tight stomach with a dangling belly ring.
“You ain’t a scavenger,” the woman said.
“We’re all scavengers.”
“That so?”
“Was the racist remark supposed to intimidate me?”
The woman behind the rifle smirked. “You are what you are. I’m sure you’ve heard worse. You’re a woman. You’ve survived.”
“Obviously.”
They had both been tormented by lawless men who were governed by desperation and hunger. Not too many women were alive now. Consumed by the men who promised to protect them, or hunted down and traded by slavers. A new economy had replaced the old one in the ruins. In one year, the new economy was everything.
“Where’s your crew?”
Bella listened to the creaking bone-machinery of the dead falling apart as they tried to walk lazily, their kneecaps snapping, ankles twisting.
“I’m alone,” Bella said.
“Bullshit.”
“They wouldn’t send a woman as a scout. Nobody would risk precious merchandise.”
The gun dropped slightly, and Bella could see the black stocking cap, the long eyelashes, wisps of black hair.
“Either shoot me, or let me go on,” Bella said. “You’re a hunter? Looking for skin?”
The gun dropped lower. “You’re probably nuts like everyone else.”
The dead had fallen apart, their bones sinking back into the dusty pavement.
Silence again.
The woman was crouched on her heels and rested the gun between her knees. “You didn’t stop and look for nothing,” the woman said. “You must be a crazy nigger. Only the crazies survive for a long time on their own.”
“And what about you?”
The woman was calm and had already decided she wasn’t going to shoot Bella.
“I don’t work with niggers. Hell, I don’t work with anyone. I trade. I kill people and rob them. You don’t have much with you. I’ll take whatever food you have, and I’ll think about letting you go.”
Bella began to walk away.
“Turn around!”
Bella stepped over a skeleton. That’s what they were now: skeletons.
“I said turn around, bitch!”
A Cadillac. Was it Desmond’s Cadillac?
It had to be.
His briefcase was in the backseat. He had taken the first case for his private practice, and he was on his way home to see her. On his way to be with her.
If she looked at the dead bodies would she find him? Would she find his corpse? Bella whipped her head around at the scattered bones and looked for the suit he wore when he left that morning, or his tie. Was the really his briefcase in the back seat? It had to be, and this was his Cadillac.
The woman was in the street now, her gun aimed at Bella’s head. She could have fired from atop the semi.
“Drop your bag, and put your hands up,” the woman said.
Bella smirked. “His car. But I don’t think he’s here. He ran. He ran somewhere.”
The woman sighed and lowered her gun. “You really are nuts.”
“You would have killed me by now if you were serious.”
Unspoken words, something whispered along the edges of silence, borders designed by the idle cars, artifacts that would have to dissolve. Artifacts that would have to be unearthed several thousand years from now by the same people who were looking for Troy or the Fountain of Youth.
“The racist comments make you sound trashy, not tough,” Bella said.
“Fuck you.”
Bella walked away.
***
Her name was Angelica, and she called herself a gypsy.
“Call me Angie, and I’ll rape your skull with this rifle,” she said.
Bella opened her backpack and shared some beefy jerky. She had no qualms about sharing with a stranger.
“You talk a big game,” Bella said. “Where’s your crew?”
“I don’t have a crew. I trade. I scavenge and trade. I kill and rob.”
They ate and talked on top of the semi. Angelica ate with the rifle on her lap, her eyes never straying far from Bella. She was another half-mad survivor, a woman who had seen everyone die and had listened to the screams of a million people fill the streets of a gutted
“You ain’t a scavenger,” the woman said.
“We’re all scavengers.”
“That so?”
“Was the racist remark supposed to intimidate me?”
The woman behind the rifle smirked. “You are what you are. I’m sure you’ve heard worse. You’re a woman. You’ve survived.”
“Obviously.”
They had both been tormented by lawless men who were governed by desperation and hunger. Not too many women were alive now. Consumed by the men who promised to protect them, or hunted down and traded by slavers. A new economy had replaced the old one in the ruins. In one year, the new economy was everything.
“Where’s your crew?”
Bella listened to the creaking bone-machinery of the dead falling apart as they tried to walk lazily, their kneecaps snapping, ankles twisting.
“I’m alone,” Bella said.
“Bullshit.”
“They wouldn’t send a woman as a scout. Nobody would risk precious merchandise.”
The gun dropped slightly, and Bella could see the black stocking cap, the long eyelashes, wisps of black hair.
“Either shoot me, or let me go on,” Bella said. “You’re a hunter? Looking for skin?”
The gun dropped lower. “You’re probably nuts like everyone else.”
The dead had fallen apart, their bones sinking back into the dusty pavement.
Silence again.
The woman was crouched on her heels and rested the gun between her knees. “You didn’t stop and look for nothing,” the woman said. “You must be a crazy nigger. Only the crazies survive for a long time on their own.”
“And what about you?”
The woman was calm and had already decided she wasn’t going to shoot Bella.
“I don’t work with niggers. Hell, I don’t work with anyone. I trade. I kill people and rob them. You don’t have much with you. I’ll take whatever food you have, and I’ll think about letting you go.”
Bella began to walk away.
“Turn around!”
Bella stepped over a skeleton. That’s what they were now: skeletons.
“I said turn around, bitch!”
A Cadillac. Was it Desmond’s Cadillac?
It had to be.
His briefcase was in the backseat. He had taken the first case for his private practice, and he was on his way home to see her. On his way to be with her.
If she looked at the dead bodies would she find him? Would she find his corpse? Bella whipped her head around at the scattered bones and looked for the suit he wore when he left that morning, or his tie. Was the really his briefcase in the back seat? It had to be, and this was his Cadillac.
The woman was in the street now, her gun aimed at Bella’s head. She could have fired from atop the semi.
“Drop your bag, and put your hands up,” the woman said.
Bella smirked. “His car. But I don’t think he’s here. He ran. He ran somewhere.”
The woman sighed and lowered her gun. “You really are nuts.”
“You would have killed me by now if you were serious.”
Unspoken words, something whispered along the edges of silence, borders designed by the idle cars, artifacts that would have to dissolve. Artifacts that would have to be unearthed several thousand years from now by the same people who were looking for Troy or the Fountain of Youth.
“The racist comments make you sound trashy, not tough,” Bella said.
“Fuck you.”
Bella walked away.
***
Her name was Angelica, and she called herself a gypsy.
“Call me Angie, and I’ll rape your skull with this rifle,” she said.
Bella opened her backpack and shared some beefy jerky. She had no qualms about sharing with a stranger.
“You talk a big game,” Bella said. “Where’s your crew?”
“I don’t have a crew. I trade. I scavenge and trade. I kill and rob.”
They ate and talked on top of the semi. Angelica ate with the rifle on her lap, her eyes never straying far from Bella. She was another half-mad survivor, a woman who had seen everyone die and had listened to the screams of a million people fill the streets of a gutted
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