A wooden shack tilted to the left as dust blew by a sign that dangled from an overhang. It read "County Train Station." Tires screeched to a halt on red rusted train tracks. The train was an old 1920s passenger train that should have been scrapped for parts and abandoned years ago.
Trish stood parallel to the track. Her mouth hung open as she dropped her bag on the ground. A dust cloud formed and sent Dez into a coughing fit.
"Your dad can't be serious," Trish drawled. She pointed at the sign. "It's bad enough we had to walk here from the airport. I am not getting on anything with such a generic name. What did the town do? Remodel everything but the train station." She glanced back at the tall gleaming buildings far off in the distance. "This is awful." She raised her brow at Dez expectantly. "Freckles, say something!"
"We're not talking to each other," Dez said firmly.
He walked forward, kicking up dust and making Trish sneeze. He climbed rickety metal steps, which jutted from the train, and greeted an older man dressed in an ill-fitted uniform.
"Hello, friend," Dez smiled and handed the man a ticket.
The man frowned then turned his back on the teen. "Follow me," the attendant said in a raspy voice.
Dez nodded and followed the man past rows of chatting passengers. The man opened door after door until they reached the last box car.
"This will be your seating area," the attendant croaked.
The box car was cold and damp. Wooden crates took up most of the space.
"Wrong answer," Trish growled from behind Dez. "Do you know who I am?"
Dez clutched his toes to fight the urge to jump at the sound of Trish's voice.
"Isabella, according to your discount economy ticket," the attendant sniffed before backing out of the box car and shutting the door.
"I'm wearing Armand Bianchi shoes!" Trish yelled at the door. A crate creaked behind her and she looked over her shoulder to see Dez sit down. Trish folded her arms. "You're not going to tell me to calm down? Convince me to behave for our dads?"
"I'm not talking to you, Ester."
"Ellen."
"Not anymore! I want a divorce."
"For a fake marriage?"
"Then a fake divorce."
"Fine by me! I'm more than happy to just be Ester!"
"Isabella."
"Whatever, Dez!"
The young man winced. He was hurt and furious, but he couldn't shake the odd, warm feeling that crept through him when the frustrating girl said his name. His actual name, which she rarely used. Dez shook his head then lifted his legs in the air and turned his body to face away from her on the crate. He thumped his feet onto the floor.
"You do not turn your back on me. I turn my back on you." Trish kicked over a crate and plopped down. She flipped her curls over her shoulder and positioned her back towards him.
The sound of pebbles rumbling below began to fill the room before the train whistle blared.
Trish covered her ears, stood and walked around her crate, stopping in front of Dez. "I hate this train!"
"How is your yelling louder than the train?"
The train lurched forward, causing Trish to fall backward. Dez instinctively reached out for her, but failed to catch her. He hovered over Trish and gently lifted her head.
"Trish, are you okay! How's your head?"
Trish gazed up at Dez with wide eyes. "You confuse me," she said softly.
The comment threw Dez off guard, and he leaned back.
Trish cleared her throat and said quickly, "Don't hover over me, you doof. The air is bad enough without your breath choking me to death. What did you eat for breakfast?"
Dez gave her an angry frown and stood. "I don't remember, Trish. Maybe because some Crazy blew up my house while I was stuck chatting with a Crazier Crazy!"
Trish got to her feet and snarled, "I will pluck every last freckle off your ugly face."
"Those shoes are knockoffs."
Trish screamed and lunged at Dez, but the train jerked forward and sent her crashing into him. Trish's limbs were sprawled and her body pinned Dez to the floor.
"That hurt all of me," Dez groaned. He blew a few strands of Trish's hair away from his mouth.
"I continue to hate trains. That hurt so bad," Trish whined.
"It still hurts for those of us at the bottom of the pyramid."
Trish let out a long, loud groan. Dez pondered how much air she could hold in her lungs and if his spleen would rupture.
Finally she grunted, "Hate flying. Hate you."
"You say the same things every two seconds, and you're crushing my spleen! Please, get off of me!"
"No."
"No?"
"No! This train is not tossing me again!"
Dez wiggled around. "Trish, seriously, get off of me."
He lifted his head slightly to see Trish's curls move around. The pressure shifted from his spleen, but he was still pressed to the dirty box car floor.
"Trish, get off of me. Right now!"
Dez waited for some sort of rude verbal and physical response, but instead he heard soft snoring and felt Trish's chest rhythmically rise and fall against his own.
"You're sleeping!"
Trish growled in her sleep, so Dez shut his lips together. Suddenly, the stress of the day weighed on his eyelids and he drifted off to sleep.
Water droplets splashed across Dez's cheek. He scrunched his nose in his sleep.
"Ew, don't drool, Trish."
A drop dripped onto Trish's neck. She snuggled into Dez and kept her eyes shut.
"That's cold. Stop Ryan," Trish cooed.
Another drop hit Dez's nose. He fluttered his eyes open.
"Your Ryan-Gosling-fantasy drool is gross. He's not even that good looking."
Trish tensed her shoulders and stretched her legs. She yawned then opened her eyes. More drops of water splashed on her. She lifted herself up by pushing down on Dez's stomach.
"Ouch!"
Trish jumped back and landed beside him on the floor.
"Doof? Gross! Don't touch me."
Dez sat up and pointed at his chest.
"Me! You're the one that fell asleep."
"That never happened," Trish shrugged.
"Yes it did. It just happened, like, a second ago."
"If you want to see the next second, don't come near me again."
Trish crawled over to the other side of the box car. "We only have to tolerate each other for a few more hours, then adios." She combed her fingers through her hair. "Besides, I thought you weren't talking to me."
"Now I am not talking to you even more. You tackled me and then you crushed my rib cage. And you won't even admit it!"
"Well, ha, you talked to me. And that reminds me, you called me crazy!"
"You are! And I called you a crazier crazy. Because you ruined my cereal and you took away my only friend!"
"Don't blame me for that!"
"It was your fault!"
"Fine! Then I'm glad that Carrie ditched you!"
Thundered roared outside and the water droplets trickled through the patched roof rapidly. Trish bit her lip after the words tumbled out of her mouth. Dez's eyes watered.
"I hope I never see you again, Trish."
He clutched his knees and scooted to the other side of the box car.
"Stop being so dramatic, freckles," was as close to an apology as she could muster up.
"No, I mean it. You are mean and rude and awful. I never want to help you again."
"Well, I don't need your help!"
Thunder clapped and rain poured into the room. The teens' clothing quickly became soaked. Trish huddled into her corner but could not escape the rain. Dez blinked as he stared up at the ceiling. His blue eyes lit up before he crawled over to his bag. He removed the umbrella and popped it open. The handle balanced against his shoulder and the material spread over him, casting a rainbow hue on the dry space around him.
Don't look at her he thought. You just vowed never to help her again. Dez focused on a crack in the floor board. Maybe she'll barge over here and make me share. Then that doesn't count as me helping her, right?
Dez glanced at Trish. She hugged herself in the corner and glared at the ground.
She's so stubborn! Just come over here. Dez made eye-contact with the brown-eyed girl, but she stuck her little nose in the air and closed her eyes.
Fine, be that way, Trish. Freeze in the rain. One less person to travel with. Dez frowned as he twisted the handle. I can't believe I just thought that. My dad would not be proud. Or Mom. Or Didi. Stupid Trish, making me think negative. Look at her. Shivering and scowling. Don't ask. Don't ask.
"You want to share my umbrella?" Dez shut his eyes as soon as he asked.
"No," Trish spat.
The rain continued to pour.
Just take the umbrella over there. He thought. But he didn't budge. The train rumbled and rattled as it kept moving forward.
The train lurched backward, knocking Dez to the side. Breaks squealed, waking Trish from her damp slumber. She stood up and stretched. Wordlessly, she slung her bag over her shoulder, stomped past Dez, and left the box car.
She strode down the long aisles of each empty box car until she reached the boarding entrance.
"Some customer service! Just leave me on a train in the middle of nowhere," she shouted over her shoulder.
Silence.
Dez lumbered down the aisle.
"I wonder where nowhere is exactly," he said to himself.
"I can't hear you when you talk all low to yourself, Doof."
"I'm not talking to you."
Dez brushed past Trish; he started yanking on the door to open it.
"Oh. Then, please, please promise me it's for real this time. I cannot express how much I want you to leave me alone."
Trish pushed Dez out of the way and opened the door in one move. She looked at the red head for approval, but he slid past her and hopped off the train, not for long though. Almost as quickly as he escaped, he returned with his knees wobbling.
"It's completely dark," he stammered.
"Duh, it must be night."
"No, it's pitch-black outside. No lights at all."
Trish rolled her eyes then stepped out into the cold night air. Her damp shirt felt icy against her body.
"This does not feel like summer vacation weather," she mumbled.
She blew out a breath and strained her eyes in vain to catch a glimpse of white puffs. There were no street lamps or lit windows here. Even the light from inside the train was clouded by thick fog. Dez cautiously stepped out of the train and huddled behind Trish, who took the flashlight out of her bag and hit it until it came on.
Light cut through the fog as she directed it at different areas: An abandoned parking lot, a park bench missing its left leg, and a dense forest.
"Great," Trish said through clenched teeth, which were beginning to chatter.
She stomped over to the bench and sat down, only to slide down the broken seat.
Deep down, Dez wanted to laugh, however, the scary environment drained the amusement from the situation. He turned on his heels to retreat to the safety of the train when the whistle blew. The entrance door slammed shut and the wheels churned dirt and rocks on the tracks.
"Wait! Wait! Don't leave!" Dez cried out. He ran parallel to the tracks until he tripped over a large clump of dirt and landed flat on the ground.
The sound of the whistle faded as the locomotive rumbled away.
Dez pressed his face into the dirt and sighed. Maybe I should just stay right here he thought. A sharp howl sounded from the opposite side of the tracks, making the bright hair on the back of his neck stand up. Nope. He clumsily stood up and looked around.
Trish had watched Dez's attempt to catch the train; she had been torn between insulting him and ignoring him, but ended up choosing the latter. She heard the howl and pointed her flashlight at the mass of trees.
"Some caretaker," she grumbled before heading toward the forest.
Dez saw the beam of Trish's flashlight move toward the forest.
"Really? A scary night-time forest is her first pick?" Dez squeaked and paced while he kept his eyes on Trish.
"She'll come back," he tried to reassure himself.
The light disappeared behind a large tree. Dez yelped and ran in the direction Trish had went.
"Trish!"
The brunette whipped around, shining the light in Dez's eyes.
"Ah!" He shouted and held up a hand to shield his vision.
"You're not very good at this 'leave me alone thing' are you?" Trish asked sarcastically.
"What are you doing out here! There could be jackals or bears or leprechauns!" Dez shuddered.
"It beats waiting for people who clearly aren't coming tonight. I mean, I can see why your caretaker decided to dip out, but I'm a joy to be around."
Dez pursed his lips together and glared at the girl. "I'm taking the flashlight," he declared. He grabbed the base; Trish gripped the handle tight.
"You got the umbrella; I get the flashlight," Trish shouted.
"Give it!"
"You give it!"
The two tugged back and forth, crushing twigs and clumps of earth beneath their feet.
"I said," they both started before a gunshot rang out in the distance. A woman's cackle echoed.
Both teens froze, dropping the flashlight between them. Another gunshot fired and the cackle erupted again. Dez shrieked, earning a shove in the stomach from Trish, who swiped the flashlight and switched it off.
"I'd hit you again if I could see you," she whispered harshly.
"I'm afraid of the dark," Dez whimpered.
"Be more afraid of getting shot. Now shush. We need to hide."
"Maybe it's not for us?"
A gun fired off again, but this time the cackle was followed by a booming female voice shouting, "I'm gonna ship ya in a box to ya daddy, little red boy!"
Dez hugged himself and whispered, "I'm a little red boy."
"Who did our dads cheese off!? We have to hide."
"I can't see anything, Trish."
Trish bent down low and rubbed the ground until she felt the hump of a tree root.
"Feel the ground for roots big enough to hide behind," Trish ordered, moving forward and low to the forest floor.
Dez crouched, stepping carefully as he roamed his hands in the darkness. He felt something soft and began to knead with his hands. Trish let out the most girly giggle he or she had ever heard.
She shoved her elbow into his chest and growled, "That's not the ground, idiot. That's my head. Crouch lower, tall person."
Trish crept forward while Dez stooped lower to the ground. He clasped a thick root on his right.
"Come here," Dez whispered. He reached out one hand and wiggled his fingers around. "I found a spot. Grab my hand."
Trish stretched out her palms in different directions. "I can't find you."
Another gunshot fired and a dim light cut through the trees beyond the teens, though it wasn't enough to see the surrounding space.
"I'm gonna find ya," the hunter crooned.
"Trish, grab my hand!"
"I can't find you! Just hide. I'll find my own spot."
"No, Trish, get back here!" Dez searched for Trish's hand. "It's not safe; we need to stick together."
The hunter's cackle grew louder. Dez flung his body over the tree root just before the dim light shone above him. He pressed his back against the mossy tree while he peered over a branch to see the outline of a muscular woman with shaggy black hair. Her shotgun was expertly positioned and the light came from a fixture on the weapon.
"Come on out, youngens. Ma needs a new huntin' jacket."
Dez held his breath while the woman lingered. Finally, the light moved away. He exhaled and slid until his back was flat on the ground. It was so dark that he didn't bother to close his eyes. But then a chill coursed through his veins. He sprang up and laced his fingers together.
"God, please let Trish be okay," he prayed, tears starting to warm his face. "I'm mad at her – it's true – but she's the only Trish I have."
A few yards ahead, Trish alternated between looking over her shoulder and feeling on the fertile ground.
"I can't believe I'm going to die in this outfit," she whined. "And now I'm talking out loud to myself, like Dez."
She pouted, aware of the footsteps crunching in the darkness around her.
"I'm going to die before senior picture day; I'm sure Kira's going to love that."
The dim light grew brighter, so much that Trish could trace the outlines of the thinner trees in front of her. She swallowed a thick lump of saliva then stood up tall and straight. Her eyes started to burn, but she clenched her fist tight.
"I have no real friends, except for Jay. I didn't tell Papa or Mom thanks for my Porsche."
The crunching stopped. She saw the full spectrum of brown that coated the trees in front of her. Pollen glinted in the light that shone around her. Clicking from the reloaded shotgun resonated through the forest, nevertheless, Trish didn't flinch. Hot tears ran down her face. She turned to face her executor.
"The last guy I kissed…didn't even love me."
The hunter aimed her weapon. "I'm going to be rich."
Before Trish could register what happened, a thick branch sliced through the cold air and cracked against the hunter's skull. The hunter and her gun fell to the ground.
"Sorry," a sweet voice chimed in the darkness.
Trish switched on her flashlight then pointed at the hunter. A thin young woman with long brown hair tip-toed over the hunter and picked up the shotgun, removing the shells and pocketing them.
"Sorry I'm late, but you should have waited at the station, Trish. It is dangerous out here," the mystery woman reprimanded. She bent down to inspect the hunter's injuries. "Pulse is good. Pupils look fine. Crack was from the branch. A shallow cut on the forehead. She'll only be unconscious for a little while. I sent an anonymous tip and I already saw the ranger's truck a few yards back, so he'll be here before the predators but after we're gone."
Trish's mouth hung open; for once, she didn't have anything to say, yet.
The mystery woman stood up straight and looked around. "Hey, where's Dez?"