apocalypse, after all, she thought as she searched the rows of stalls and sinks. It was slim pickings, until she happened to open a random stall. Within was a black duffle bag sitting on top of the toilet. She grabbed it and moved it out into the light provided by the skylights on the roof.
It felt weighty, which was a good sign. She unzipped the bag and was immediately greeted by a pile of canned goods- soup, canned vegetables, chili, tuna, and a few tins of spam. The young woman gasped as she counted out the fourteen intact cans of food she had found- and there was more.
Along with the food was a flashlight and some batteries, a pair of gloves, and a black holster. She picked up the holster and drew out its contents- a silver hammerless revolver, the markings indicating it was a Smith and Wesson. She pushed the cylinder latch to reveal each chamber loaded with a .38 Special round. Underneath the revolver was a box of .38 Special cartridges. At the very bottom was a piece of paper wrapped around something nearly flat.
She undid the rubber band holding the paper in place and her eyes widened at the sight of an honest-to-God chocolate bar in her hands. She chuckled to herself. This was even better than finding another gun.
The piece of paper was a note, written in rough handwriting that was clearly scrawled in a hurry.
Natalie,
Don't know if you're coming back. We need to move. Your stuff and some more is in here. Me, Kayla, and Dan should be a day out to dad's place by the time you read this. Hope you can meet us there soon.
- T.
She folded up the note and tossed it back in the bag. The young woman briefly wondered about Natalie, who she was, what she was doing before this, and where she had gone. She evidently had not come back for her little cache.
The young woman loaded up her bag with the loot. A thought flashed through her mind, one she had never had during this entire journey- she did not care that she was taking this stuff.
She had previously felt some measure of guilt whenever she grabbed a useful item and stuffed it into her backpack. As she would walk away, she asked herself what if someone else needed it more than me?
The young woman could not find it in her to care anymore. She had to look out for herself. No one cared about her. No one spared a second thought about her. She had learned the hard way that the only person that will ever care about you, is you.
So, she cared not if Natalie was minutes away to reclaim her stuff or if she was currently a rotting corpse in a ditch somewhere. The young woman had a goal and she would reach it or die trying.
Her internal thoughts were interrupted by the sound of something being rapidly moved across the floor.
"Shit! Can you give me a flashlight or something? This place is a death trap."
She drew in a shallow breath and stood up, sticking in the rest of the items she had found in the bag into her backpack and zipping it up.
It was the worst thing she could have heard- other people. It was a male voice and she could imagine that he was not alone.
"Why don't you just move a little more slowly?" a woman's voice replied.
"He's not capable of that, I think we know that," a second male voice added.
"Man, fuck you both," the first man replied.
Her heart skipped a beat when she realized the voices were drawing closer to her position.
"Fuck, fuck, shit…" she mumbled to herself as she gathered her things and went to the door. She risked poking her head out to see what was going on outside.
She very briefly caught sight of three people wandering the aisles and making their way to her position at the back of the store. It was two men and a woman, just as she figured. She saw no one else, so perhaps it was just this trio.
She hurriedly ducked back into cover when one of them turned to her direction. Confident she was not spotted, she took a deep breath and planned her next move.
Her right hand went to the holster on her hip and drew her Ruger pistol. She flicked off the safety and held the gun close to her chest as she took another deep breath.
Maybe the best course of action was to jump out there and take them out before they could get the drop on her.
No.
The young woman knew there was plenty of bloodshed to go around already. She would try to avoid it if necessary. While she would not hesitate to take life in order to defend herself, something in the back of her head told her to try to avoid killing if she could.
Were these people bad? Probably not. They were most likely other people just trying to get by and they stopped here looking for food, just as she had. Of course, she could be completely wrong. Maybe these people were vicious killers and would not hesitate to shoot her on sight. She decided to give them the benefit of the doubt.
Regardless, she knew that if it came to it, she would kill them before they killed her. But, she hoped it would not have to come to that.
There was no back door, at least not near her. They were closing in fast. Her mind raced. Maybe she should just reveal herself. Maybe they'd just let her go in peace.
"I'm gonna take a leak," the first male voice she had heard announced to his companions.
The woman chuckled.
"Go ahead, but forgive us if we forget about you and leave you behind."
"Yeah, yeah," the man replied as his footsteps drew closer to the young woman's hiding place.
She looked around, cursing silently. Finally, she decided to hop as quietly as she could to a nearby stall and hide. She pulled the stall door closed, but could not lock it as she had no time and it would make too much noise.
With a grunt, she jumped up onto the toilet itself so her feet would not be visible. The young woman leveled her pistol at the door and silently prayed the man would not pick this stall to do his business.
Seconds later, she heard footsteps entering the bathroom and the stranger whistling. The young woman glanced down and saw that the stall door was open a crack, enough that she would be visible if someone were to just briefly look inside.
The man seemed to have a singular thought on his mind as he briskly walked past her stall and settled on one a few doors down. Her gun remained leveled as she heard him urinating and then walking over to the faucets. She heard the sound of a faucet turning for a few seconds, followed by a sigh.
"Worth a try," she heard the man mumble before she heard the sound of a water bottle being uncapped and water pouring out to wash his hands.
His business done, the stranger began to head for the exit. He paused to kick the duffle bag the young woman had looted out of his way.
Just when she thought she would be in the clear, the door to her stall groaned as the opening widened slightly. She cursed to herself. There was no breeze. The door just picked now of all times to creak open. Maybe there was a slight change in air pressure. Maybe it was actually set on a very small incline. Whatever the reason, the young woman really wished it had picked a better time to attract attention to itself.
The man stopped and turned around. She saw his boots move to the front of the stall through the gap between the floor and the door.
Time to act.
The young woman jumped off her perch and slammed her shoulder into the door. It smacked the man right in the face and he recoiled with a low groan of surprise and pain.
When he righted himself, he saw a pistol thrust about a foot from his face.
"Don't scream," the young woman ordered.
The man was frozen in place. He stared down the barrel of the pistol for a moment and then locked eyes with her. He was a thirty-something White guy, with curly black hair and matching stubble.
He complied and chose to respond by slowly raising his hands.
"What's your name?" the young woman asked.
"Wyatt," he replied.
"Who's out there with you?"
"That's Layla and Shawn."
"And that's all?'
"Yeah."
"Are you sure?"
He nodded once.
"I swear."
The young woman shifted slightly and flexed her fingers.
"What are you guys doing here?"
"We stopped looking for gas for our truck. We decided to go and check out inside. Find some food, maybe. Same as you, I guess."
"Sure," she agreed.
"Are you… highwaymen?" she added.
"What, like, bandits?" Wyatt asked.
"Yeah."
"No. We don't… take from people if they're still around. If it's left out, it's fair game. Are you…?"
"No," she replied with a firm shake of her head, "no, I feel the same way about that."
"That's good. So what are we doing?"
She was silent for a moment.
"I just want to leave."
"We do too."
"I… I can't trust you three will let me leave. You got me outnumbered."
"Look, lady- what'd you say your name was?"
"I didn't," she replied quietly.
Wyatt blinked, considering his next move.
"Look. Okay. We don't go looking for trouble. We just want to keep on moving. Let me go and I'll make sure my friends understand we're both just people wanting to get to where we need to be."
"I can't do that."
Wyatt exhaled.
"I understand, really, I do."
"Call them over."
"What?"
"Your friends. Call them over," she repeated.
"What the hell are you-"
"Is that a gun there? On your hip?" the young woman interrupted.
"Yeah. That's my dad's old three-eighty auto."
"Unclip the holster and slide it over to me," she instructed.
Wyatt did not argue and did as he was told, making no sudden movements and keeping his eyes locked with her own the entire time. He placed the black holster on the floor and slid it to her. The young woman stopped it with her foot. She picked it up and freed it with one hand while keeping her other hand up to train her own pistol on Wyatt.
The man impassively stared as she dropped out the magazine and then tossed it over Wyatt's head, where it clattered at the end of the bathroom. Next, she ejected the chambered round and stepped over to a nearby trash can. She pushed open the trash and tossed the pistol into it.
"Now. Call your friends."
Wyatt licked his lips.
"Hey!" he shouted.
"What?" the woman, Layla, replied.
"Come to the bathroom. There's something here you should see."
"If this is the start of some bathroom joke-" the other man, Shawn, began.
"No! I'm- I'm serious. You should take a look at what I found here."
After a moment of deliberation, Layla and Shawn began to walk to the bathroom.
"Good. Now back up and keep your hands up," the young woman instructed as she pressed against the wall right next to the entrance.
The other two strangers entered half a minute later. Layla was a tall woman with a black pixie cut and Shawn was a young man with close-cropped red hair. They reacted with amused grins at Wyatt holding his hands up. They did not realize he was looking at the young woman, who they had inadvertently walked right past.
"Dude, what the hell are you doing?" Shawn inquired after a chuckle.
The young woman stepped forward audibly, her weapon still held high. The pair whipped around and their mirthful expressions immediately faded.
"Oh, shit," Layla mumbled.
"Hands up. Now!" the young woman barked.
They both complied promptly.
"Wyatt, what the fuck did you do?" Shawn shot at his companion.
"Man, she got the drop on me!"
"Shut up. Both of you, put your guns on the ground- slowly."
They both looked at the young woman and decided she was not playing around. Shawn slowly removed the pump-action shotgun slung over his shoulder and placed it on the ground. Layla did the same, removing a small 9mm pistol from its holster and placing it at her feet. The two people kicked their guns over to the young woman, who gathered them up with one arm and tossed the guns out the door.
"You can get those back when we're done," she announced.
"Reassuring," Layla snidely remarked.
A moment of tense silence passed between the group. Shawn's eyes flicked around the room, as if he was looking for something to use to his advantage. The young woman decided to speak.
"Okay. Here's the deal. I don't trust you guys and I'm sure you don't trust me very much right now. I understand we both just want to go our separate ways. But I can't trust you won't just shoot me in the back."
"Yeah, well, how are we going to trust you won't just execute us right now?" Layla asked.
"It's been a few minutes. Don't you think if I wanted to, I would've just shot you all once you've been gathered up and be done with it?"
"Good point," Wyatt said.
"Right then," Layla said with a shrug, "what do you want us to do?"
"I'm going to walk out and block the door. I'm sure you guys can figure a way out- but only after I'm long gone."
"She's gonna take the truck-" Wyatt hissed before Layla and Shawn cut him off.
"Fucking idiot," Shawn sighed.
Layla exhaled sharply.
"The truck we've been traveling in. It's outside. If I can ask of you one thing, and one thing only- don't take that. We need that."
The young woman blinked.
"I can do that."
What happened to save yourself and screw everyone else? The voice in her head asked.
She was only going to take stuff that no one else currently owned, stuff that was abandoned. Just like Wyatt claimed they did.
"I won't take your truck. I know you need it and you have all your stuff on it. We are both just trying to get by. I won't take it."
She paused.
"Although… if you have a nice pair of boots that fit me, I can't guarantee those will be there when you get out."
Her three prisoners looked down at the ragged pair of sneakers she was wearing. The right shoe had duct tape wrapped around the front end, a result of it falling apart the previous day.
"Fair enough," Shawn said.
"Okay. I'm going now," the young woman announced.
She kept her gun up as she slowly backed away toward the entrance to the bathroom. Soon, she disappeared behind the corner and the three strangers were out of sight. The young woman worked quickly, closing the door and grabbing a nearby chair and setting it against the door handle. While such a method would not keep out a determined attacker, it would buy her the time she needed.
She ran out of the rest stop and out into the parking lot. Parked in front of the doors was a white pickup truck with its bed loaded with various supplies. This must be what they were talking about.
The curiosity got the better of her as she came to a stop in front of the truck and peeked into the bed. Her eyes immediately settled on a pair of brown leather hiking boots with magenta laces. She picked them up. They were women's boots, definitely Layla's and by some stroke of luck, her size.
The young woman kicked off her old sneakers and slipped the boots onto her feet. She laughed, wiggling her toes as she reflected on the fact they fit perfectly.
She looked back into the bed and saw a black milk crate loaded with various foodstuffs. She reached in and plucked a fresh apple that was sitting on the top.
This is my tax for not killing you people.
There was also a plastic bag that she picked up. She smiled when she realized it was full of Oreos. God, she loved eating those things. Sit her down with a package of Oreos and she would eat most of it in one sitting. It had been ages since she had some. She supposed that they wouldn't mind her taking this as well.
The young woman soon dashed away from the parking lot and down the highway, looking to make her escape before they could argue.
"Well… it's still here," Shawn commented as the three of them exited the rest stop, their weapons recovered and their persons no worse for wear.
"That girl kept to her word. I'm impressed," Wyatt said.
Layla nodded sagely as they approached their truck.
"At least we got some gas out of this stop and didn't die. Not a total loss."
"And you wanted to keep on moving," Wyatt teased as he placed his backpack in the truck's bed.
"I need a pick-me-up after this," Shawn mumbled.
He stopped after looking into his crate of food.
"Fucking bitch took my cookies!" he whined.
Layla chuckled, hands on her hips.
"You should have hidden them better."
"Shut up," he grumbled, "God- who knows when I'll find more of those?"
Layla bent down and picked up a beat up a pair of sneakers that were left behind. She turned them over and tossed it aside. Looking into the bed of the truck, she noticed the spare pair of boots she had were missing.
"Looks like she took those old boots of mine, too."
Shawn grunted as he got into the truck's cab. Wyatt took his place in the driver's seat and put the keys in the ignition.
"What do you think? Should we go after her?" Shawn asked.
Layla got into the truck via the passenger's door and motioned Shawn to scoot over.
"Nah. I think she earned that stuff."
Several hours and a few miles later, the young woman was taking a well-earned rest after a long and eventful day.
Before her, she set up a campfire and was heating up the contents of a can of soup in a small pot she had scavenged over the fire. It was a thick, brown broth containing chunks of steak and potatoes. A cheap canned dinner any other time, but now, it was a mouth-watering feast.
She even took the time to eat an appetizer of Saltines. Her body would thank her for the increase in calories.
As her pot bubbled, the young woman rose and sat down with her legs splayed out to watch the sunset from her position. She had left the highway and moved into a wooded area. Her camp was at the top of a hill and gave her a great view of the surrounding area. As the Sun began to descend over the horizon, the young woman smiled. It was a beautiful evening and she took the moment to enjoy it for once.
She popped an Oreo into her mouth and gazed at the bands of orange and yellow streaking across the sky.
For once since she embarked on this journey, she knew she was going to make it.