Page 32 of Small Town Hunter

“Crash?”

“Yes, Trina?”

“Do you think I could I get some more clothes?”

SIX

TRINA

A wasteland. Two red plains that pinch the open road into the size of a needle. I’m not sure where we are. We might not even be in Oklahoma anymore. I don’t know.

The sun is coming up, and though the AC is cranking, a bead of sweat crawls down my back. That might have less to do with the temperature and more to do with the physical reaction I’m having to Crash.

He smells good, like tobacco and sage and a musky smell from… I don’t know what. It’s definitely not helping my attention break away from him: his face, his body, his large hands holding the wheel.

Things shiver in the distance. Tumbleweed. Water. Or just a strange haze.

There’s nothing out here.

Nothing but us.

Last nightwe slept in the car. I was nervous, but so tired from all the driving I didn’t even care. After helping me put down my seat, he handed me a Pendleton blanket and then took care ofhimself. I had to toss and turn to get comfortable, but Crash just folded his arms, put his hat over his eyes and went right to sleep.

We were out in the wilderness under a canopy of the brightest stars I’d ever seen. The air was cool and smelled of wild things. Crash had parked against a rock formation to keep out some of the dust, but I didn’t even notice it, I was just so happy not to be in my room in Tippalonga.

The moon was full, giving me plenty of light to watch my rescuer from under my lashes. Crash slept still as the dead. His broad chest rose and fell, and I wondered what it would be like to put my head there and listen to his heartbeat. And then I wondered where the hell that extremely inappropriate thought even came from.

In the end I turned around, shut my eyes and pictured signing up for classes at that college Mamie was supposed to move near to. La…Lo…What was the name?

Why couldn’t I remember it? Why couldn’t I rememberanything?

Just take it one day at a time…Slowly I drifted back to sleep.

In the morning,more driving.

It took us forty minutes to leave Black Mesa, and we stopped at a gas station to refuel. I had to pee in the cramped toilet, which was disgusting to say the least. I am certain that was urine on the door handle and the thing inside the mop bucketdefinitelylooked alive.

When I got out, Crash was across the store getting coffee. He stood head and shoulders above all the displays. I was walking over to suggest to the clerk that he put more effort into cleaning the facilities when a man in a leather jacket stepped in front of me.

“Hey precious,” the man said.

Road-dust covered him head to toe. His boots were even dirtier than Crash’s. My eyes tracked the unsavory images stamped across his raggedy leather jacket. The biggest one saidWHITE DEFENDERS.

“You just passing through, gorgeous?”

“I — excuse me…”

“Where are you going?”

He put his arm around my waist. A shock raced through my body. He smelled like burned sugar and cigarettes. And motor oil. I froze, saying nothing as he continued to touch me.

I just froze.

I’d thrown men off before. Reverend Wilson. Even Crash, when he was trying to see my watch. But this was different. I couldn’t move. Flashes of the Reverend breathing on me, running his hand up under my modest dress, bolted across my mind like wild horses. Suddenly I stood on one side of a wide canyon, watching the moment happen on the other.

“You look familiar. You live around here?”

I made a small, convulsive movement. It seemed to take every ounce of strength I had. He easily jerked me back by my arm.

---