"Let's go while it's light and not raining," Troy suggested.
I didn't feel like getting up. While we were in bed, I felt like everything around me didn't exist. But alas, after his words, Otto jumped off the bed and started to get dressed, which meant paradise was broken, it was time to wake up.
I stared at Troy's back as he put on his pants. The three birthmarks were treacherously bringing me back to reality, reminding me of who we really were. He's a killer. And so am I. Clara was wrong, but she didn't deserve to die. She didn't? What am I talking about, God. She was my sister. What have I become in such a short time? I've become almost like a zombie myself. Morally. I was sickened by what I'd done. I slit her throat, and then I just ran away. Didn't even try to help her, didn't even try to save her, bury her.... I wrapped myself in a blanket. Smelled like dust. I wondered how long it had been here. When did people leave here? And did they? Maybe they were murdered. Maybe that dead man by the car was the owner of this house.
I was interrupted by Troy, who was already dressed.
"Waiting for coffee in bed?" Troy asked wint ironic.
"I don't think you're capable of that."
"When you say I'm incapable of something, I immediately want to do it, to make you ashamed," he smirked, turning his sock out.
"There, I've found the pressure points!" I rubbed my hands together theatrically like an evil genius.
Troy stared at me for a few seconds in silence.
"Why are you here? I still don't understand. What has life rewarded me for?"
"Or maybe it punished you?" I said ironically.
"No. I've been unreal lucky. I'd be dead by now if I'd left alone. Or would have done something even worse."
"Well, no, you're resourceful. Would have figured out a way to save yourself."
He shrugged and headed downstairs. As he came down the stairs, Otto shouted:
"And about the coffee: I can arrange it, can't I? I thought we had a couple bags in the car."
"I hate coffee without milk," I shouted back, "better make some more tea for the road."
I heard him laugh, and I felt so relieved at the sound. The first time I was so emotionally connected to another person. Anyone who hasn't loved someone for a long time will understand me. Of course, I'm not some unfeeling psychopath. I love my parents, my brother. I loved my sister. But this is different. Troy was soul mate, not blood mate. I never felt that way about Aron. He was just there for me. I was just comfortable with him. But it wasn't even a couple percent like it is now with Otto.
I went downstairs. Troy was warming the water. I sat down in the same wicker chair and closed my eyes. The fire crackled, its smell seemed so far away. Like a fairy tale. I was getting calmer.
It took a little time to pack the thermos for the road. Soon we were on the road. I was driving this time. I wanted to focus on something to keep my mind off Clara. Troy was looking at the map. Every now and then we talked about something. Everything was steady, we followed the signs. The highway was empty except for the dead people we occasionally bumped into.
After a couple hours of driving, it started to get dark. We had passed Sacramento and were now near Klamath Falls. It was about 500 kilometers to Vancouver. We were running out of gas. It was time to do something. We saw a gas station. After checking it out, of course, we were left with nothing. We drove on in suspense. Suddenly there was some movement near the sign. I looked closely and started to slow down. I think there was a girl. She was standing a little lower in the ditch.
"What are you doing?"
"There's a girl in there."
"So what?! Let's go!"
"Troy! Let's stop in case she needs help!"
"I don't care, it's dangerous! We're going forward, hit the gas!" he shouted, pointing vigorously at the road.
"No way. I'm driving and I decide. Imagine if I stood in the road like this!"
He slammed angry his fist on the door.
I pulled over. The girl was in no hurry to come out of her hiding place. Troy opened the window and looked at me with a hint that I should be the one to say something since I decided to help.
"Hey, hey! Need a help?"
There was no response. Troy snorted judgmentally.
"Do you understand English?" I thought she must be from Mexico: "Hola! Hablas Ingles?"
However, she continued to remain silent. I got a little creepy. Great horror movie: some idiot stops in the middle of a zombie apocalypse on the road to help a stranger. I'd condemn the plot...
"Okay, since you don't need any help, we're off!"
Suddenly, a girl stepped out into the road.
"My friend... He's dying. Is there anything you can do to help?" She was crying.
Troy rolled his eyes.
"What's wrong with him?"
"Нe's been shot!" she came to my window.
"Where is he?"
"Della," Troy tugged on my arm, "are you a surgeon?! How can you help him?! Let's get outta here!"
I waved his hand away, repeating the question.
"He's in the car."
I got out of the car and followed her. After a couple seconds, we heard an aggressive slamming of the door. Troy followed us too.
"Who was shooting?"
"A man. I didn't get a good look. We stole his gasoline!"
I looked back at Otto. He was surprised.
The girl introduced herself as Linda. After leading us to an old Chevrolet pickup truck, she sat down on the ground next to us and rested her face in her lap. The guy was lying in the back of the pickup, breathing heavily. Gasoline cans flaunted nearby. Eight of them.
"What's his name?"
The girl was startled by my voice and looked up.
"Oliver..."
"Okay, Oliver, can you hear me?" I looked at him.
He nodded.
I touched his forehead, it was hot. Turning to Troy, I threw him a glance toward our car with a hint of pills. He shook his head negatively.
"Get them, quick!"
Reluctantly, Otto did move toward our Benz Truck. I hoped he understood: I needed anti-inflammatories and antipyretics.
I began to examine Oliver. There were two wounds. One in his forearm. The other in the shoulder. I ripped open his shirt and looked for the exit wound. I breathed a sigh of relief. Both bullets were through and through. I didn't have to pull anything out.
Troy, luckily for me, had brought the entire first aid kit with him.
"I need water."
Linda quickly got a bottle out of the car. After rinsing the wounds with water, I got the antiseptic and started treating them. Fifteen minutes later, Oliver's shoulder and forearm were bandaged. I gave him a few ibuprofen tablets and a painkiller.
"That's it, he should be feeling better soon."
"God, thank you, thank you," Linda rushed to hug me.
Troy looked at this with a raised eyebrow.
"Now tell me what happened to you guys," I said, wiping my hands clean of Oliver's blood.
We pulled the cars off the road to a more secluded spot and sat down to talk.
After an hour of talking to Linda, I learned that the guys had fled Mexico. They had barely escaped a gang and were now just wandering around with no purpose. They had nothing but water and gasoline.
As I drank tea with my new acquaintance, she finally came to her senses. Only now could I see her face. She was still quite a teen. Oliver's age was as yet undetermined. He was resting in the back seat of the car. As I bandaged him up, I didn't even pay attention to his appearance.
Troy silently built a fire. He didn't like the situation at all. He was on edge and only held on because we'd found gasoline. I think he'd be happy to shoot them both and take the canisters.
"Where are you guys headed?"
"Canada."
"What's there?"
"We don't know. But Troy," I nodded in his direction, "says it's better there than Mexico and the States."
"Can I ask you a question? Uh, yes. We should come with you, too. We've got gas. We've got enough. That's for sure. But we can't do it alone. Oliver's hurt, and I-- I can't do anything on my own. I wasn't even out of high school when this started. I'm only fourteen, Oliver's a couple months older.....
There were tears in her eyes. I wanted to ask them to come with us because of the gas. Asking about family was pointless. Everything was clear without words. I felt sorry for both of them.
"Yes, but we'll go in one car, ours. So we don't waste extra gas."
Linda nodded. I turned to Troy, he wasn't happy.
"Della, hey," he made an inviting gesture with his finger, "let's go have a word."
I stood up and walked over to him, already knowing what the conversation would be about.
We moved a little farther away from the fire.
"Are you out of your mind!!! Did you misinterpret my desire to have children? I don't want to babysit those two idiots!"
"Troy, please calm down," I put my hands on his chest, "it's better if we have someone else with us. The group is safer..."
"Della, no. We're not taking them. I'm not taking responsibility for two other people's little kids who can't do anything on their own."
"Actually, they can. They were able to steal gasoline!"
"Yeah, by taking two bullets!"
"Troy, we have to help them!"
"No, we don't owe anyone anything. We'll take half the gasoline for our help and get out of here. Don't insist. I've already done more than I wanted to. It's either what I said or nothing. I'll kill them. Both of them."
"Then kill me too, asshole! I'll stay with them. They're defenseless children. They have no one! They need us!"
Troy grabbed my hands, which were still on his chest, and squeezed them tight.
"No. If I have to, I'll force you into the car!"
"You can start right now. They need help. I've already done a lot of bad things. And I need to atone... for Clara's murder! Don't you understand?!"
He let go of my hands and hugged me tightly. I was surprised because I expected an argument, but Troy changed in a second.
"I guess I'm wrong... Yeah, we should help. I just don't trust them. Somehow this whole thing feels weird... But, yeah, we've done a lot of bad things, we need to atone for that."
"You're not mad at me anymore?"
"How can I be mad at you for being better than me? I want to be kinder, but I can't always be. You know I'm not a bad person..."
I hugged Troy back, pressing my arms tightly against his back. A couple minutes later, we were back by the fire. Linda was sitting with her knees pulled up.
"Hey Linda, don't worry," Otto crouched down next to her, "Della's actually a doctor, he's bound to be okay."
"You're a doctor?" the girl asked surprised.
"Just a psychiatrist," I waved my hands.
"And you?" she asked Troy.
"I'm military."
"And I wanted to be an artist. Was going to go to an art academy after high school..."
"It's sad you didn't make it."
"But I haven't stopped painting! Would you like to see my sketchbook?" Troy and I nodded approvingly at the same time. Linda happily ran to the car and pulled out her backpack.
As she brought the drawings to us, she watched silently at first, then began to comment.
"This is the place," she jabbed her finger at the sheet, "where we lived in Mexico."
"How did you and Oliver meet?"
"We were in the same class."
"Are you two dating?" I grinned playfully.
"No," Linda shook her head encouragingly, "we had company, three other guys, Grace, Millie and Robbie, but they..... Anyway, there were five of us. Now it's just me and Oliver. He's like a brother to me," her eyes dimmed and began to fill with a watery film."
Suddenly Troy said:
"Linda, you must be very tired. You'll tell us more about it tomorrow. Go sleep in the car. It's warmer there."
She shook her head negatively.
"Don't worry, we won't leave you," I smiled, "whereupon she nodded sleepily and went to the car. "m
Troy and I stayed by the fire.