The Long Way To Reno (36 page)

“I
thought I just
met
you at work!” I continued on, feeling absolutely
horrid that I’d given it no real thought that I’d seen him working at Whole
Foods the same day we went to work that First Night.

Now
it made sense. Some of the comments he’d made about me and my parents, the way
he behaved so familiarly with me. God, Reno was such a small town if two people
like us kept running into each other the way we did.

“I
couldn’t really speak to you because you never paid attention, and when you
did, it was like you weren’t even seeing me, so…but when you did, you always
said something that made me laugh, or get annoyed, but it was a
good
annoyance because it took my mind off things, trying to figure you out, and…I
don’t know. That’s why…that’s why it was so weird when you turned out to be the
only one that survived on your own at work.”

When
I’d dropped the flashlight, I remember, seeing him. The look he gave me when he
realized it was me.

He
trailed off, looking at the darkness near the door. I thought he’d seen or
heard something, but instead he added, “So I knew it meant something. Thousands
of people, and I kept running into you. It
meant
something.”

I
lifted an eyebrow. I’m not sure about things like fate and destiny and all
that, but I’m pretty sure this was how he was seeing things between us. I guess
I had to agree with him on that because…it was exactly all this that had us
sitting here together, surviving together. Yuck, it sounded so
corny
,
but the more I thought back on it, the more it fit.

I
was still disgusted at myself. “You have no standards,” I said on a heavy,
exasperated whisper.

It
was the first look of defeat I'd seen on his face so far. “Obviously.”

We
both sat in silence, thinking our own things, and I felt completely terrible
for judging him shallowly. I tilted my head up, and watched him try to figure
things out within his own thoughts. Probably regretting everything now that he
had me completely to himself. But…but this was something different for me. My
exes had always blasted me for doing stupid stuff, for using and dumping them
– despite all my shit, Harley was here with me today.

And
that was fucking significant for me. The entirety of it was monumental. I’d
messed this guy up so many times in the past, and yet he was the
only
one here for me. It was more flattering than anything any guy had ever done for
me. It was beyond money, beyond status, it was beyond all the standards I’d had
in a man. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to accept it, or even
appreciate it.

Slowly,
I leaned my head onto his shoulder – tensed and waited for him to push me
away, but he didn’t. “Well…I see you now, Harley Troy.”

“Funny
how it took the world ending for you to do so,” he muttered.

“Maybe
if you’d gained twenty pounds and bulked up, I would have noticed sooner.”

“Get
off me, you're not romantic at all.”

I
laughed loudly as he pulled completely away from me, uncaring that my laughter
carried out throughout the emptiness.

“Let’s
get some sleep, you bitter witch. I really don’t know why I keep letting you
push my buttons all the time,” he muttered, yanking at the blankets nearby, my
makeshift bed heavily laden with various sheets, blankets, comforters and
duvets. We’d be totally warm underneath them, safe from the cold.

“You
have your gun?” I then asked, kicking my boots off and laying them aside. I
unwrapped my jacket, sweater, vest and hoodie from me – having no idea
I’d been wearing these things in the first place – and crawled under the
blankets without waiting for an answer.

“Yeah.
A loaded handgun for now. Everything else is over there. Turn off the
flashlight.”

After
we’d settled underneath the blankets and things returned to being awkward
again, I looked up at the ceiling and imagined seeing the night sky from our
room. I thought about what had just transpired, and still felt that hot ball of
shame in my chest for having never noticed that he’d been so close to me all
this time.

He
exhaled heavily, back to me, and I turned my head to look in his direction.
Couldn’t really see him without the lights, but I didn’t need to know what he
looked like now.

Jesus,
this guy had no taste in women. There was definitely something wrong with him.

Chapter Twenty-One

The
next morning, outside the casino doors, he tightened the strap of his rucksack
so that it fit me properly, and I almost fell backward with the weight. I’d
whined and complained that I wasn’t being helpful, so his way of making me shut
up was to make me the carrier mule. I started regretting my complaints and
helpfulness immediately. The thing had to be over forty pounds.

I
collapsed to my knees at the weight. “Oh my
God
, what is in here?”

Despite
his angry self, he did a double take as I struggled to stand. “Ammo. Supplies.
Are you okay? It’s not that heavy.”

‘Not
that heavy?’ I couldn’t even get back up with it on. He pulled it off me as he
handed me the rifle to hold, and tossed the pack on like it was nothing. I
tried really hard not to be impressed because he made it look so easy – I
rose to my feet and struggled with the rifle, unsure of how to carry it. My
nose wrinkled as I tried to find an appropriate way to safely hold the thing
while not looking like a total idiot. He watched me for a few moments as he
adjusted the rucksack's straps, then looked at the sky for help.

“Jesus
isn’t going to help you,” I snapped.

He
tried not to laugh, but it came out as this stupid snort as he took the rifle
back. “Right, right.”

He
then lifted it, peering through the scope as he scanned the parking lot. He
straightened, pointed off to where the Spaghetti Bowl had been. “Deer. How
awesome is that, they’re coming in this close. Maybe I can bag one before we
get to Prater.”

“I’m
not carrying that,” I said, looking in that direction and being unable to see
anything. “How can anyone carry a deer? They’re, like, two hundred pounds.”

“Less
when they’re gutted.”

The
image was very unpleasant. “
Ew
.”

“Have
you had venison? I doubt it. You look like the type that would freak if you
knew what hot dogs are made of,” he commented, walking ahead.

“I
know what they’re made of, and I eat them anyway!” I exclaimed. I tried to
hurry after him, but the sidewalk was icy and I hit the sidewalk with an
awkward noise and cursed as I struggled back to my feet.

He
tried not to laugh, but he let it slip out anyway. I know he got off on my
torture, that asshole. “As fast as we walk, it’ll be quick work to get there
and settle in. Then I can go hunting with the others.”

“I’d
prefer watching you
eat
Bambi than actually partake in it,” I said,
adjusting my Sailor Moon backpack.

I
reached out and grabbed him, yanking him back because this icy area was
dangerous to me. I let him go when this awful liquid warmth splattered me
across the face, causing me to choke in the middle of my words. I thought I’d
just been splattered by a bird, looking up as he fell, a cracking sound
penetrating the silence.

I
touched my face, absolutely grossed out and stilled at the sight of blood on my
fingers. Connecting the dots, I realized that the sound I’d heard was a
gunshot, and it was Harley that was hit. I couldn’t move, looking down at him
as I hysterically wondered if I were truly alone, now. But he had his hands
pressed to his ear, and there was blood everywhere and I finally began moving,
utterly relieved that he was still alive.

Something
cracked into the cement stairs behind us, pinged off the railing, and I knew we
were still under fire. I had no idea where it was coming from, so I didn’t know
where to go. I grabbed his rucksack to move him, and both of us were confused
and unsure of things that were happening around us. I yanked the heavy pack
from him, and he managed to get to his feet, bleeding from some head wound I
couldn’t see.

He
stumbled, shouting aloud about things, but we managed to make it into the
broken glass doors. More glass shattered, metal pinged – we crawled
hastily towards the bar area, hearing the sounds of the gunshots echo
throughout the silence.

“Let
me see!” I demanded, having my flashlight out and aiming it at his head, having
to yank at one of his hands to do so.

“Is
it still there? Is it – I can’t hear out of it, I think I lost it!” he
exclaimed shrilly, a man caught in hysterics by near death. It was bleeding
tremendously, head wounds do, but when he managed to pull his hand far enough
away for me to see, I saw his ear was hanging in his hair by a thin strip of
skin.

I
wanted to shriek with disgust, but I somehow didn’t. I clapped my hand over
that area to help him stifle the blood, and dropped the flashlight to yank the
blanket I’d packed in my messenger bag out. I had to release him to rip off a
strip, both of us talking over each other in panic.

I
folded the piece of material as best as I could, thick so that the bleeding
would catch within it. Looking at the injury, at the grotesque sight of his ear
hanging by a literal thread of skin, I wanted to barf. But at the same time,
tremendously relieved that this was our only injury. The man could have been
shot dead if I hadn’t moved, hadn’t pulled him to me.

“They
might be coming, now,” I realized out loud, my hands shaking as he struggled to
catch his breath, struggled to be calm. His eyes were as wild and as terrified
as mine were. Both of us looked at each other, and at that moment, I knew what
I had to do.

“Teach
me how to reload,” I said hastily, digging out a gun from my backpack,
revealing it to be the .44 Harley had been appreciating the other morning.
“Just teach me how to reload it.”

He
showed me, both of us whispering hastily and noisily in the silence, and my
hands shook horribly, dropping bullets as I struggled to follow his
instructions and tried to think of a plan to get us through this.

I
rose from my crouched position, listening for anything out of place, and said,
“Look for a place up top to maybe snipe at them!”

“You’re
not going out there by yourself – you don’t even know where they’re
shooting from!” he snarled, grabbing my jacket, but I yanked away and ran for
the doors before he could even stop me. Now he had to do as I said.

I
saw a trio of them advancing to the building from the parking lot below, and
one of them was carrying a long-barreled sniper rifle that had to have been the
culprit. I briefly wondered if they were the soldiers from the other day. They
caught sight of me, and I dashed to the left of the building, away from the
stairway. Without really aiming, I fired the .44 in their direction, and almost
dropped it at the forceful exhalation. They ducked in reaction, hiding behind
abandoned vehicles, and I sprinted through the snow towards a set of cars lined
for the exit near Glendale.

Metal
shrieked in protest, plastic spitting outward as they fired back, and I knew
hiding behind cars was not going to save me for long. Bullets ate through metal
like a hot knife through butter, and glass shattered over my head. I kept low,
crouch-running along the car line and then peering over a Mazda truck to fire
in their direction once more. They were getting closer to me, shouting to each
other. I fired the gun once more, ear ringing, and ducked as they fired back,
advancing on me like a horde.

I
turned, ducked underneath the truck, crawled out to the other side of the line
where I caught sight of one of them firing his rifle at me with a hasty shout.
I barely had time to retreat underneath the truck, rolling to my feet and
making a mad dash through the line of cars. Glass shattered, metal screeched,
and I covered my head with both hands, hoping that I was still close enough for
Harley to shoot at them and yet far enough away from them to miss.

I
flung myself over the hood of one Mustang, fell onto the snowy asphalt below.
Then I fired in their direction without looking, breathing heavily and wishing
I had better aim. I reloaded, dropping bullets as I did so, trying to listen
for them. At the sight of one of them popping out from behind a nearby Ford, I
fired in that direction, catching him in the knee. He shouted aloud, dropping
to the ground, bringing his gun up and around to fire at me.

Both
of us ducked out of the other’s sight, and I was crawling again, looking for an
escape to the parking lot near the go-cart racing tracks. I shot to my feet,
dropping the gun at the same time – I saw another soldier leaping out
from the back of a raised Dodge, shouting for my attention. He got it, but I
started running, hoping that I could outrun his bullets somehow as he lifted
the assault rifle and moved to fire.

Only
his forehead exploded outward, and his body did a jerky stumble forward,
clearly shot from behind. I looked over him, towards the freeway, where I did
see movement – I was bewildered, Harley wasn’t in that direction. There
was no way he’d gotten that far that fast. I went back for the gun, bypassing
the assault rifle when the final soldier leapt out from behind the Mustang and
tackled me hard to the ground. I kicked, and shrieked bloody murder in order to
escape, scratching his exposed face with my nails and generally made it
difficult for him to get a firm grasp on me.

He
was shouting, I was screaming, and he jerked me to my feet with his gun to my
head, making me realize that we weren’t alone. It was Diego with his SPAS 12
that was shouting back at him, and he was obviously exerted and sweaty from a
mad dash. I had no idea where he’d come from, but I was so entirely grateful
that we had help. They were screaming at each other to drop their guns,
everything happening so fast and so quickly that I stumbled as the soldier
– just years younger than me – forced me to walk backward, back
towards the nearby raceway. His voice cracked and his hold on my hair was
desperate and my neck ached as I looked at Diego for more help, but with his
own advancement, he was just barely keeping the kid from shooting me.

I
saw movement from the corner of my eye, a racing figure in camo, figured it was
Chuck – I stilled at that moment, and the soldier holding onto me
automatically stilled as well. Liquid warmth and goo splattered over me and my
jacket, and the force of the shot, combined with the bulk of his body sent me
crashing to the ground. I crawled away with haste, half-shrieking in disgust
over being coated with someone’s insides – Diego helped me to my feet
with a solid jerk of one hand, scanning the area.

“Clear!”
he bellowed, voice ringing out, and he looked me over with some amusement. “You
good, you’re not hurt.”

I
heaved, swiping at bits and pieces of hard skull, of slimy substance that made
me retch. I ripped off my jacket and threw it away from me, but it was still in
my hair. I vomited onto the snow and Diego laughed merrily, gun lowered. I hit
the surface on my knees and heaved for breath, staring down at what I’d been
struggling to digest.

I
heard a couple of protests and two gunshots, looking up just in time to see
Diego shoot the wounded soldier with a handgun of his own. He then hurried off,
scanning the long line of abandoned cars for more threats and I shakily climbed
to my feet. I stared at the dead soldier as I fought to catch my breath –
nobody was taking prisoners in this urban war.

Chuck
appeared moments later, looking winded, carrying his Remington MSR. He must’ve
been the one to shoot the first soldier from afar – he definitely looked
his age at this point, his dark hair glittering with grey in the afternoon sun
and his face furrowed with deep lines. I shot to my feet, wiping vomit from my
chin and then booking it back towards the casino while he yelled after me. I
didn’t hear what he said, panicked and upset over the entire thing.

            I
stumbled up the stairs to the casino, hearing the two men moving after me
– in what remained of the glass in the doors, I could see them scanning
the area for more threats, Diego speaking rapidly into a hand held radio. Once
I made it into the dark casino, I headed for the stairway to the second floor,
running blind into the darkness. I found Harley halfway up, and we both
hollered and panicked over the blood that covered us both. I fumbled with the
First Aid Kit and spilled it everywhere, and we were both snatching and
grabbing at things in order to apply aid.