Page 57 of Overcast

“Yep,” I quip, leaning my elbow on the steering wheel. “So, what’s it going to be?”

She concedes slowly, inclining back into her seat. “Okay.”

“Okay, what? I need clearer communication.”

She gradually shakes her head, her blonde hair covering most of her face as she bows her chin into her chest. “I won’t do anything.”

I rustle the top of her dome like I would a dog. “Thatta girl.” She lurches away from me, and I chuckle, opening my pickup door and slamming it behind me.

It’s the first intake of air that I didn’t have to share with her. A fucking break from watching her nervously squirm and suck up all my concentration.

Leaning up against the quarter panel, I insert the nozzle, perusing our surroundings again for any upcoming vehicles down the road.

Oldies music sounds from the van on the other side of the pump as the kids inside continue to make a bunch of noise, antsy as hell like my passenger.

My cell follows suit, vibrating, and chiming off annoyingly in my back pocket. Pulling it from its place, I read the text that just came in.

Mills: You’re all set up the way you wanted.

Mills: Can you grab us something to eat?

Me: Thanks, man.

Me: And go fuck yourself.

Mills: Not very nice when I just assisted with your very specific request.

Me: I said thank you.

Mills: I haven’t eaten all day.

Me: You can leave when I get there.

Mills: But you might need help.

Me: She doesn’t need two babysitters.

Mills: I’ll wait.

Tap, tap, tap. Prying my eyes from my screen, I follow the sound, craning my neck to see small knuckles knocking onto the glass of my passenger window.

My nostrils flare. Maybe she does need two babysitters because I just said not to pull any bullshit, and she agreed. I even threatened violence on kids, and she’s over here self-preserving. What does she honestly think is going to happen?

Handgun versus an unarmed family—do the math. Except, why should I be surprised? She’s a liar, selfish, and a killer herself. She doesn’t care about people as long as she can cause a distraction to get free.

Glancing over to the passenger seat, I watch her little knuckles rapping away again at the window of the truck, trying to draw the attention of the dad who’s too busy yelling at his kids to stop fucking around.

Keeping the gas going, I lock it in place and slowly approach. She doesn’t notice me, should be looking out, but she must not have a lot of survivor skills in her apparently. Stormi hits the glass again, and the moment she goes to do it for the tenth time, I stand in front of it.

Jilting backward, she pushes herself over the center column, legs flailing around in the air.

A little dramatic, but whatever.

It’s not until sunlight fills the inside of the cab that I know she’s opened the driver’s side door. Maybe she does have balls after all.

Rounding my Chevy pickup, her bare feet have already hit the gravel pavement. Aware that I’m going to follow, her head jerks in my direction, followed by wide, doe-eyes, and horror stretched along her perfect features.

I guess this would be an ideal scene for a scary movie. My hand seizes her forearm, yanking her into my chest before slamming her back along the rear door.

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