Carter
After Hazmat and Oiler left the room, Carter realized that his hands were aching. He looked down and saw that he'd clenched them into fists at some point during their argument. He took a deep breath and opened them again, flexing them a few times.
“Thank you for standing up for me,” Billie said. Carter noticed that the tone of her voice had changed. The sassy, teasing bravado was gone, replaced with what sounded like real anxiety.
Good, he thought. Now that she knows how serious this situation is, maybe she'll stop screwing around and behave like a proper hostage. I hope so, anyway, since it looks like I'm stuck with her for the foreseeable future thanks to my big fucking mouth.
“Yeah, well, it's not because I like you or anything,” Carter said, “so don't get any ideas about that. Like I said, I'm a robber, not a murderer, that's all.”
But then again, he'd never been a kidnapper either, and now he was dragging her along without a solid plan to get rid of her. Bizarrely, he felt like someone who'd been forced into taking an unwanted pet. Now he'd have to worry about feeding her and letting her go to the bathroom, all while making sure she didn't run away. What a pain in the ass.
He thought about Hazmat, who'd always acted as a brutal and pitiless enforcer when they were members of the Hobgoblins. Carter hadn't exactly been squeamish about violence when it was needed, but Hazmat seemed to revel in it like some kind of ancient gladiator, smashing and stomping and screaming victoriously as he bathed in the blood of his enemies. Carter was known for being clever and good with plans and strategies, but when it came to carrying those plans out, Hazmat was an unholy force of nature.
Hadn't that been the reason Carter had chosen Hazmat as his VP? Because Hazmat wasn't afraid of getting his hands dirty and doing what needed to be done? So why had Carter stood in his way now, when it could have saved them so much hassle?
Well, his reasons for making Hazmat the VP of the Metal Monsters seemed irrelevant now, since their big ideas for founding an MC of their own had gone up in smoke.
So much for my “plans and strategies,” Carter thought, feeling like the world's biggest asshole.
“So, um, what happens now?” Billie asked, interrupting Carter's morbid thoughts.
“For starters, we'll need to put some distance between us and The Whippoorwill,” Carter answered. “It's still too close to Cactus Hollow, and the cops will be searching every motel in the vicinity. And we shouldn't steal another car from this parking lot, or it'll let them know we've been here.”
As he said this, Carter wondered whether Hazmat and Oiler would be smart enough to realize this as well, or if they'd already hotwired a ride and left. He briefly considered looking for them in the parking lot just in case, then decided it was best to stay out of sight as much as possible.
“The problem,” he continued, “is that I have no idea where we could possibly hole up in this godforsaken part of Texas, or how we'd get there if we did. So I'll have to give it some serious thought, and while I do, it'd probably be best if you didn't distract me by talking.”
“I might be able to help with that,” Billie said tentatively.
Carter raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”
“I've got a cousin named Samantha who lives over in Caddo Corners—” she began.
“We're not going to go see your cousin,” Carter said immediately. “You've probably been on the news by now as a kidnap victim. She'd call the cops on me the second our backs were turned. Nice try, though.”
Billie rolled her eyes. “Of course we're not going to see Samantha,” she said. “I'm not an idiot, and I'm not plotting against you, no matter what you think. But there aren't any motels in Caddo Corners and it's far from the main highways, so the cops will probably overlook it. Hell, everyone else does.”
“That still doesn't solve the problem of where we're going to spend the night,” Carter pointed out.
“That's the best part,” Billie said. “When I used to visit Sam when we were kids, we'd play around in the woods at the edge of town, near the border of the Taysha Indian reservation. There was an old abandoned shack in those woods. No one would ever think to look for us there.”
“Assuming the shack hasn't been torn down by now, or fallen down, or been ripped apart by a tornado,” Carter said, ticking the points off on his fingers, “or been converted to a summer cabin by yuppies...”
“Okay, those are all possibilities,” Billie conceded. “But unless you've got a better plan...”
Carter sighed. He didn't.
“Fair enough,” he said. “We'll try to reach this shack, and hope it's still there. If not, I guess we'll be sleeping in the woods, so I hope there aren't any coyotes around there.”
“There are, actually,” Billie said, “but since coyotes don't usually carry guns and you've got two of them, I think we'll be okay.”
Carter grimaced. He didn't scare easily, but coyotes had always given him a sense of dread, ever since he'd seen one tear a rabbit to shreds when he was four years old. He'd never admitted his fear of them to anyone, but he certainly wasn't in a hurry to see one anytime soon, either.
“So how far is Caddo Corners from here?” he asked. “Walking distance?”
Billie winced. “Well, that's the bad news. There's a pretty wide stretch of desert between here and there. We wouldn't be able to make it on foot.”
“Shit,” Carter spat. “I already told you, we can't steal a car from here without giving ourselves away. And we can’t go back to the sedan because it’s probably been reported as stolen by now. How the fuck are we supposed to get there without a ride?”
She smiled. “Actually, I think I've got an idea about that, too.”