“Fine.” She gives in with a growl.
“Where’s your real camp?” I ask as I get off her and then hoist her up to her feet by the hood on her jacket. She can’t weigh more than a buck. And this I find funny. After decades of trying to raise girls who are meek and follow orders, the Company has two unauthorized, out-of-control females on their hands.
“Over there.” She points north. I push her to get started, and she takes the hint and begins walking down the ridge. I have my FN Five-SeveN pressed into her back, just to keep the threat alive. But she marches on until we finally crest a ridge and I see her digs. She’s well-supplied. In fact, I have a little wave of jealousy that she’s been out here camping like this all by herself. What I wouldn’t give to have a few weeks alone on a deserted Colorado prairie with nothing but survival on my mind.
There’s a pile of feathers in one corner, pheasant from the looks of them. So she’s been eating well. Her sleeping bag is rolled up and attached to her pack. Which is also stuffed full and has gear hanging off it from carabiners. She grabs a camo cap off the ground and slides it over her grass-littered hair, and then hoists the pack up onto her small shoulders.
Her back is to me, so I’m not sure what she’s looking at as she stands there in silence. But I take note of the direction. North. I know she’s not from Colorado because all that shit last December happened up in Wyoming. And her grandparents’ ranch where she was living since her dad was killed was up near Montana.
So north.
I give her a few seconds to say goodbye and then grab her by the pack on her back and turn her around.
Her dirty cheeks are streaked clean from the tears and I soften a little. She can’t be more than thirteen and her whole life was stolen from her. None of this is her fault and she’s at the mercy of an assassin. I stick my gun back in my side holster and tug on her a little. Get her feet started. She walks dutifully, her head down. The little killer who’s been living alone out here on the prairie is gone now, and all that’s left is the broken shell of a girl who has no place to call home and no people to call family.
“Hey,” I say to her after we load her stuff in the back cab of the truck, get in, and slam our doors. “I’m not sure what Merc’s got planned, but he’ll think of something.” I put the truck in gear, moving forward on the dirt road as I stare at her for a few seconds. A wave of sympathy washes over me. She has the look of defeat on her. Her lips are frowning, her chest is rising and falling, her breaths coming out in rapid succession as she struggles to maintain some dignity. Her eyes are dark, but I know they’re blue because I saw them back out on the scrub when she turned into the rising sun. “But until then you’re with me. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She swallows once. A hard one, like she’s forcing shit down. Keeping the bad shit locked down deep inside. “I know what I’m up against. You don’t have to sugar-coat life for me. I’m used to living the lie. I’m used to living with death now.” She turns her head away and presses it against the window as the desolate scrub passes by.
“Yeah,” I say as I get on the empty highway that will take us to the little airport down in Burlington so we can fly back to California. “But you know what they say about men who have nothing to lose, right?”
She turns her sad face back to me. “What?”
“They have nothing to fear. When you’re at the bottom, the only way out is up.”
She’s quiet for a few seconds as she thinks about this. “But I’m not a man.” She turns her blue eyes up to meet my green ones and swallows down the tears once again.
“No, you’re a kid.” I soften a little as I look at her young face. It’s not her fault we were born into this f**ked-up world. “And I haven’t got much left to lose either. So we’re a team for now, OK? We’re in this together until I say otherwise. You need to trust me and do what I tell you.”
“I don’t want to go back to Merc. He’s crazy. I want Ford.”
“Ford,” I snarl at her, making her head snap to attention. “Fuck Ford. You think that ass**le is better than us because he’s not a Company man?” My eyes are blazing, I know it, because she looks scared. “I asked you a f**king question, Sasha.”
“No,” she mumbles and then turns her head and presses it back against the window.
“The last f**king name I want to hear is Ford. Fuck Ford. He’s a killer too. You don’t know him like I do. He’s a killer too.” I grab her shoulder and she turns back towards me again. “You got it?”
A few tears fall down her cheeks as she nods out her feigned agreement. But I don’t care if she’s scared, if she’s lying to me, or if she wishes I was dead.
There is no difference between me and Ford.
None. And the sooner this kid figures out we’re all the same, the better off she’ll be.
Chapter Two - James
I light a cigarette in the ALCO parking lot in Burlington, take a drag, and blow it out as I wait for Sasha to change in the bathroom. For a tiny town in the middle of absolutely nowhere, it’s got everything you need. Good thing, because the Smurfette looked a little too much like a crack addict to take on a private jet.
I slide my shades down my face to lessen the morning glare from the sun as she exits the store, all cleaned up. Her hair is back in a ponytail—most of the leaves and shit are gone, but a few stragglers remain. I swat them off her head as she passes and she turns and punches me in the arm.
I laugh and push her off. “Lighten up, Smurf. I’m just trying to make you look presentable.” I take one more drag on the cigarette and toss it, then get in the truck. She takes her time getting in and pulling the seatbelt across her chest. I take a moment to study her. She looks better with her new shorts and t-shirt, but she’s still a complete mess. I turn the ignition and rev the engine. “Well, it will have to do,” I sigh. “You looked like you were living out there in the scrub for months instead of days. You lose your mind or something?” Her head turns towards me slowly and she’s got a… look. Yeah. I’m not sure about that look. “What?”
“Days?” she snarls at me.
“Fine,” I say as I pull forward and make my way to the street, then turn left towards the airport. “I admit, I was a little late. But hey, I was busy with a girl back in Cali. She’s my key, and a job is more important than a package.”
“Where’s your real camp?” I ask as I get off her and then hoist her up to her feet by the hood on her jacket. She can’t weigh more than a buck. And this I find funny. After decades of trying to raise girls who are meek and follow orders, the Company has two unauthorized, out-of-control females on their hands.
“Over there.” She points north. I push her to get started, and she takes the hint and begins walking down the ridge. I have my FN Five-SeveN pressed into her back, just to keep the threat alive. But she marches on until we finally crest a ridge and I see her digs. She’s well-supplied. In fact, I have a little wave of jealousy that she’s been out here camping like this all by herself. What I wouldn’t give to have a few weeks alone on a deserted Colorado prairie with nothing but survival on my mind.
There’s a pile of feathers in one corner, pheasant from the looks of them. So she’s been eating well. Her sleeping bag is rolled up and attached to her pack. Which is also stuffed full and has gear hanging off it from carabiners. She grabs a camo cap off the ground and slides it over her grass-littered hair, and then hoists the pack up onto her small shoulders.
Her back is to me, so I’m not sure what she’s looking at as she stands there in silence. But I take note of the direction. North. I know she’s not from Colorado because all that shit last December happened up in Wyoming. And her grandparents’ ranch where she was living since her dad was killed was up near Montana.
So north.
I give her a few seconds to say goodbye and then grab her by the pack on her back and turn her around.
Her dirty cheeks are streaked clean from the tears and I soften a little. She can’t be more than thirteen and her whole life was stolen from her. None of this is her fault and she’s at the mercy of an assassin. I stick my gun back in my side holster and tug on her a little. Get her feet started. She walks dutifully, her head down. The little killer who’s been living alone out here on the prairie is gone now, and all that’s left is the broken shell of a girl who has no place to call home and no people to call family.
“Hey,” I say to her after we load her stuff in the back cab of the truck, get in, and slam our doors. “I’m not sure what Merc’s got planned, but he’ll think of something.” I put the truck in gear, moving forward on the dirt road as I stare at her for a few seconds. A wave of sympathy washes over me. She has the look of defeat on her. Her lips are frowning, her chest is rising and falling, her breaths coming out in rapid succession as she struggles to maintain some dignity. Her eyes are dark, but I know they’re blue because I saw them back out on the scrub when she turned into the rising sun. “But until then you’re with me. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She swallows once. A hard one, like she’s forcing shit down. Keeping the bad shit locked down deep inside. “I know what I’m up against. You don’t have to sugar-coat life for me. I’m used to living the lie. I’m used to living with death now.” She turns her head away and presses it against the window as the desolate scrub passes by.
“Yeah,” I say as I get on the empty highway that will take us to the little airport down in Burlington so we can fly back to California. “But you know what they say about men who have nothing to lose, right?”
She turns her sad face back to me. “What?”
“They have nothing to fear. When you’re at the bottom, the only way out is up.”
She’s quiet for a few seconds as she thinks about this. “But I’m not a man.” She turns her blue eyes up to meet my green ones and swallows down the tears once again.
“No, you’re a kid.” I soften a little as I look at her young face. It’s not her fault we were born into this f**ked-up world. “And I haven’t got much left to lose either. So we’re a team for now, OK? We’re in this together until I say otherwise. You need to trust me and do what I tell you.”
“I don’t want to go back to Merc. He’s crazy. I want Ford.”
“Ford,” I snarl at her, making her head snap to attention. “Fuck Ford. You think that ass**le is better than us because he’s not a Company man?” My eyes are blazing, I know it, because she looks scared. “I asked you a f**king question, Sasha.”
“No,” she mumbles and then turns her head and presses it back against the window.
“The last f**king name I want to hear is Ford. Fuck Ford. He’s a killer too. You don’t know him like I do. He’s a killer too.” I grab her shoulder and she turns back towards me again. “You got it?”
A few tears fall down her cheeks as she nods out her feigned agreement. But I don’t care if she’s scared, if she’s lying to me, or if she wishes I was dead.
There is no difference between me and Ford.
None. And the sooner this kid figures out we’re all the same, the better off she’ll be.
Chapter Two - James
I light a cigarette in the ALCO parking lot in Burlington, take a drag, and blow it out as I wait for Sasha to change in the bathroom. For a tiny town in the middle of absolutely nowhere, it’s got everything you need. Good thing, because the Smurfette looked a little too much like a crack addict to take on a private jet.
I slide my shades down my face to lessen the morning glare from the sun as she exits the store, all cleaned up. Her hair is back in a ponytail—most of the leaves and shit are gone, but a few stragglers remain. I swat them off her head as she passes and she turns and punches me in the arm.
I laugh and push her off. “Lighten up, Smurf. I’m just trying to make you look presentable.” I take one more drag on the cigarette and toss it, then get in the truck. She takes her time getting in and pulling the seatbelt across her chest. I take a moment to study her. She looks better with her new shorts and t-shirt, but she’s still a complete mess. I turn the ignition and rev the engine. “Well, it will have to do,” I sigh. “You looked like you were living out there in the scrub for months instead of days. You lose your mind or something?” Her head turns towards me slowly and she’s got a… look. Yeah. I’m not sure about that look. “What?”
“Days?” she snarls at me.
“Fine,” I say as I pull forward and make my way to the street, then turn left towards the airport. “I admit, I was a little late. But hey, I was busy with a girl back in Cali. She’s my key, and a job is more important than a package.”
