Page 66 of Protecting What Is Mine

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Mollie

I stand in the outhouse with one hand plugging my nose while the other slowly moves the flashlight around, revealing the horror in front of me. I’m glad I didn’t really need to go, because this place is so disgusting. It’s barely large enough to stand in with the door closed, but one look at the toilet seat, and I don’t know if I’ve ever, in my entire life, needed to pee bad enough to let my skin touch something so filthy.

“Okay, you got a break from him, but for how long?” I mumble to myself. “What now?”

I think I feel something moving at my feet. In my haste to shine a light on it, I almost drop the flashlight down the hole. What a horrible end to this horrible day that would be. Losing the only thing keeping me from shrieking and screaming my fool head off. “God, I wish Hank was here right now.” I close my eyes and try to think happy thoughts. Thoughts of him. The way he wears a pair of jeans. The way his eyes smile along with his mouth. How he always manages to seem strong and confident. “I don’t know how, but you’d fix this. I know it,” I whisper.

I step out into the night and gasp for breathable air as I close the door. Every fiber in my being tells me to make a run for it, but my brain knows it’s night, I’m in the middle of nowhere, and the crappy flashlight in my hand is already beginning to dim. I’d be lost before I ever got close to finding the road, much less help.

As I walk back to the cabin, I wonder if I hear voices in the distance. But the wave of fear that hits me when I see Roger’s silhouette standing in the door ahead is enough to wash any thoughts about it away. “Thought maybe you fell in.” He snickers as I slide past him. “Shame really. Would’ve solved a problem for me.”

His statement hits me the wrong way and I spin on my heel to face him. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

Roger walks past me and takes his seat back at the table. “Ready for that whiskey yet?” he asks as he swallows the last of the liquid in his glass and picks up the bottle to pour himself another.

“Sure. I’ll drink with you. Hell, I’ll even play cards with you. If it will get you to finally explain yourself.”

He looks up from his glass. “Explain what?”

“Oh, I don’t know like, why did you force me to come out here? Or, what is your plan? It’s not like we can stay here forever.”

Roger raises his glass. “Salud.” He tosses his head back, emptying the glass again. “It means, to your health,” he hisses.

I feel like I’m running out of options. And apparently, in my head, that equates to not having much to lose, because I storm over to the table, pick up my glass, clank it against the bottle and boldly ask for a shot.

Roger raises a brow. “Alright then.” He pours at least a triple’s worth of booze into the small glass, filling it to the top before he refills his own.

I raise the drink to my mouth and pour it back. All of it. The next thing I know, my knees have buckled and I’m trying not to fall to the floor as I choke and cough and gasp for air.

The idea seemed a lot more badass in my head.

* * *

Hank

“Seriously Hank?” Jack looks at the rifle in his hands with disdain.

“What?” I shrug.

“You’ve got that beautiful piece of walnut and steel, and I get a P.O.S. peashooter? Is this thing even a real gun? It looks like it shoots BBs, or foam darts, or something.”

“First off, you’re welcome. Because apparently Gabe never stopped to consider securing more than one firearm in his vehicle at a time.”

Gabe looks up from his rifle. “Fuck off.”

“And secondly, while a twenty-two long rifle may be a small cartridge, would you want to be shot with one?”

Jack hesitates before answering, “No.”

“Well, whatever your peashooter may lack in oomph, it ought to make up for in volume. That thing holds twenty rounds.”

Jack scoffs. “If this one is so good why don’t you take it and I’ll carry the lever action?”

I pull my rifle to my chest then indicate Sam. “She doesn’t even have a gun. If you’re so bent out of shape about it, give her yours. Otherwise, shut up so we can get to it.”

Jack falls in line behind Gabe, who’s following me, who’s following Sam. Sam has the flashlight I keep in the glove box, but because I don’t know how much to trust the batteries, we follow the old worn-out trail by moonlight for as long as we’re able.

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