Carter
A couple of hours later, Carter was sitting in one of the plastic-covered chairs, drinking a beer. Billie sat in another chair next to his, her leg dangling over one armrest as she spooned corn niblets into her mouth from an open can. They both used additional cans of chilled beer as makeshift ice packs, pressing them against their sunburned necks and faces.
They both watched the tiny, glowing TV screen. No matter how much Carter messed with the flimsy antennas on top of the set, the grainy picture still hissed with static, and every few minutes the picture would roll upward. Keeping his eyes on it gave Carter a mild headache, but still, he had to admit that it was nice to relax with a cheap beer and some shitty television after everything he'd been through. It sure beat the hard, moldy floors and foraged scraps of food he'd expected on the way to the shack.
“No matter where I go, it seems like whenever I turn on the TV, there's always a Western movie playing on at least one channel,” Carter mused.
“Really?” Billie asked. “I always figured that was just because I live in Texas.”
“Nope, it's pretty much true everywhere,” he said. “Weird, right?”
Billie shrugged. “Works for me. I love Westerns.”
“Me too,” Carter said. “My mom used to show them to me. This was always one of the best ones, though.”
“Oh, hell yeah. This is my favorite scene coming up.”
“The one with the mule?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.”
They watched in silence for a few moments as Clint Eastwood glared with icy blue eyes at a trio of good-for-nothing cowpokes and demanded that they apologize to his mule for laughing at it.
When the laughing stopped and the shooting started, Billie finished off her corn and put the empty can on the floor. “So your mom is the one who gave you the unfortunate name of Carter, huh? How'd that happen?”
“I think she was hoping for a girl,” Carter said. “And she was a big fan of Helen Carter, the country singer from the '50s. I'm pretty sure she originally meant to name me Helen and make Carter my middle name, but when she found out I was going to be a boy, she just went with Carter instead.”
“And she showed you Westerns? That's kind of strange. I mean, I would think that usually it'd be a guy's father who would do that.”
“I never knew my father,” Carter said. “He ran out on my mom before I was born. She didn't talk about him much, and when she did, she almost never called him by his real name. Her 'sperm bank,' that was what she called him. She showed me these flicks because she liked how respectful most of the good guys were to the women in them. She wanted me to grow up to be like that, I guess.”
As he said this, Carter realized that he couldn't remember ever telling anyone about his childhood before. He usually didn't spend much time thinking about it, and he knew it should probably make him uncomfortable to talk about it, especially with some girl he'd only known for a day. But somehow, he found that he didn't mind.
Besides, he'd already told her his real name, so it wasn't as though disclosing this information would hurt him later on. By the time Billie had a chance to tell any of this to the cops, he figured he'd be over the Mexican border and long gone.
“So what does she think of you riding around with bikers and robbing banks?” Billie asked.
“She, uh, died when I was seventeen,” Carter replied. He kept his eyes on the screen and his voice steady, even though the thought of her death still ached like an old wound. “She worked in a grocery store, and after she closed up one night, some guy jumped her in the parking lot and stabbed her for her purse. The cops never caught him. She only had twelve dollars in that purse, but...” He trailed off, finishing his beer and popping the top off the one he'd been using to cool his skin.
“Jesus, I'm so sorry,” said Billie. He could feel her eyes on him, but he didn't want to turn and look. He didn't want to see the sympathy there—he hadn't had much use for that look in the eyes of adults when he was a kid, and he didn't have any use for it now either.
“Don't worry about it,” Carter said. “I've mostly gotten over it. Those first few years, though, I was really fucking angry. I used to get in a lot of fights, and one time, after I put some kid in the hospital for making fun of me, the judge gave me the choice of going to prison or joining the Army and heading off to Iraq.”
“How did that go?”
“It wasn't so bad over there,” he answered, taking a sip of beer. “I learned a lot about how to fight, how to shoot, and how to keep from dying in the heat. I wasn't too big on taking orders, though, so it was nice to come back when it was over. By then, joining an MC seemed like the only thing that made sense. And it was good, too, for a while. Then the MC I was in got massacred by a bunch of fucking gangster scumbags, and the other guys and I decided to knock over some banks and use the cash to form a new one. Guess that's not going to happen now, though. Mexico's got plenty of its own gangs and bullshit without some gringo trying to set up shop down there.
“Anyway, what's your story?” Carter added, hoping to take the focus off himself. “You've probably got a lot of friends and family back in Cactus Hollow who are worried about you, right?”
“No friends,” Billie said. “Just the guys who come into the bar night after night, hoping I'll throw them a fuck or tell them a good joke. I mean, there's that sheriff, sure, but he's always been kind of a needy dweeb. And no family, either. My parents died in a car crash when I was eight, so I stayed with my aunt and uncle near here until I got old enough to move back and get a place of my own.”
She thought about this for a moment, frowning. “Looking back, I guess that would have been a good time for me to go find someplace else to live instead. But at the time, I couldn't really think of anywhere else I wanted to be. Stupid, right? A whole wide world to explore, and I just ran back to the same old shithole I'd always known.”
Carter didn't respond to this, but he certainly understood what she meant. He'd often had the same thoughts about coming back from Iraq. He could have gone anywhere, done anything, learned and traveled and discovered a million other things to do with his life. But instead, he'd settled right back into what was easy for him.
“I think I'm going to catch some shut-eye,” Carter said. “I'm pretty fucking exhausted. Are you going to stay up and finish the movie?”
“Nah, I know how it ends,” said Billie. She got up and switched the TV off. “You want the cot? It's the least I can do after you saved my ass earlier.”
Carter shook his head, grinning. “You take it. I insist. Otherwise, my mom would never forgive me for my lack of chivalry.”
Billie laughed, flopping onto the cot. The plastic cover squeaked under her body. “Fair enough. Aren't you worried about me trying to run off while you're asleep, though?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Should I be?”
“Nope,” Billie yawned, curling up on her side. “Too tired. Sweet dreams, Carter.”
“Goodnight, Billie,” he said, doing his best to recline in his chair. It was a little uncomfortable, and for a while, he considered joining her in the bed. After all, hadn't she mentioned before that she'd been willing to fuck him the previous night?
And hadn't she hinted that her willingness hadn't exactly waned since then?
Before he could decide, he heard her snoring lightly and figured the choice had been made for him. He grunted once in frustration, then tilted his head back and tried to doze off.
Carter
The plastic covering the furniture made it difficult for Carter to sleep because every time he or Billie shifted positions, it made creaking and squealing sounds. Billie seemed to be a much heavier sleeper since these noises didn't wake her.
Carter had slept on the ground in countless states, with owls hooting, animals braying in nearby fields, and hard roots digging into his back. Still, he'd generally been able to sleep through all of that without any trouble.
This damn plastic, though. It just didn't feel or sound natural, and it took him a long time to relax enough for sleep to overtake him.
When it finally did, the stresses of the previous twenty-four hours all seemed to catch up to him at once, and his weary body and mind surrendered completely. His sleep was deep and dreamless, and he didn't wake up again until the first ghostly rays of sunlight started to creep in through the broken windows and the hole in the ceiling.
Carter pulled himself out of the chair and stretched. He was still a bit groggy, but overall, he felt like he'd recovered from almost everything he'd gone through yesterday. He touched his face gingerly, feeling the sting of the sunburn. It hurt, and he knew that he probably looked fucking ridiculous with such a red face, but he'd endured much worse before.
On the whole, he felt strangely energized and optimistic. They'd gotten this far, hadn't they? They hadn't seen a single cop on their tails since the robbery, they'd survived the desert, and they'd even found plenty of unexpected provisions in the cabin. Carter wasn't particularly superstitious, but he felt like fortune was smiling on them, and he was confident that he would make it down to Mexico with Hazmat and Oiler after all.
And maybe their plans for founding a new MC weren't completely down the tubes, either. After a couple years of keeping their heads down in Mexico, who knows? Maybe things would blow over enough for them to cross over into the U.S. again and put something together. Hazmat had been angry about the whole Billie situation, but he got angry a lot, and he usually got over it eventually.
He thought about grabbing another bottle of water from the fridge, then realized his bladder was aching. He opened the back door of the shack, then paused briefly to look at Billie while she slept. Even in the dim light, he could see that her sunburn looked pretty harsh, too.
But sunburns fade, he thought. That pretty face of hers will be back to normal in a few days. And at least she's safe.
He wasn't sure why the fact that she was safe should feel so important to him, but it did. He tried to tell himself that it was because she'd be no good as a hostage if she was dead, or that she’d need to be healthy for when he dropped her off somewhere on his way to the border. But somehow, neither of those explanations seemed to fit.
Carter stepped out, closing the door gently behind him. There were tall weeds with long, serrated leaves growing in thick patches between the cabin and the outhouse. He gave them a cursory glance to make sure they weren't poison ivy, then tromped through them and opened the narrow door to the outhouse, peering in. He couldn't see any snakes or animals inside, but he smacked the side of the doorway a few times to scare them away, just in case. There was no movement, so he stood over the hole, unzipped his jeans, and relieved himself.
As he did, Carter considered his immediate future some more. How would Billie factor into that? He'd still have to cut her loose before crossing over into Mexico. Ideally, he knew he should do it before meeting up with the others at the truck stop, to keep things from flaring up with Hazmat again. He knew their faith in his leadership was shaken—he was the one who'd insisted they'd be safe hitting that last bank, which was where all of this trouble had started for them—but he was confident that he could earn it back fairly quickly as long as he didn't show up to their rendezvous with Billie on his arm.
Still, the thought of just turning her loose wasn't sitting well with him. He knew he could move around and evade the law more easily without her, but he'd also come to enjoy her company. She could be funny and resourceful, and her knowledge of the state had helped them out of a couple of jams already.
And he had to admit that it was difficult to think of walking away from her without ever having the chance to find out how her body would feel pressed against his, or the sounds she made when she was fucking.
He shook himself off and zipped up, wading through the weeds again to get back to the cabin. When he opened the back door and stepped in, he found himself looking at Billie again, and for the first time, he allowed himself to consider the possibility of taking her to Mexico with him.
Why not? She'd admitted that there was nothing and no one to keep her in Cactus Hollow. It seemed like a life of travel and adventure would suit her more than going back to that shitty bar and pouring whiskey shots for hayseeds. Plus, there was clearly an attraction between them. Hell, if the new MC had already existed, he'd probably have invited her to stick around as his girlfriend. So why not before then?
But crossing the border would already be difficult enough for him, Oiler, and Hazmat, even without the authorities knowing who they were. Everyone would be on the lookout for Billie by now, and taking her with them would mean they couldn't just breeze past the border guards on bikes and hope they wouldn't be searched randomly. They'd have to hide her, or disguise her, or...
Shit.
Carter shook his head, trying to clear it. Trying to make plans for her to come with them was stupid, no matter how pretty she was or how much Carter liked having her around. He'd only known her for a day, and that couldn't possibly make her worth scrapping what few plans he and the others had left to get out of this in one piece with their money.
Billie mumbled something in her sleep and turned over onto her other side. Carter realized that he'd been standing and staring at her for too long, and he figured she'd probably find that kind of creepy if she happened to wake up and see him standing there. He decided to give her some more time to sleep before they started off again.
As he walked back to his chair, he felt the tip of his boot connect with something small, sending it skidding across the floor. He followed it and bent down to pick it up, examining it carefully.
It was a digital scale.
Carter frowned. He'd seen scales like this one before, mostly when the Hobgoblins had used them to weigh out baggies of coke and heroin before selling them. As far as he could tell, there weren't many other uses for such scales except for weighing ingredients before cooking—and looking around, he couldn't see any food items that would require such precision.
His eyes fell upon the box of sandwich bags on the table, and a bad feeling started to creep over him.
Carter opened the back door again, looking out at the foliage between the shack and the outhouse. Earlier, he'd only been interested in whether the plants with the long, spiky leaves were harmful. But now that he really stopped to examine them, he had no trouble recognizing them.
Still, it could just be a coincidence. He didn't want to wake Billie up until he was sure.
He looked for the floorboards that appeared newer than the others and took his pliers out of his vest, crouching down. Slowly, carefully, he pried up the nails that held the wood down and lifted the boards up, peering under them.
There were dozens of bricks of dried marijuana buds wrapped in plastic.
Fuck me, he thought. The people who use this cabin aren't hunters.
And they could be coming back any minute.