Spoiler Alert

8 - The Reapers

I had never dive-bombed into a passenger seat before. But there's always a first for everything. I executed the dive clumsily. My face and the head rest made an abrupt acquaintance.

Marina didn't wait for me to get the door. She started moving, just as the parade of unpleasant pursuers burst through the back loading dock door and headed straight for me. One of the WalMart employees had a walkie-talkie and was yelling into it with relish. The car-wreck-couple took out their pistols and pointed, but did not fire. No doubt the WalMart employees would have thought that an extreme move. For that, I was grateful. Not the first time a minimum-wager had saved my bacon.

The chow chow tore between their legs, intent on capturing the Plymouth. But Marina wasn't having it.

The car spun in a circle, slamming the door shut for me. We tore out of the loading area and the parking lot, not speaking until we were safely on the main road. I righted myself in the seat, relieved to see the Hot Pockets had made it safe and sound. In the rear-view mirror, the chow chow faded in the distance.

"Reapers," I breathed.

"They'll kill you," said Marina.

"They almost did," I said.

"Not the Reapers, those!" she pointed to the Hot Pockets. "You gotta start thinking of your health, these bodies wear out, you know."

"I know," I said, breathing hard. The thing was, I didn't really know. That is, I didn't know when my time was up. Of all the deaths I had seen over the years, I had never seen mine. I couldn't read myself. 

But I did know exactly how and when Marina would die.

That's kinda how we became friends.

 From the main road, we cut into a school parking lot, down a causeway and into a copse of trees. We waited for a moment and then when school got out, we proceeded through the neighborhoods and straight to the freeway.  

"Here," said Marina, reaching into her back seat and thrusting a gourmet pizza in a take-out box on my lap. "That's from Frazolli's, best in town. Take it."

"Thanks," I said, "but I thought we agreed you wouldn't do this anymore."

Marina gave me that look. "I guess I have a knack for figuring out when you are about to get into deep doo doo."

"I was handling it," I said, annoyed.

"You know that's a lie," Marina said, reaching into the box and pulling out a slice of barbecue chicken pie. It was probably only one slice of the many she'd had that day. Marina was an expert eater, and her figure showed it. She was large and in charge, as they say, with bright blonde hair and a sassy, toothy grin. She was not ashamed of her weight. It was her life's work. Plus, she was the best-dressed girl I knew (next to myself, of course!) She told me over and over again that she was proud of her pounds. Life was short, after all, at least her life was going to be. This, we both knew for sure, and it made me sad every day.

"Thanks for the rescue," I said, pulling out my own slice of pizza. She really had saved my butt . . . again. I guess that's what friends are for? But this was no ordinary friendship. 

Marina had a special skill, just like I did. 

She could feel the Reapers.