Chapter 6: Shock And Shell

Ash stared at the woman, finding his missing cigarette tucked behind her ear.

“What are you looking at?” she said, maliciously.

Ash immediately broke eye contact and looked at the floor. He tried keeping his gaze away from the woman, but didn’t know where else to look. With a few awkward blinks, Ash lifted his eyes to catch Sander’s expression. The man seemed somewhat at ease despite his circumstances. Usually, a shotgun pressed against your body would produce fear.

“No need to worry,” he said.

Ash noticed the heavy sadness in his eyes. A sadness born from old age and long experience. Despite being north of forty, Sander seemed to hold the bearing of a much older man. He smiled with an insincere half-grin.

“No talking!” the woman commanded. Her eyes flared with anger. She was ready to kill.

“It’s okay,” Sander said with a voice fit for radio. “We don’t mean you any harm.”

“Who sent you?” she yelled, prodding the shotgun aggressively into his back.

“No one, sweetheart,” Sander replied with a chuckle.

“H-he’s telling the truth,” Ash stammered. He wanted to help in some way. “We’re just trying to find shelter for the night.”

[Speech Check Failed]

“Lies!” she shouted. She pointed her shotgun at Ash.

Immediately, Ash threw his hands into the air. He felt weak and useless. He lacked a weapon for self-defence, and, more foolishly, he stood barefoot on the cold tiles of the gas station. Ash began to worry. His mind raced at all the possible outcomes of this stand-off. Sander was his only connection in this world. Without him, he would be lost.

The woman pressed the pump-action shotgun into Sander’s back once more.

Ash examined the woman. She wore a damaged black leather jacket with sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Clearly, the jacket was a few sizes too large. It must have come from someone else.

Absent-mindedly, Ash began to lower his arms.

“Hands back up!” the woman shouted. Again, she swung the shotgun toward Ash.

Sander pounced at the opportunity. He pushed the shotgun in her hand, discharging it with a loud bang. The spent shell left several buckshot holes in the wall, missing Ash by only a few inches. In the commotion, Ash dropped to the floor trying to recover from the loud ringing in his ears. Pushing himself onto his hands and knees, Ash saw Sander struggling with the woman.

Sander managed to knock the shotgun onto the ground. With a well-placed kick, the shotgun spun closer to Ash, who scrambled toward the gun. He picked it up, but he didn’t want to use it. He already witnessed its destructive powers.

Then, Sanders triumphed. He pinned the woman to the floor by her wrists.

“Look at me!” he shouted at her.

She kept struggling within his grip. Her head was swinging wildly, as though it would be enough to escape from her captor.

“Look at me!” he shouted again.

The woman stopped her squirming and looked him dead in the eyes.

“Okay, thank you,” Sander said, returning to a soothing voice. “We’re not hear to harm you. Okay?”

The woman didn’t say anything. She felt powerless, spread across the floor like spilled gasoline.

“In order to prove that we mean no harm, I’m going to let you go. Okay?” Sander’s grip loosened slightly, but she burst from under him. She clambered across the floor, reaching Ash’s pile of equipment against the display doors. She snatched the combat knife from beside his boots. Even though the woman remained seated on the floor, she wielded the blade with the vigour of a woman facing certain death.

“Man, you do not work well with others, do you?” Sanders said, exasperated. He walked toward Ash and roughly seized the shotgun from his hands. Sander pumped it aggressively. The spent casing flew out of the ejection port. The clink of brass filled the silence of the gas station. He approached the woman with the loaded weapon. He pointed it at her face.

“Let us simply establish that if I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.” He dropped the shotgun to his hips and began unloading shotgun shells. Pump after pump, 12-gauge shotgun shells hit the ground. When no shell remained, he peered into the clear chamber. He pointed into a far corner of the gas station and squeezed the trigger. Nothing. Dry fire.

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“See? We’re not going to hurt you,” he said. He crouched and placed the gun on the floor. “So why don’t you put that knife away? My friend and I originally planned to carve up a beauty of a pronghorn for dinner. A little outback barbeque. Doesn’t that sound delicious?”

She remained silent, keeping the knife firmly in front of her body.

“No words? Okay.” Sander picked up every shell from the ground. “I’m going to keep these shells, but you can have your gun. Casper, why don’t you take our rifle and empty it. Make sure you keep every bullet away from this bonnie lass.”

Ash did what he was told. He grabbed the bolt-action rifle, and, with an embodied understanding of the gun, removed the magazine cartridge. He pulled back the bolt and ensured that the rifle was empty.

Ash slipped the nearly full cartridge into his breast pocket.

“Now,” Sander said more seriously to the woman, “I’m going to need to ask you for that knife. Not that I don’t trust you, but we’re going to need that knife to clean our game.” Sander dropped to one knee, putting his hand out. He hoped that the woman would place the knife gently in his hand, but prepared himself for her hasty retaliation.

Suddenly, Sander jumped to his feet and slapped himself on the forehead. “Oh my goodness! Where are my manners? I forgot to introduce myself! My name is Lewis. Lewis Hopkins. And over there is my good friend Casper Brakes.”

He flashed his most winning smile, but the woman did no react.

“Okay, fine. Can I ask you a question then?”

The woman looked blankly into the man’s face.

“What’s your SPECIAL?”

“What?” the woman said.

“Your SPECIAL? You know, your Strength, Perception…?”

“I’m strong enough to beat you into a pulp, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she said with fanged hostility.

“No doubt, sweetheart. No doubt. What about your Luck?”

Ash rolled his eyes. He couldn’t believe that Sander was taking the time to boast about the luck of his build.

“If I was really lucky, I wouldn’t have to look into your ugly face. Would I?”

Sander smirked.

“Alright, fire-cracker. One last question. What’s your Speech?”

“What are you talking about? I’m speaking English. Is there a problem with your ears?”

Sander turned his back on the woman and walked toward Ash. He placed his hand on Ash’s shoulder, pulled him closer, and whispered into his ear.

“She ain’t real. Don’t feel bad if we got to kill her.”

Ash felt blood drain from his face. He had no desire to kill this woman. She was just scared. She was just trying to survive in this unusual world. Just like he was. Just like they were.

“What are you whispering over there?” she asked.

“I’m just telling him that it might be awhile before we dig into the fresh meat. You seem really adamant on keeping that knife, so we’re all going to miss out on his beautiful kill. Can you believe this boy has never shot a gun before? Never killed his own animal. Sad, really.” Sander looked out of the window of the gas station. Dusk arrived.

“You’re kidding me. You’ve never killed an animal before?”

“No,” Ash said meekly. “And I hope I never have to again.”

“And you feel bad about it?” she said with a laugh “Are you new here?”

Ash stayed quiet. Embarrassment rose into his throat.

With a few lingering laughs, she steadied herself and pulled up from the floor. Sander twisted from the window and watched her movement, expecting a final effort to save her skin.

“If what you’re saying is true, then I really have nothing to worry about,” the woman said.

She flipped the knife in her hand with a juggler’s finesse. Palming the blade, she presented the handle to Sander.

“Go cut us some prong,” she said with playful authority.

Sander raised his eyebrow in surprise. “Then join us by the fire,” he said, pushing open the gas station door. He waited for her to leave the building, as though he were a servant attending upon his master.

She curtsied satirically and walked pass Sander into the pall of the falling sun.

As Ash walked approached the door, Sander pushed him back into the building.

“Grab your things and make sure she hasn’t stolen anything else. Your switchblade, for instance. Put on your boots and keep your stuff close to you. I still don’t trust her. She might wait until the night to slit our throats.”

Once Ash completed his tasks, he joined the others by the camp fire. The woman sat against the gas station wall, watching Sander manage with the pronghorn antelope. She plucked the cigarette from her ear and lit it with Ash’s lighter. She exhaled a plume of smoke.

“These are pretty good. Fresh. Where’d you get them?”

“Honestly, I have no clue.” Ash felt uncomfortable about this stranger. A few moments ago, she had threatened to kill them, and now she would be joining them for dinner. He hoped that he and Sander would not regret keeping her alive.

“How do you have no clue?”

“Lay off the kid. He’s had a hard day and needs his sleep,” Sander said. He kept his eyes focused on cleaning the pronghorn. The combat knife made quick work of the carcass.

“Don’t bother the kid. Gotcha.” The woman listlessly exhaled smoke from her nostrils. The sight and smell of tobacco stirred Ash to reach for his cigarette packet. He knocked out a stick and asked for the lighter. She gave it to him with a friendly toss.

Ash exhaled his own smoke.

“So,” Ash started with trepidation, “what’s your name?”

“Kiara.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Kiara.” Ash tried to be nice to her. He couldn’t trust her, but he could try his best to earn her respect.

“Can you guys help me?” Sander asked, taking a moment too look away from his work.

Kiara gathered sticks around the gas station for Ash to form into sharpened skewers with his switchblade. With crudely cut chunks of meat, they made meat skewers ready to cook over the fire. All three of them ate to contentment.

Sander drank from his stolen water canteen. Next, he offered some to Kiara. Ash believed his friend shared the same strategy. Befriending Kiara would help them survive the night. Over the last hour, Ash noticed the stress of mistrust slowly leave her.

As Ash drank his share of water, the sound of motorcycles came into earshot.

“No, no, no.” Kiara leapt from her position and ran to the main road. She could see a billow of dust clouds form in the distance.

She turned to the men around the campfire.

“They’re coming for me.”

“Who?” Sander asked.

“The Chain Gang.”

Sander squinted into the distance. Three motorcycles approached them with great haste.

“What did you do?”

“I killed their leader.”