The Saffron Malformation (29 page)

             
She nodded.  “I know what you told me and I also know you kept the gun.”  He was about to defend himself when she continued.  “I also saw you out there.  Running through the alleys, Fuck Dustin you shot a man, murdered him in the street and you didn’t even blink.”

             
Dusty swallowed hard.  He had no words.

             
She squeezed his hand.  “Thank you.  I’m glad you were there.  I’m glad you had the gun and I’m glad you could… get us out.  But I also know what that gun represents, the part of you it appeals to, the part that’s still in you no matter how much you don’t want to admit it, and that’s what I.”  She took a moment then finished, “That’s what I don’t know anything about.  It may have saved us but to be truthful I’m not sure about it.”

             
Dusty nodded.  “Me either babe,” he told her.  When she looked up at him he could see the doubt in her eyes.  “I mean it,” he assured her, adjusting her hand in his.  “Come on, why do you think I left that life behind, ran from it actually?  I’ll tell you it wasn’t the money.  Fuck, do you have any idea how much we used to make, how much Quey and Cal were pulling in with that fucking moonshine he makes?”

             
“So then what happened?  If it was so great why’d you leave?  What’s to keep you from going back?”

             
He sat back in his chair, releasing her hand and his eyes drifted.

             
“This won’t last,” she said mostly to herself.  “You’re restless and its not going to change its just going to grow and fester and then one day,” she couldn’t say the words so she gestured with her hands, a movement that suggested something had vanished.

             
“I saw what it took,” he said, slouched in his chair.  He wasn’t looking at her, but somewhere far away from that room.  “What it really took to survive out there in the world away from the cities and off the beaten paths.”  She watched his eyes and felt the fear behind them mix bitterly with regret.  “Out where civilization is ragged at best and maybe all you have to protect you is a Sherriff or two.  I’d been through raids before, duck your head and keep low.  This time there was a waitress in the bar I was frequenting—oh hell we were friends.”  He stopped for a moment.  He looked at Rachel.  “They came through, engines roaring, popping off rounds, not unlike what happened in Fen.”  His eyes swam and after a long breath he confessed, “I could have helped her.  If I had just stopped for two seconds.  I remember her screams as they took her, that look in her eyes as I looked back.  I knew, all the things they were going to do to her before they got weary and killed her, and I knew they were all going to be my fault.  Because I was a coward.  I was too scared of not surviving.”

             
Rachel watched him with wide eyes.

             
“You know what the worst part is?”  Rachel couldn’t respond, watching from the bed but Dusty hadn’t really expected her too.  He sat shaking his head.  “It’s what I saw in her eyes, just before I ducked out the window.  Just before I got away clean.  The way she looked at me, there wasn’t any blame.  It was like she expected it from someone like me.”  He looked at her.  “There weren’t but a few of them, just the scouts.  I could have helped her.  Instead I ran out into the night, soon as my feet hit ground I was dashing fast as my legs could manage and it wasn’t fear of being chased that had me moving like that.  I ran till my legs burned and my heart felt like it was going to burst and I did it so I didn’t have to listen to her scream.  After that I just couldn’t do it anymore.  I didn’t want to do it.”  Silence fell over them for a handful of ticks.  Finally Dusty met her eyes and asked, “Understand?”

             
Rachel nodded, staring up at him with a degree of empathy and a bit of pity.

             
“I survived but at what cost?  Her torment.  A nice girl who gave me a free round from time to time.  What they must have done to her…” he trailed off, fresh tears rolling toward his chin.

             
From her bed she reached toward him and he took her hand.  “It’s okay,” she said.

             
He was shaking his head.  “I thought I was going to lose you,” he wept.  “And worst of all I thought I deserved to, and not just for the waitress.”

             
“Hey,” she snapped at him and he quieted.  “You didn’t.  And it’ll be alright because I love you, right?”

             
He smiled and nodded.

             
“You and me.”

             
He climbed onto the bed beside her and draped his arm over her.  “I love you,” he told her and she held him back.

             
“I know,” she said.

             
“Don’t tell him,” he whispered, exhausted.

             
“Who?” she asked.

             
“Quey.  About the waitress.”

             
Her heart skipped and the full gravity of what he’d told her, what he’d been carrying for all these years, hit her.  And he’d shared that burden with her and her alone.

             
Settling against him, she allowed herself to sleep once again.

             
Reggie and Arnie were sharing a table at a diner near the edge of town.  Reggie had a plate of pulled pork on a bun with some beans and mashed potatoes steaming on the table in front of him.  Arnie chose a roasted chicken breast with beans and slaw.  He also ordered some fries.

             
“Should have gotten the fries,” Arnie said as he took a bite.

             
“Naw, I like the spuds mashed.”

             
“Sure, but with a sandwich, you always go fries.”

             
Reggie shook his head.  “No, see, this is pulled pork my friend,” he said between bites.  “Its gunna fall out this bun and when I’m done I’m gunna have this little pile I can stir into the potatoes and then I’ve got a whole nother round of delicious.”  He took a bite of the sandwich and a glob of pork and sauce splattered onto his plate.  Reggie gave the boy a look, ‘see,’ it said and Arnie nodded.

             
Arnie had cut into his chicken and taken the first bite when he looked up and out at the road leading into town.  “Fuck me,” he said and Reggie turned in his seat.  Two bikes rolling in and the men on them showing Angels of the Brood patches.

             
“Get hold of Quey.  Tell him we’re humped like five cents a dance on payday.”

             
Arnie nodded and pulled his folded sheet device from his pocket.

             
The salesman was trying to hustle him.  A plump man with thinning hair wearing a bad suit stood across from Quey, the front end of what had once been a moving truck between them.  His name was Larry and he could smell the urgency coming off Quey as soon as the man stepped onto the lot.

             
Leapin Larry’s discount cars, it was the only place in town and the man standing across from him was the reason he didn’t advertise his prices.  “It’s a good truck,” Larry assured him with a sleazy smile.  Quey imagined it was the same sort pedophiles used when they went to the playgrounds and asked, “Would you like a piece of candy.”

             
“It is a good truck,” Quey replied as his sheet started to chime in his hand.  He looked at it and finished, “Just not at that price.”  Incoming Arnie.  Quey frowned.

             
“You won’t find another deal in town that’ll-”

             
Quey held up a finger and tapped the screen.  Arnie's face appeared and the kid said, “We have a problem.”

             
Quey nodded.  He knew the rest but he let the boy say it anyhow.

             
“Pair of broodlings just rode in on bikes.”  Reggie took the device from Arnie and Quey watched the random blur of images streaming across the screen while the big man settled it on himself.

             
“It’ll take ‘em a bit but they’re going to find the car.  I mean it’s out of site but it’s not exactly hidden.”

             
Quey nodded ponderously.  “Think it’s time we put an end to this cat and mouse.”

             
“What cha got in mind?”

             
Quey’s eyes squinted as he looked around him, as if there was some sign posted with instructions as to what he should do.  Despite the lack of such a thing he felt inspired and said, “Think you can get to the guns?”

             
The big man glanced across the table at Arnie, sipping coffee from a cup.  “I think we can manage.”

             
“Get as many as you can carry and meet me at the town line.  I’ll get Dusty.” A thought occurred to him and he added, “You got anymore grenades?”

             
Reggie nodded, “Sure do, but I think I might have a better idea than standing in the middle of the road hoping they don’t want a fight.”

             
Brow furrowed, Quey asked, “What?”

             
Slyness touched Reggie’s lips and it must have been a contagious sort because by the time the big man finished telling what he had in mind a bit of it was on Quey as well.

             
Seeing as how the whole of Bravett consisted of four major streets and a lot of undeveloped land, there was never any need for more than the one Sherriff and his deputy.  As the bikes roared through town, the Sherriff, sitting in the station house sipping coffee, exchanged a glance with his deputy and then went to the window.

             
Herold, tall and in his late forties with salt and pepper hair—far more salt than pepper these days—peered out at the pair rolling through the streets and took note of the patches on their backs, shoulders, chests and sleeves.  The back said they were from the Angels of the Brood.  The others bragged about men they’d killed and women they’d raped and towns they’d pillaged.

             
Danny, shorter and in his late twenties, was standing next to him, watching him as much as he did the gang members.  Herold could feel the younger man’s eyes, saw him nervously run a hand through his chestnut hair, and nodded.  “Better get the shotguns,” Herold said, remorseful that men such as this had come to his town.

             
Danny stood unsure for a moment until the older man looked directly at him.  Then he nodded, swallowed hard, and went to the gun locker.  Looking back to the street Herold could hear the rattling of keys behind him and the thin metallic sound of a locker being opened.

             
Herold took another sip of his coffee before setting it down on the edge of his desk as he walked over and helped Danny load the guns.

             
Dusty was lying in bed beside Rachel when the door opened and Quey stepped in quietly.  She slept deep, even as Dusty lifted his head off the pillow and looked to where Quey stood.

             
With a sigh, Quey crossed and stood over the bed, looking down at Rachel, her brown hair flowing out from under her bandages.  She looked beautiful.  At peace, in the midst of a perfect rest and Quey found it regretful that this state only seemed to occur after something terrible.

             
“How’s she doing?” he asked his friend, lying on the bed beside her.

             
“She woke up once, bout an hour ago.”

             
Quey nodded.  “I always knew she was a tough girl.  Had to be to put up with your shit,” he added with a smile.

             
Dusty chuckled.  “Yeah.”  A moment.  “This isn’t why you’re here is it?”

             
Gravely, he shook his head and answered, “Sincerely wish it were old friend.  Unfortunately it has to do with the Broodlings that rolled into town not ten minutes ago.”

             
Dusty’s heart sank as he rolled off the bed.

             
Quey traced Rachel with his eyes, watching her sleep so peaceful and oblivious and he envied her.  Envied Dusty too for having someone like her.

             
“You got a plan?” Dusty asked.

             
Quey nodded but for another reason.

             
“What is it?”

             
“I get it,” he told his friend, who was confused and surprised by the words.

             
“Get what?”

             
“Why you quit the life.”

             
Dusty chuckled.  “Makin shine and hauling was,” he paused then restarted, “That life was for you and Cal, not me.”