Bayou

Chapter 3 ~ Hot Rod

Chapter 3

I ran through a vortex. My brain couldn't focus on anything other than the smallest actions. I was hyper aware each time my shoe hit the pavement, the thud, the cracks and dips embedded in the road. The neon green from the morning still burned through my veins, hollowing me out. Without time to rest and heal, I had nothing left to give. I was out of sorts, out of fuel, but filled to the max with basic animal instinct.

Run. Run. Run to stay alive.

It wasn't enough. I stumbled and collapsed, smashing my knees against the hard cement. My stomach rolled, and sharp pain ricocheted from my head to my toes.

Tiny cherub fingers curled against the back of my neck and tangled with the hair that'd broken free from my ponytail. I looked over in surprise, having forgotten the two children still locked within my arms. They were secure against me, held up by a strength I didn't know I possessed.

The little boy met my gaze. Somber. Solemn. Too aware for his age. I heaved a wheezing breath that broke apart inside my chest.

"I think I can," he whispered.

My brow furrowed.

"I think I can." He held up the block he still gripped in his hand. It wasn't a block, but a small, thick book. I peered at it, straining to read the cover. A brightly smiling train chugged up a hill, fluffy smoke billowing out behind it. The Little Engine That Could. "I think I can," the boy repeated louder. "I think I can. I think I can!"

"The train," his sister said, gripping tighter to my opposite side.

My eyes widened, mouth opened, and I could have laughed—could have cried—at the beautiful innocence trapped within such an ugly moment.

"I think I can," I said back, pushing through the pain and back to my feet. I hoisted them up, re-secured my grip, then chanted the phrase beneath my breath as I pushed the final stretch. "I think I can. I think I can." Tiny voices echoed at either side, forming a strange, chaotic harmony.

When we reached the back yard to Julia and Merle's home, an almost insane laugh bubbled out of my throat. "We made it." I squeezed them both. "We made it."

A gunshot fired.

I jolted and stared wide eyed at the light shining through Julia's cheery, yellow curtains. For that split second, it was the loudest sound I'd ever heard, but the quiet that followed was deafening. "No," I whispered, lowering the children to their feet as I stared unblinking at the windows. "No."

The back door flew open with a bang, and Julia rushed out. Something dark coated the front of her shirt, and her arms shook uncontrollably as she stumbled across the porch and down the stairs.

Her gaze caught on to the sight of me, frozen in the yard, two small children at my sides, and her shaking stopped. "The shed!" Her steps quickened.

"Merle—"

"The shed!" She pointed towards it, already only a few feet from reaching us.

I grabbed the hands of both kids and tugged them toward the structure.

Once inside, Julia didn't explain. She moved like a woman half her age. She acted like she'd rehearsed this moment a thousand times before. "Get them in the back seat." She rummaged through the shelves of Merle's work area.

I did as she asked, stealing glances as she manically moved about the room. My fingers fumbled on the seatbelt; eyes burned with unshed tears. It couldn't be real. They couldn't have suspected me so soon. I'd escaped one level of hell only to emerge deeper into the pits. The blood on Julia's shirt turned her lime green a foreboding burnt, red orange, and I blinked hard, wishing I'd wake up and find all of it a nightmare.

By the time I'd fastened both belts, Julia was jumping into the driver's seat. "Get in!"

I turned toward the house, even though I couldn't see it through the walls of the shed. Merle.

"Dammit, Willow! Get in the fucking car!"

I slid inside, breathing hard against the sobs so ready to steal my last bit of strength. My brain rejected the obvious. It wasn't true. Merle was okay. We'd pull the car out, and he'd be ready to go. Julia would climb into the back and we'd drive out of there together.

But she didn't stop. She didn't slow. When Julia revved the engine to life, it roared with an intensity that drowned out the world, and she tore from the shed without bothering to open the doors. They splintered and broke away, and the car teetered and bounced as we drove over their remains.

We sped down the driveway in reverse, and as we made it to the street, I saw him. Merle. He stood on the porch, covered in blood, a shotgun clutched in both hands with a man bleeding out at his feet.

I sobbed as Julia stopped, and he started in our direction.

The high-pitched blaring of sirens sounded in the distance. Too close. The next street over at most.

"Hurry!" I shouted.

Merle ran the short distance and jerked my door open, but when I moved to climb into the back, he stopped me. His expression was fierce, a glimpse of the man he'd once been. "I'll find a way," he said, sole focus fixed on Julia.

I shook my head. "No! Get in! We can go together."

"They'll be more focused on a man with a gun than two women in a car." He laid his big hand on my head, eyes never leaving his wife's. "I love you, old lady."

"I love you too, you dirty old bastard." Her voice shook.

The sirens intensified. They were almost there. Flashing yellow lights preceded the two cars that whipped onto the street.

Merle's jaw tensed. "Drive the hell out of it!" Then he stormed toward the approaching vehicles and fired both shells into the windshield of the first car.

I didn't see the rest. The car roared as Julia tore backwards onto the road and pulled the gear into drive. Tires squealed, rubber burned, and Merle disappeared into a cloud of smoke behind us.

***

Merle was right about the Camaro. The little electric cars the officials used didn't stand a chance against catching it. Julia drove at full speed until we made it onto the abandoned highway, then she slowed to a steady eighty miles an hour and stared blankly out the windshield.

Darkness filled the car, even after the sun rose to chase the night away. My mind spun, envisioning him, imagining how it had all gone down and clinging to the scenarios that left him alive.

We drove for hours before Julia reached into her pocket and pulled out the folded map. She held it out to me and shook it. "Navigate." Her tone was hollow.

I took it and unfolded the square, smoothing it across my lap with lethargic motions. "We're on Interstate ten, now," I said. "We can take this all the way to Interstate fifty-five. That will lead us almost straight to where he marked."

She took a deep breath. "Good." She glanced in the rear view and studied the children sitting stoically in the back. "If Merle said he'd find a way, he will."

I nodded, though I couldn't quite find it in myself to believe the dream. How could he? We took the car. We took the escape. Merle was in decent shape for his years, but he was still an old man. Sixty-eight year olds couldn't walk all the way across states, let alone with an entire government working against them.

Julia reached over and poked me one time, hard, in the shoulder. "If he said he'd find a way, he will. Us mourning a man that isn't dead won't do us any good. Merle wasn't always the papa figure you know. He'll be okay." She shook her head and squared her shoulders. "Right now, we need to focus on getting ourselves and those kids to that marker. That's it. You hear me?" Her head turned, allowing me the full effect of her stern argue-and-I'll-slap-you look.

I nodded again. Perhaps, she was right. Merle had seemed to have it pretty well under control, at least, for the fraction of a second I had seen him.

"Willow?"

I looked back at her.

"Everything's gonna be fine," she said. "I can feel it. Things will get better now."