Claws

Chapter Nine- Help Gone Wrong

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    Nine

    "Maybe we should stop off here." Sydney suggested from the back seat. It was around three P.M, the sun was slanting in the sky and all of our stomachs were growling. We were in some dead-beat town in the middle of freaking nowhere, with a dirty, run-down gas station, grimy motel, and a no doubt family-owned diner to which Sydney was referring to.

    "We already stopped for clothes. We can't waste anymore time," Jack growled.

    "Jack, we can't just not eat for the next two days." I reasoned. He let out an exasperated sigh and pulled into the small diner parking lot, shifting the car into park and getting out, slamming the door hard-- he didn't like stopping too much.

    "God, no need to get so slammy." Sydney muttered.

    "Syd," I turned around. "please just don't start." I pleaded. She put her hands up defensively and got out of the car. I mimicked her movement, hopping out and pulling my shirt down.

    The shirt I had bought at some thrift store an hour or so back was a bit too small. I managed to swipe a graphic tee with a penguin on it that probably would've fit me when I was fifteen and looked like something I would've worn when I was thirteen. I'd also scored some cut-off jean shorts that were two sizes too big and made me look like a hobo. Well, I guess that's sort of what we all resembled... but anyway, we had had no time at all to be picky or choosy about styles. Sydney had gotten a black hoodie with a Mets logo to go over her cami she was wearing when we left the hotel, along with some holy, ripped up jeans that were a bit small on her. Jack had been the lucky one, scoring jeans that were just the right size and a simple white T-shirt. Shoe-wise? Jack got some boots, Syd got some sandals and me? Well, I was the lucky one when it came to shoes. I got some lightly-used red Converse. Converse weren't Sydneys thing anyway, so it wasn't much of an argument.

    When we walked into the diner, I was sure that if I wasn't starving, I would've walked right back out. There were ripped, red vinyl stools, six of them, lined up in front of the dirty looking counter with an ancient cash register. An over-weight woman stood behind the counter, handing a cold draft beer to the dirty looking man sitting on one of the six stools.

    "Thanks, baby." he belched. I grimaced. It was a very tight space. There was a small, boxy TV sitting on a TV stand in the corner and it was turned on some news channel, so low it was almost muted.

    "Hey," Jack said, walking up to the counter.

    "Can I help you, hon?" the lady, Trish as her name tag identified her, asked.

    "Yeah, umm... can I just get three burgers, three Cokes, and three fries please?"

    "Sure, babe." she hit a few buttons on her machine. "That'll be sixteen ninety-five."

    Jack handed her some cash (He had a backup wad of cash stashed in his car for emergencies-- like this one) and she took it quickly.

    "Thank you, your food will be out in a few."

    "Okay, thanks." he turned around, took our wrists and toted us to the only booth, crammed between the jukebox and the wall, and sat down, me by his side, Sydney on the other side.

    "How long do you think it'll be until we get to South Carolina?" I asked.

    "Hmmm... another thirteen hours? Then we still have to find the Yamasee."