Chapter 2
The Girl
Sunlight streamed through the windshield, reaching all the way into Sheila’s cargo area to harass my eyes. I heard rumbling off in the distance and prayed to Bob that it was a thunderstorm because the thing I wanted most in the world was something to block the sunlight that felt like it was penetrating my very atoms. I had cracked Sheila’s windows last night to let air in, but with the sun hemorrhaging light like it was, it wouldn’t be long before I started to cook in here. The rumbling got louder, and to my immense displeasure, I realized that the sound wasn’t thunder. It was motorcycles. Boo!
The loud roaring of the engines cut off, and a man with a slight Hispanic accent said, “What in the fresh hell is this? Now we got some fuckin’ murder van in our backyard?”
“How the fuck are we supposed to know it’s not filled with candy or puppies or some shit to lure people in?” another voice asked. Aw, man! Is that a real thing? I suddenly wasn’t so mad at the stupid sun anymore because it was totally worth being awake if I found out where I could acquire puppies and candy for Sheila and me.
I was about to inquire where one might find van candy when another voice from outside cut in, “First of all, Cricket, to lure you, the candy and puppies would need to be visible. You see any goddamn puppies? Second, if you’re gonna ask rhetorical questions, you might as well make them useful ones. Like how long has a strange van been on club property? Or, oh, I don’t know, why is there a strange van on club property?”
A third growlier voice chimed in at this point. “You two shut the hell up and just check out this piece-of-shit van. Bones, you check the cab. Bard, you take the cargo. Cricket can drive it back when we’re done, and we can strip this shit heap on wheels for parts.” He could have said more in that growly, smoky voice of his, but I didn’t hear him. The words “piece-of-shit van” and “strip her for parts” echoed around in my head, getting louder and louder. Over my dead. Fucking. Body.
I snatched the hunting knife from my boot and grabbed my machete from my nest, bursting out of Sheila’s back doors like an avenging Valkyrie. My Xena war cry intimidated the fuck out of the man standing near the doors if his expression was anything to go by. He was so stunned by my wrathful presence that he didn’t realize what was happening until he was flat on his back with my dusty bootprint on his chest. I heard gravel crunching behind me and turned just in time to avoid a bat to the face. Using my knife, I slashed Mr. Fancy Bat’s bicep as he followed through with his strike. He grunted in annoyance as the serrated edges caught on his flesh. Well, excuse me, it wasn’t my fault Hoodie Guy bought cheap knives, jeez. That judgy grunt earned him a dislocated knee when I kicked out at his kneecap.
Right as Mr. Fancy Bat went down, I was grabbed from behind. I kicked off Sheila’s side and made a mental note to apologize to her later for the new dent. I dropped my weight, throwing the guy behind me off balance. He didn’t let me go, but I did slip down far enough to be at the perfect height to elbow him in the balls. As he groaned and curled in on himself in agony, I threw my head back and heard a sickening crunch as my skull hopefully broke his nose. He dropped me, and right as I was about to stab him, I heard the only sound that would stop me dead in my tracks. The cocking of a gun. Well, not the only sound. I’d probably stop if I heard a horse whinny right about now too, because then I’d want to pet the horse more than I wanted to stab Grabby Guy. Bitches love horses. It’s me, I’m bitches. But the gun sound, that would definitely do it, too. I froze, feeling the cold press of the barrel against the top of my head as I sat in the dirt.
“Kill me.” He had to, and he needed to do it now if he was gonna do it at all because this was his only chance. If I got up, I’d defend Sheila to the death. Theirs or mine, didn’t much matter which. “Kill me now, Growly Gus. If you don’t, I’ll kill you all for even thinking about hurting my best bitch, Sheila.”
“Who the actual fuck is Sheila?” The muffled quality of the voice led me to believe it was Grabby Guy who asked since I bashed his nose. I snarled like the feral wolf girl I was at heart.
“You were going to rape and pillage her, and you don’t even know her name when you hear it? Pig!”
Mr. Fancy Bat limped into my line of sight. “Are you talking about the bloody van?” He looked at me like I was crazy. He ain’t seen my crazy yet.
“Her name is Sheila, you twatface! We were out here glamping, minding our own damn business, when you lot rolled up uninvited. And you didn’t even bring a camping spot housewarming gift like marshmallows to roast! Instead, you threatened to take Sheila against her will and strip her! Perverts!” My eyes welled with tears, both the angry kind and the sad kind. No one deserved a fate like that.
I heard a loud sigh from behind me, and a certain Growly Gus muttered, “Jesus Christ, she’s touched in the head. I don’t have time for this shit.” Then I felt a sharp crack on my head, and everything went kaleidoscopic before blackness ate my vision. Getting knocked out was pretty.