Intergalactic Outlaws

Chapter One - Roadhouse showers in the dark of the night

Three in the morning, near twenty-four hours on the road, in the first twenty-four-hour roadhouse I came across and I had one very important decision.

Gummy Bears or Snakes?

I was half asleep, had spent the last five hours watching the dark night shoot by through blurry, half shut eyes and the most important thing to me, right then, was in the form of what animal did I want my simple sugars.

And those pens by the register. There was an assortment of pens with pink, purple or blue rubber grips, all topped with massive, matching pompoms on the end. They were sitting in a glass jar near the register sporting a sign that declared them to be only two bucks.

I didn't need it, especially not just then. I really did want one.

Making a final decision on my treats, I shoved the Gummy Bears back onto the shelve and started for the register. I stopped halfway, the cosmetic's rack off to my right had caught my attention, actually it was mocking me with its overpriced soaps and lipsticks.

I hadn't showered in two days. My hair was starting to oil and rebel from my braids. My skin was sticky from sweat and coated with dust and dirt. I hadn't brushed my teeth in two days, running my tongue over them I could feel a light fuzz. I didn't want to know about my breath.

In all honesty, I hadn't had much foresight in packing when I'd left. I had just wanted to get the hell out of dodge. I had grabbed Holden, my laptop and my keys before hitting the road.

When I was done with the cosmetics rack, it showed. The shelves were significantly lighter, and I was about to be significantly poorer. I dumped my loot at the register, quickly adding a pen to the stack before I could over think it.

The cashier behind the plastic screen rang me up slowly, with a bored, unenthused look on his face. He announced my astronomical total with no ceremony and tried to prove to me, when I said that I did want a bag, that looks could kill.

"If it's not too much bother," I added with a smirk, in a tone that told him even if he was dying, I'd still want a bag. "Actually, two please."

He heaved a sigh but obliged, ringing me up fifty cents for each reusable bag.

"Hey," I said as I took my shopping, "Do you have a hose?"

---

Interestingly enough, that night in the cold dark, wasn't the first time I washed up out back with a garden hose. There had been that phase during the summer I was sixteen where I didn't take my togs off once. Every evening in the still soul-sucking hot air, I turned the hose on myself, armed with a bar of soap.

That was exactly what I did, at half past three in the morning behind the roadhouse in front of an audience of dark motel rooms. I turned the hose on and blasted myself, fully clothed, with it. I lathered my skin and my clothes until I was completely sudsy. I even took off my shoes, standing on the semi-clean bricks in my socks. I washed my hair out twice with shampoo before moving onto the conditioner, to get rid of all the excess oil.

Once I was scrubbed to my satisfaction, I rinsed myself off, even going so far as to stick the hose down my top. I was aware that there could have been anybody in those motel rooms watching this whole performance, but I was just too desperate to get clean to care.

And I was still fully dressed.

It was in the toilets that I finished freshening- cleaning- up. I brushed my teeth and wrangled my wet hair in to a neat-ish plait, all the while, dripping a large puddle on the floor, from my soggy clothes, running towards the drain. In retrospect, I probably should have done my teeth first to avoid making a massive mess that I had to clean up with fistfuls of paper towels.

I left the toilets cleaner than I arrived, putting more effort into my clean up than the earlier state of the facilities warranted. By the time I was ready to leave, it was like I hadn't been there at all.

Thank the many worlds above, I was finally clean.

Outside, I stepped carefully around the massive puddle I'd made and headed for the carpark where I'd left my car, the red shine, a beacon in the night. I had, in a gesture of faith in humanity, left it unlocked because I had just intended on running in for five seconds. I opened the passenger door and stuck my head in, checking Holden in the back. He was sound asleep, unknowing in my stupidity of leaving him left in an unlocked car alone. I tossed my leftover cosmetics in the back, keeping my lolly snakes and iced coffee on the front passenger seat.

"Excuse me!"

At the call of the loud and sudden voice, I jumped, smacking the back of my head on the ceiling of the car, making my vision go grey and my eyes water. I took a second to recover before I armed myself with a socket wrench I'd left on the floor.

Turning around, I found somebody approaching, a short, feminine physique carrying a bag, silhouetted by the lights of the roadhouse.

Holding the wrench behind my back, I called cautiously, "Hello? Can I help you?"

Finding a response to be a good thing, the person started jogging towards me, "Yes. You can."

I waited until the person was closer and had stopped running before I intended to say anything, but she beat me to it.

Skidding to a stop in front of me on the loose gravel, she dropped her bag at her feet. "Can I catch a ride out of here with you?"

"Umm," I hesitated, I'd never been any good at 'no'.

There was two reasons why I couldn't say yes to her: One, she could have been one of them, looking for a way to lead me to my end; Two, she wasn't one of them and at that point, getting in my car was a one-way ticket to her end. I couldn't have the life of a human in my hands. I wasn't my parents, I had respect for the lives of others.

"Sorry," I told her, not having to fake the apologetic look and tone, "but I've gotta say no. You could be some crazy axe-murder."

"Well, so could you, but I'm still asking," she retorted in a smart-arse voice.

I had to laugh. I wasn't a crazy axe-murderer, but I knew a couple.

"I just think it would be a bad idea. I hold my life in a higher regard than you do yours apparently," I informed her, closing the passenger door.

"I don't believe that," she said, making me stop. "I can see the bags under your eyes from here. Tiredness is a killer on the road."

I paused and really looked at her. She was young, with a desperation in her eyes that I felt in my heart. I didn't need a tag-a-long, but she was looking at me like I was her only hope. The inner sisterly instincts I never needed but always felt when people came to me in trouble, rose up and tugged my heart, taking reins over my brain.

"Fine," I relented with a sigh, "You're driving through. East. Oh, and fair warning. Holden doesn't like new people."

She looked at me like I was stupid, "That's a Mustang."

I threw the keys at her and slid into the passenger seat, "Just drive."