my brow. I wipe it away with the back of my arm. “You seem pretty smart yourself. The crosses, the barricade, definitely will put a second thought into the heads of any folks coming this way with ill intent.”
“Might need to put up a few more, seeing as how y’all are standing out there.”
“Ma’am, we’ve got no ill intent. We’re just looking for some shelter, looking to get off the road for a little bit. That’s it.”
“Prove it.”
“I’m proving it right now, aren’t I?”
“Not to my liking. Have your friends throw their weapons out there beside yours.”
“Not gonna happen, lady!” Katia yells, fueling the flames.
“I’ve got enough left in here for you too, little missy!”
Katia rolls around me and draws her swords.
I grab her left arm and pull her back. “What are you doing?”
“You’re cozying up to the bitch that shot you!”
“She’s scared, can’t you see that? What would you have done?”
“I ain’t scared of shit, you little pipsqueak, bring it on!”
“That’s not how I meant it. I worded it wrong. You’re being cautious, like anyone in your situation would be. You’re surviving.”
“Damn right I am, now throw them weapons out, now!”
“Do it, Katia. Throw the swords out. You too, Sonny, toss the gun.”
“But—” Sonny starts to protest, but I give him a hard stare and he relents. He lowers the rifle, removes the mag, and ejects the round in the chamber.
“Wait, Sonny!” Katia shoves him back before he can toss the gun. “This is suicide!”
“I got a feeling. Please, just go with me on this. I’ll step out first. Just toss the swords.”
“We’ll have nothing—”
I pull the back of my shirt up, revealing the pistol in my waistband. “Trust me.”
She looks at me, doubt still rippling in her eyes, but she grants a solemn nod and tosses her swords away. They clatter in front of the building, snuggling up next to my rifle. “Go ahead, Sonny.”
Sonny does as instructed, chunking the rifle first and then the magazine; he pockets the bullet.
“Good,” Martha says, “step on out here where I can see you, take it real slow and keep your hands high.”
I know this play is a gamble, a cowboy move, but I intend to see it through. I go first, moving real slow, foot-over-foot, just as Martha instructed. I’ve got my hands high. I move until I’m in front of the tower lobby, standing over my rifle, exactly where I was when Martha damn near took my head off. The buckshot in my shoulder is chomping in deep, my right arm is shaking like crazy, begging for relief, but I know if I lower my hands, ol’ Martha Turkins won’t hesitate to send another hailstorm of lead my way.
“Keep it coming. Away from those guns, boy. Remember, I ain’t stupid.” Martha emerges from the shadows, a heavyset woman, wearing a pair of distressed blue jeans, a loose white and pink shirt adorned with flowers, a denim jacket, and a pair of black boots that strangle her shins. Her fire-red hair emerges in frizzy ribbons from beneath a camouflage trucker cap. “You’re a young’un.” She looks from me, to Katia, to Sonny. “All y’all are still shaking off the afterbirth. Surprised to see such little fish, I thought it was only the sharks that’d managed to survive these waters.”
“We swim really, really fast,” Katia says.
“He didn’t swim so fast.” Martha motions towards me with the barrel of the shotgun. She walks to the edge of the lobby, standing just beyond the broken window. “Come here, boy.”
The glass crunches under my feet as I approach, each step a bitter reminder of my carelessness. I can feel the weight of the pistol in my jeans, the cool metal against my skin.
“Wait a minute.” Martha’s eyes widen, as if she’s just remembered something important. “Lift your shirt!”
I’m close enough to make the grab, and her finger is far enough away from the trigger that I just might succeed.
I go for it.
I snatch the barrel and
“Might need to put up a few more, seeing as how y’all are standing out there.”
“Ma’am, we’ve got no ill intent. We’re just looking for some shelter, looking to get off the road for a little bit. That’s it.”
“Prove it.”
“I’m proving it right now, aren’t I?”
“Not to my liking. Have your friends throw their weapons out there beside yours.”
“Not gonna happen, lady!” Katia yells, fueling the flames.
“I’ve got enough left in here for you too, little missy!”
Katia rolls around me and draws her swords.
I grab her left arm and pull her back. “What are you doing?”
“You’re cozying up to the bitch that shot you!”
“She’s scared, can’t you see that? What would you have done?”
“I ain’t scared of shit, you little pipsqueak, bring it on!”
“That’s not how I meant it. I worded it wrong. You’re being cautious, like anyone in your situation would be. You’re surviving.”
“Damn right I am, now throw them weapons out, now!”
“Do it, Katia. Throw the swords out. You too, Sonny, toss the gun.”
“But—” Sonny starts to protest, but I give him a hard stare and he relents. He lowers the rifle, removes the mag, and ejects the round in the chamber.
“Wait, Sonny!” Katia shoves him back before he can toss the gun. “This is suicide!”
“I got a feeling. Please, just go with me on this. I’ll step out first. Just toss the swords.”
“We’ll have nothing—”
I pull the back of my shirt up, revealing the pistol in my waistband. “Trust me.”
She looks at me, doubt still rippling in her eyes, but she grants a solemn nod and tosses her swords away. They clatter in front of the building, snuggling up next to my rifle. “Go ahead, Sonny.”
Sonny does as instructed, chunking the rifle first and then the magazine; he pockets the bullet.
“Good,” Martha says, “step on out here where I can see you, take it real slow and keep your hands high.”
I know this play is a gamble, a cowboy move, but I intend to see it through. I go first, moving real slow, foot-over-foot, just as Martha instructed. I’ve got my hands high. I move until I’m in front of the tower lobby, standing over my rifle, exactly where I was when Martha damn near took my head off. The buckshot in my shoulder is chomping in deep, my right arm is shaking like crazy, begging for relief, but I know if I lower my hands, ol’ Martha Turkins won’t hesitate to send another hailstorm of lead my way.
“Keep it coming. Away from those guns, boy. Remember, I ain’t stupid.” Martha emerges from the shadows, a heavyset woman, wearing a pair of distressed blue jeans, a loose white and pink shirt adorned with flowers, a denim jacket, and a pair of black boots that strangle her shins. Her fire-red hair emerges in frizzy ribbons from beneath a camouflage trucker cap. “You’re a young’un.” She looks from me, to Katia, to Sonny. “All y’all are still shaking off the afterbirth. Surprised to see such little fish, I thought it was only the sharks that’d managed to survive these waters.”
“We swim really, really fast,” Katia says.
“He didn’t swim so fast.” Martha motions towards me with the barrel of the shotgun. She walks to the edge of the lobby, standing just beyond the broken window. “Come here, boy.”
The glass crunches under my feet as I approach, each step a bitter reminder of my carelessness. I can feel the weight of the pistol in my jeans, the cool metal against my skin.
“Wait a minute.” Martha’s eyes widen, as if she’s just remembered something important. “Lift your shirt!”
I’m close enough to make the grab, and her finger is far enough away from the trigger that I just might succeed.
I go for it.
I snatch the barrel and
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