Bo lifted his head from the ground. The sun was shining and all was quiet. As he pulled himself out from underneath the General Lee, he felt a searing pain shoot through his torso. He grimaced and looked down to see a sharp piece of wood protruding from his side. Blood dripped slowly from the wound. He drug himself up onto his feet, using the car to balance himself. He grabbed the piece of wood, pulling as hard as he could. The wood wouldn't budge.
"C'mon." Bo hissed quietly.
He switched the position in which he held the wood, trying one more time. The piece slid out slowly, and immediately blood began gushing from the wound. Bo cursed under his breath, feeling suddenly lightheaded. As the wood fell to the ground, he turned his gaze forward, finding a single set of footprints in the building's ashes. They belonged to Hughie Hogg, no doubt. Bo took a deep breath, trying to ignore all the pain, and began to track the footprints into the woods.
Christine and Stripes followed Thunder and Trigger through the woods. It was cold and windy as they made their way. Christine's narrow, smooth tires caused her to become stuck in the mud nearly eight times. Trigger and Stripes found themselves in similar situations half as many times as Christine. By the time they reached their destination, Thunder was the only one not covered in mud up to his bumper.
Are we there yet? Stripes grumbled annoyedly.
Yes, we're here, this is the place. Thunder replied, going off to look for anyone who might still be around.
He feels pretty bad about all this, doesn't he? Christine asked, rolling up to Trigger.
Yeah… it's eating him up inside. I don't know what to do. To be honest, he kinda scares me when he gets like this. Like, once he sets his mind to something, there's nothing that can get him away from it. Trigger explained.
I feel worse for calling him out to the junkyard. If only I'd asked General what he was doing before I did that, maybe none of this would've happened.
That wasn't your fault, you had no way of knowing.
Just then, Thunder honked his horn twice. Over here!
They immediately rushed over to see what he'd found, only, to their dismay, to find for themselves a wrecked car. The General Lee had been burned badly. His top was dented, the paint all scorched. His windows were cracked and blackened from the flames and soot. His tires were flat, hood was twisted, and the side-mirror was broken off.
No… he… can't be dead. Thunder… tell me he's not dead. Trigger rumbled softly.
I'm… sorry… Th-this is… hhh… this is all my fault. Thunder whispered.
He sank a little, an oily substance rolling down his fenders from the corners of his windshield.
Not the way I'd want to go, that's for sure. Stripes chimed in.
Christine turned to him. Shut up, just… shut up! You never liked General to begin with, so you just shut up! You don't have an ounce of decency in you, huh Stripes?
Oh come on, I didn't mean it like that!
Why don't you just get out of here, or do you have some other little comment to add?
Chrissy, please, I'm sorry.
No! Get out of here! I should've known you'd be jealous of me and General. Of course, after what we went through together, I should've known better than to think that we could just be friends. You've always been jealous because you wanted me all to yourself!
As Stripes and Christine fought back and forth, Trigger watched them, horrified.
That… escalated quickly. He remarked to himself.
Memories of intense fighting between Clayton and Russel flashed through his mind. As Christine and Stripes began to fight louder, Christine began cussing him out, until finally, Trigger couldn't take it anymore.
STOP! Trigger screamed, his engine roared.
Immediately, Christine and Stripes fell silent.
Get over yourselves! We've got to get General out of here and over to Cooter's, I'm sure there's something we can use there that can help us fix him. Cooter's a mechanic, after all, he's brought General Lee back from the dead before.
Thunder sighed. Trigger's right, the longer we stand here bickering, the more General Lee's fading. We have to remember what's important.
There was a moment of silence among the Defects.
Stripes snorted. Fine, just don't count on me to keep her in check. He gestured towards Christine.
She growled at him, headlights shining and interior glowing green.
Christine. Trigger warned.
Christine scoffed and turned to Thunder. She mumbled incoherently before disappearing behind the truck.
Trigger looked Stripes up and down. I've got my eye on you.
Who's going to watch Christine then? Stripes asked snarkily.
You said you were.
I-ah… right.
As Thunder attached his winch to the General's push-bar, Christine sat beside him, venting.
Who does he think he is, making jokes at a time like this. I mean, sure, he was a jerk when we were together and surely nothing's changed. I just wish that he'd be more considerate of the people around him. Christine growled.
Thunder said nothing in reply, focusing on the task at hand.
You know, this's just like Stripes. Leave it to him to be completely narcissistic, sarcastic, and ignorant. I hate him, I hate him so much I could kill him. I bet he wanted this to happen. He's been hating on General ever since we picked him out of that junkyard. We should vote him out of the team.
At this, Thunder knew he had to say something. We'll leave it up to General.
He's in no condition to make decisions at the moment, Thunder.
Then we wait.
Wow, you're a big help.
Don't mention it.
Christine sighed and watched as Thunder began to pull General out of the rubble. They all followed him into the forest, and back to the road.
Hughie Hogg's trail had run ice cold. Trekking through the mud and brush, Bo found that he was now undoubtedly lost. Not only that, he found himself to be exhausted from the long walk and blood loss. As he walked, his stomach rumbled, and pain emanated in his core.
He leaned up against a tree, breathing heavily, his vision blurring. Just then, something caught his eye through the trees. It looked to be a white picket fence. Bo looked down at his side, removing his hand. It was no use, his hand was completely caked in blood and it was creating a large, dark red spot on his shirt. He took a deep breath, gathering his wits. Then, without allowing himself a second thought, began walking towards the fence.
There was a driveway leading to a gate. The fence was about waist-high on him, and the gate had been locked from the inside. He simply reached over and unlatched it. The gate swung open slowly, creaking a little on its hinges. He looked around nervously. The property consisted of a garden in front of the house, which was a two-story homestead that had been kept up nice. Off to the right was a large, rustic barn, looking as if it hadn't been maintained in a while. Beside the house was a very old truck, but still in prime condition.
After a quick look to make sure that no one was around, Bo bolted to the barn. He slipped inside the doors, becoming enveloped in darkness. From the little light shining through the parted doors, he found there was a box of matches laying on top of a straw bale.
That's a fire hazard if I've ever seen one, Bo thought. Picking up the matches, he struck one. The little bit of light didn't allow him to see much. On one of the pillars, there was a lantern hanging on a hook. The glass was all clouded and it looked rusty. Bo plucked it from the hook, feeling the kerosine slosh around inside. Perfect, he thought. He opened the lantern, lighting the wick with his match. Extinguishing the match, he watched as the lantern illuminated the space he was in, casting shadows across the walls.
There didn't seem to be anything much of use in the barn. There were square bales piled along the walls, feed sacks leaning against the stalls, and a few crates lying here and there.
Suddenly, something poked Bo in the back, and a low voice growled behind him.
"Don't turn around. Put the light on the ground, and kneel with your hands behind your head." A woman's voice ordered.
"Ye-yes ma'am." Bo replied respectfully.
He eased himself onto the floor, setting the lantern down. The pain in his side was unbearable as he did this. He slowly lifted his arms, placing his hands behind his head. The muzzle of the woman's shotgun pressed against the back of his neck. The cold metal stung his skin, but he didn't dare move.
"Who are you and what're you doin' here?" The woman asked.
"M-my name's Bo Duke. I'm just passin' by, I didn't mean to trespass or nothin' but I was just lookin' to fix myself up a bit, that's all." Bo explained.
The woman poked his injured side with her gun, making him wince. "I see." She sighed, and the gun fell away. "What were you doin' out in the woods in the first place?"
"I been lookin' for a guy named Hughie Hogg. He's got a white suit on, kinda short, shifty eyes."
"No idea who you're talkin' about. Now, you said your last name was Duke?"
"Yes ma'am."
"I don't suppose you'd know Jesse Duke."
"Yes ma'am I do, he's kinfolk. Me and my cousins live with him."
"Well I'll be, never thought that I'd ever mention that name again. Get up."
Bo did as he was told, keeping his hands up, and his back to the woman.
"Oh, enough of that. Any kinfolk of Jesse's is kinfolk of mine."
Bo lowered his hands. He turned to find an African-American woman standing behind him, holding a shotgun in both, stick-like arms. She had a bruised eye, another bruise on her jaw as well.
Upon seeing his burned face, the woman's eyes widened, her mouth parting a little. Bo quickly covered the left side of his face with his hand.
"I-I'm sorry." He said quickly.
The woman smiled warmly, and reached up, grabbing Bo's wrist and pulling his hand away. "Come inside, I'll explain everythin' while I fix you up."
With that, she turned and walked towards the house. Bo followed reluctantly, wondering how she knew his uncle.
Once inside, the woman sat him down on a chair. As she filled up a bucket with warm water, she began talking persistently.
"Jesse and I met when we were still young. I believe he was eighteen at the time, I was seventeen. I remember sneakin' outta the house almost every night and meetin' him at that old moonshine still. Then, we'd get in our cars and run shine till the sun come up. Oh, those were the days. Y'know, I was never too fond of his friend, though. Ah, Jefferson, I think his name was. I had an old Ford, y'see, her name was Old Glory. I lost her a long time ago, but man was that a sweet car. I loved her. She was the best car I'd ever owned, she could even outrun Jesse's, Black Tilly.
Anyways, it bein' the thirties and all, we, of course, had to keep our little relationship a secret." The woman shook her head. "Jesse loved me no matter what. When I was forced to marry someone else because of my daddy, he was devastated. I remember tryin' to write to Jesse every week, but I never got the guts to send any of the letters I wrote. Then, a few years later, he got married to Lavinia. I was happy for them, I really was. Lavinia was such a sweet girl, I can't imagine how bad Jesse must've felt when she died." The woman explained.
"I… don't remember much, I was only five when she died." Bo replied.
The woman lifted the bucket out of the sink and brought it to the table; she was surprisingly strong given her figure. As she disappeared down the hallway, she continued to talk.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you, my name's Wilma. Anyway, my husband and I had only one son. He's all growed up and moved out now, so it's just the two of us these days." Wilma explained.
She came back out with bandages and hydrogen peroxide. She set them down on the table next to the water bucket.
"Could you…" Wilma started.
"Oh, ah, yeah." Bo replied.
He began unbuttoning his shirt, pulling his arm through one sleeve. She's going to ask, Bo's subconscious self told him. By the time he realized, it was already too late. He felt a hand lightly run over one of the scars on his back. Then, the hand quickly pulled away, and Wilma knelt at his side, dressing his wound accordingly. When she was finished, she put everything back where it originally was, pouring what remained of the warm water down the sink.
As Bo put his shirt back on, he was unsure of what to say. So, he said the only thing that came to mind. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be, it ain't you, it's me." Wilma said quietly.
Figuring that she didn't want to get into it, Bo refrained from asking her anything more, despite his curiosity.
Wilma quickly occupied herself by cooking. As a stew began to cook on the stove, the delicious smell made Bo's stomach rumble. He quickly grew embarrassed by this, but Wilma only laughed softly.
"I had a hunch." She said, smiling.
Once the food was ready, she poured some into a bowl, and set it in front of Bo. Instinctively, he bowed his head to pray. Realizing that Wilma wasn't doing the same thing, he sent a silent prayer, thanking the Lord that he hadn't been crushed when the building had collapsed.
As he began to eat, he noticed Wilma's mood getting darker and darker. She stood by the stove, looking at the clock anxiously.
"Somethin' wrong?" Bo asked her.
"Hm? Oh, no, don't you be worryin about me now. You just eat." Wilma replied, smiling again.
Bo shrugged and began eating again.
Suddenly, the door flew open, and a large man came storming inside. Bo froze, smelling hard liquor, the kind that Russel would always drink, and then-well, you know. He instantly tensed up, his breath becoming short. He thought the Four of Spades had sobered him up.
As a shadow crossed over him, Bo squeezed his eyes shut. No, please, no, not again, he pleaded silently.
"Who's this, Wilma?" The man asked.
It wasn't Russel's voice. This man was drunk, indeed, but it wasn't Russel.
"N-nobody, he's just passin' through. I found him, he was hurt pretty bad." Wilma explained.
"And you didn't think about what you were doin'?" The man moved closer to her, step by step. "Food costs money, Wilma. Now, unless you got dementia, I remember specifically sayin' that me bein' the one to make the money 'round here, I say what gets done with it, correct?"
Wilma nodded fearfully.
The man backhanded her across the face. "What are you, mute?"
"N-no, sir."
Bo's blood was beginning to boil.
The man hit her again.
"Stop it, please!" Wilma cried.
"You remember what happened last time, woman. I think you need to be taught another lesson."
Bo appeared behind the man and tapped his shoulder. The man let go of Wilma and turned to him. Bo drew his arm back, punching him in the nose. The man's head snapped back, and Bo grabbed him by the shirt, throwing him against the wall. Bo punched him across the face twice. The third time he swung, the man grabbed Bo's arm, delivering a heavy punch to his stomach. Bo doubled over, the wind knocked out of him. The man kicked him in the knee, sending him to the ground. He then pressed his foot onto the back of his neck, pinning him down.
"It's impolite to interrupt people's conversations, boy." The man growled.
"Luther, no!" Wilma exclaimed.
"Shut up, Wilma! I think I oughta teach this boy some manners."
"Luther, get out!"
Luther turned to Wilma. "You wanna kick me outta my own house, do ya?"
He took a few steps towards her, leaving Bo alone. Bo saw his chance. He pushed himself to his feet, tackling Luther, the two of them tumbling out the door.
Outside, Luther recovered quickly, picking Bo up by the throat. Bo felt the life slowly being squeezed out of him. His vision was beginning to go dark, he felt weak. He kicked at Luther's stomach, causing him to loosen his grip. Bo dropped to the ground, gasping for air and coughing. He quickly straightened himself, just in time to dodge one of Luther's blows.
Just then, a deafening boom startled both of them, freezing them both where they stood.
"Luther… I want you out of my life." Wilma growled. "Now, either you walk outta here, or you leave here in a black bag, the choice is yours."
She pumped the action of her shotgun, and Luther scoffed, shaking his head.
"You'll come runnin' back to me in no time." He grumbled, stalking off towards the gate.
Wilma dropped the gun and went running to Bo, hugging him tightly. She began to shake as she cried into him.
Bo felt her nails pressing against the scars on his back. But that didn't matter at the moment. All that mattered was that another Russel of the world had been shown what for.