~Chapter Six: A Bullet's Intensity~

CHARLIE

I manage to find two rusty handguns and a pocket knife, which is really an impressive feat for someone in my frame of mind. Of course, my hands shake the entire time, and whenever I hear movement nearby I jump ten feet and fall to my knees. Monroe hasn't come out of the damaged house yet, and I'm dreading the moment he does. I just don't understand why he did what he felt he had to do. That woman…she was probably frightened out of her mind while those men tormented her and her house, but we saved her. Only, instead of comforting her and making sure she was uninjured before moving on, Monroe actually shot her in the head. How does that make any sense?! I can't wrap my mind around it. Why would he go to the trouble of saving her only to end her life immediately after?

I'm so utterly confused that I don't even notice that Monroe has exited the house until he's standing right next to me. I jerk away like a startled deer and skirt around him wearily. There's two machine guns slung over one of his shoulders, and I can see that he's added several more throwing stars to his belt. He looks so obviously dangerous that I feel paralyzed; how could I have allowed myself to travel with this…monster all this time?

"This is all we can carry for now," he says gruffly, giving me a curious stare. "It's too bad we don't have a wagon; there's at least a dozen more guns in the basement."

Yes, it's such a travesty, I think, enormously relieved that Monroe won't have a plethora of weapons at his immediate disposal.

He doesn't mention the dead woman lying less than a hundred feet away, so neither do I. He gestures for me to move in front of him, and I do without saying anything. I can hear the heavy tread of his footsteps behind me, too close behind me, but I'm struck voiceless. For the next two days, we continue eastward in this fashion. I don't talk or even look at Monroe, and he clearly seems content with this since he barely acknowledges my existence as well. We co-exist, but we both act like we're completely alone. At some points, particularly during the evenings when we're on the road, I almost forget that he's walking behind me. Almost, but not quite. Early in the morning on the third day, we come across other travelers: two men and one woman. And by the looks of things, this isn't a mutually-agreed upon situation.

"Keep going," says a man with a scraggly goatee, prodding the young woman in the back with a sharpened stick. They're walking towards us, but the sun is on them so I'm fairly sure they haven't spotted us yet. "Your pace is slowing."

"Why we traveling with this dumb whore again?" the other man asks. He has a permanent sneer etched on his face.

"Why do you think?" responds the first, and they both grin while the woman struggles along.

The sun suddenly moves behind a cloud, and Monroe makes a grab for my arm, but by then it's too late. The men squint at us simultaneously, and their pace slows, much to the gratification of the plundering young woman.

"Who's that?"

"Hell would I know?" Shifting uneasily, the bearded man tilts his chin up. "You there! How many are you?"

I can hear Monroe's teeth grind together. "Just the two of us," he says, all sociable, but I've grown familiar with him over these past few days, familiar enough to hear the dark undertones in his voice.

"Two?" repeats the bearded man, and then he sees me. He lets out a loud guffaw and, unbelievably, slaps his knee. "Oh, boy, I didn't see the pretty blonde one there at your side, mister. She's sure a looker."

Monroe instantly changes the topic, sensing where this line of conversation will surely lead. "Look, we're just passing by. We don't want any trouble."

The men are fifteen feet from us now, since Monroe has refused to stop moving. The young woman watches me with wide, scary eyes. Her hair hangs in her face, and it's as crazy as a bird's nest. The clothes she wears droop off her thin shoulders; she's obviously malnourished. My heart goes out to her, especially now that I know what these men are keeping her for.

"We ain't asking for trouble either, believe you me," the sneering one says. His companion nods his slow agreement, a cheery grin lifting his sore-looking lips.

Monroe blinks. "Well, alright then." He pokes me in the back to get me moving, and I step forward without pause. There's something odd about these men though. They remind me of the two looters back at the burning house, but there's something else. Their easy-going demeanor seems like a clever cover, a facade. I'm not sure if Monroe can see this as well, but I'm sure as hell not going to point it out to him.

Our two groups slowly shuffle past each other, the bearded man breathing in deeply as he comes within five feet of me. His creepy grin remains in place, unwavering. I swallow. Just when we've cleared each other and seem to be moving forward without any altercations, the bearded man calls to our backs, "What you use her for?"

Monroe's eyebrow twitches – evidence of his confusion – but he doesn't turn around. Taking my cue from him, neither do I. Instead, I stare straight ahead at the empty road stretching for miles before us. How great it would be to just get lost among the trees and wilderness without having a monster at my back, watching my every move.

"Say again?" he asks calmly, but now I'm positive that Monroe senses that something's not right.

"She your whore?" the bearded man says, and there's steel in his voice now.

That's it; that's all the proof I need. These men are only interested in one thing, and that's the only reason they've bothered with us for even this long. They want me, and they're not leaving until they get what they want. I've seen this type all too often.

I hear a small, insignificant click behind me, and without blinking I hit the ground, my arms bracing against the asphalt. Bits of gravel dig into my palms, but there's no time to register the pain; I roll off to the side, not even knowing – or necessarily caring – how Monroe's faring. Bullets spray through the air above me and destroy the ground behind me. I'm on my feet instantly, crouching to keep myself as small of a target as possible. The bearded man is now occupied with fending off Monroe, who has slung one of his new guns around and is firing at him relentlessly. While they duel, the sneering man has herded his sorry-looking whore off the road and into the trees. My heart constricts when I see him try to grope her, and anger burns through my veins.

Even now? I think, incensed. Even at a time like this, he can't keep his fucking hands off her? Leaving Monroe to his own devices – after all, he's more than capable of taking care of himself; he's proven that – I sneak towards the other two, who thankfully don't notice my advances. Circling around the struggling woman, I position myself behind the man and proceed to kick the backs of his knees with all my strength. He makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat and loses his balance. The woman staggers off to the side and I implore her to move, shooing her with my hands.

"Go!" I yell. "Get out of here while you can!"

The sneering man turns on me immediately, swinging a club that must've been hidden beneath his fraying overcoat. I easily deflect his attacks while throwing in a few carefully placed punches. He's staggering around, obviously bewildered at the notion that such a slight girl can take him down in a matter of seconds, and while he's trying to regain his balance, while the young woman is running for her life, I prepare to go in for the final blow, readying myself, my focus so intense I suddenly can't hear or feel anything else, and I start to move towards him, start to lift my leg to smash his face in when –

My arm is on fire my arm is on fire my arm is on fire my arm is on fire my arm is on fire my arm is on fire my arm is on fire my arm is on fire my arm is on fire my arm is on fire my arm is on fire my arm is on fire my arm is on fire my arm is on fire my arm is on fire my arm is on fire my arm is on fire my arm is on fire my arm is on fire my arm is on fire my arm is on fire my arm is –

Burning, I think wildly, I'm burning alive.

Screaming both inwardly and out loud, I stumble, my legs twisting. They suddenly slide out beneath me, and I fall headfirst to the ground, landing on my throbbing arm. I'm screaming still, the pain is so intense, and everything is an odd color – yellowish, reddish orange, like a flame. Somehow I know that the young woman has stopped running, that she's watching me, torn with indecision. I want to yell at her to go, just go, leave me, but I can't find my voice. The sneering man is sauntering towards me, his face a grotesque mask of hatred and unseemly lust, and I can't move, I can't move an inch, what am I going to –

But then a bizarre thing happens: his head explodes. Blood and bone and a gelatinous substance bursts into the air, smattering on trees and bushes and rotten animal carcasses. Where his head should be is a bloody stump. I'm more confused than ever, even as his body falls to the ground and the young woman reluctantly turns away from me and disappears within the shadows of the trees.

Then Monroe's there, his hands lightly moving over me. "Charlie?" he keeps asking. "Charlie, can you hear me? Everything's going to be fine, Charlie, I'm not going to let anything else happen to you, okay? Okay, Charlie?" And he flips me over so, so gently so I'm lying on my back, and now I can see him and the wild look that's come over his face. His pupils are dilated, and I feel the unreasonable urge to ask if he's recently been indulging in some kind of illegal substance. But instead I stare mutely up at him as his hands flutter over my body.

Monroe is still talking, something about him being "sorry, so sorry" and I don't understand what he means until his hands move under me and he scoops me up into his arms and I scream again while he apologizes over and over and over again but I can't hear him anymore and I can't see him either because –

Everything goes black.