Kahayatle

I didn’t waste any time arguing. “Okay. Let’s do this. Peter, your job is to keep Buster quiet. So far he’s only let out one of those muffled woof things, but all we need is one of his barking frenzies to grab the canners’ attention.”

“Okay. I’ll do my best.”

“Bodo, you and I will get the bikes pulled in closer to this tree, take down the water collector, and then cover everything up … including us.”

“Are we all going to be under the tarp?” asked Peter, gripping Buster now like his life depended on it.

“No. Just you and Buster. I’m going up in the tree. Bodo, you’re going to get in that tree over there, next to us. Take my gun.”

“No! You keep your gun,” he insisted.

“No. I can fight. You can’t. You need it more than I do.”

“Hey. Dat’s not … very … I don’t know. Right or something.”

“Take it, Bodo. She is right. I need a gun too. It’s the only way I was able to save us last time.”

“Oh, so I’m like da protector of da family over dare in dat tree?”

“Yes, if that makes you happy,” I said sarcastically. I guess even German guys had their egos.

“Okay. I’ll do it. What are da rules? I kill anyone I see? Or just anyone who is trying to kill us?”

“We don’t know how many there are, so only shoot if there’s no other way to survive. I’d rather they just left without knowing we were here.”

“What if only one of dem is a problem? If we shoot him and make dat loud noise, everyone will come.”

“Which is why I won’t be under that tarp. I can take anyone out who bothers us, without making any noise.”

I could see Bodo nodding his head. “Uh-huh, like da Special Forcess. I like dat idea.” He stood up. “Okay, I will see you later den. Hug for good luck?” he said holding out his arms.

“Maybe another time,” I said, standing so I could pick up the edge of the tarp.

“Okay. Anudder time. Dat is not a problem.” He pulled his bike in closer to Peter, covering it better with the tarp and then walked away. A few seconds later, I heard the leaves of the nearby tree rustling.

“I’m going to cover you up, Peter. You got your gun and bullets?”

“Yes. And Bryn, be careful, please. Don’t do anything unless it’s totally necessary, okay?”

“You got it,” I said, as I pulled the tarp up over his head.

“You should have hugged him,” came his muffled voice from underneath.

“Shut up, you idiot,” I mumbled as I jogged over to get the water collector and bring it back to set on the ground near the base of the tree hiding Peter.

Once all our stuff was hidden, I stepped up to the lowest branch, just above where Peter and Buster were sitting, putting the toe of my sneaker on it and grabbing a higher branch to lift myself up. The leaves were quaking, sounding like they were making enough noise to be heard all over the grove. I got into the best position I could as quickly as possible, to be able to see what was going on below with Peter and across the way with Bodo. The darkness made it impossible for me to be able to pick out his actual form, but I knew he was there somewhere and that he had a gun to watch my back with. I just prayed he knew how to use it and that I wouldn’t get shot in any crossfire.

Minutes crawled by like hours, and I felt the sweat trickling down my back. Every time another car exploded, I jumped. They must have been adding their own gas to the flames, because those cars couldn’t have had much fuel left in them to cause such big explosions. Maybe they had grenades or something. It made me think about what Bodo had said earlier, about armies and their equipment. There were all kinds of weapons caches around these towns, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out it would be the canners who would focus their energies on finding them. Normal people like me and Peter and Bodo were just trying to find a home and a way to survive peacefully. Weapons and bombs shouldn’t have to be a part of our lives anymore. Friggin canner zombie jerks. I was going to have to consult George’s journal when we got up the next day. Maybe he had something to say about setting up a good place to survive in a world that had become a battleground.

My mind had strayed far afield, but strange voices coming from the open space between the highway and the grove brought it zooming back to the present. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could tell they were drunk. They were being loud and their speech was slurred. When they got closer I realized why I hadn’t been able to understand them - they were speaking Spanish.

My legs had fallen asleep, being stuck bent up in the tree, so I slowly moved one and then the other, to get the circulation going again. I wouldn’t be of any use to anyone if I fell to the ground on my butt when I got out of my hiding spot. The sharp tingles I felt in my legs told me the blood was moving again. I slowly lowered myself out of the branches, keeping my body as close to the trunk as possible, trying to blend in with its form.

The voices seemed to split apart. One was heading over to where Bodo and I had gotten our oranges and one was coming this way. I couldn’t see him yet, but I could hear him. He was singing something and occasionally laughed and burped. He stopped moving all of a sudden and I almost moved away from the tree to see why, but then I heard the sound of liquid hitting the ground and realized the guy was peeing. Thank god, he hadn’t decided to do it ten feet farther in - he probably would have peed right on Peter’s head.

I could hear the slight sounds of a struggle going on under the tarp and then very muted sounds of Peter shushing the dog. I hoped like crazy that he had his hand over that dog’s muzzle or he was going to give us all away.

I heard a zipper go up and then the sounds of footsteps headed away. The guy was leaving and I was just getting ready to breathe a sigh of relief when Buster let out a bark that was unmistakeable.

“Eh?” said the drunken voice.

I heard his footsteps slow, stop, and then start moving in our direction again.

Buster barked a second time.

Dammit, Peter, shut that dog up! I yelled in my mind. But I couldn’t do anything except wait until the guy got closer.

“Oh, peeerrroo, ven aqui, peeerrrooo,” he slurred and then laughed. He hiccuped once and then burped loudly and disgustingly.

I prayed he didn’t have a gun. A drunk guy with a knife I could handle. One with a gun … ? Not as easily.

He got close enough that I could see him now. He was fat - a lot bigger than me. It pissed me off that he was overweight in times like these. It meant he was eating people who weren’t fast enough to get away from him and his friends. A lot of them. Any feelings of mercy I might have had left my heart and my head in that moment, and all I could think about was stopping the madness that this idiot represented.

He was just about to reach the spot where Peter and the now struggling Buster were, when I separated myself from the tree and stood just three feet away from him. From here I could both strike and evade. I was in perfect position. I could hear my dad’s voice in my head. “Read the body language. Find his vulnerabilities and exploit them. Speed. Finesse. Conserve your energy. Strike fast and strike hard.”

“Qué … ?” he said, struggling backwards two steps. “Dios mío,” he huffed out, putting his hand on his heart. “Oi, mi corozón.”

I took two steps forward, maintaining the distance between us.

“You need to leave, canner,” I said.

“You speak … English,” he said.

“Of course I speak English, asshole, this is the United States.”

“Not anymore it’s not,” he said lazily. He took a step towards me. “We haven’t seen any girls in a while. No new ones anyway,” he said, laughing at something he found amusing - something I’m sure I didn’t want to know the details of. “You’re comin’ with me,” he said, taking another step towards me and reaching his hand out as if to take my elbow.

I easily side-stepped him. “No, actually, I’m not. I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.” He needed to be immobilized, one way or another. We couldn’t travel while they were still out, and I couldn’t let him go back to tell his friends where we were. I was counting on the fact that their loyalty to this guy was as weak as the last canner gang’s was to their fallen comrade. If he never came back they wouldn’t bother looking for him - except maybe to come eat him later.

“You think you can take me down?” he said incredulously. “Go ahead, white girl, take your bes’ shot.”

I decided that a surprise attack was my best bet. I looked off in the distance, putting my fingernail to my mouth, pretending to bite it, as if I were scared and contemplating giving up - and then I jumped at him, slamming him in the nose and shattering the bone with the heel of my hand. Blood spurted out everywhere and he stumbled back, yelling. I cut the sound off by coming after him and sending a roundhouse kick into his temple, knocking him down to his side and stunning him temporarily.

His head was so damn fat that my roundhouse didn’t send him as far into never-never land as I had intended. I ran over and kicked him hard in the face with the toe of my shoe, snapping his head back - and yet, still, he was moving. I knew his next move was going to be to scream for his friends, so I leaned in and punched him hard in the jaw, bringing the power from my back and shoulder into the movement, knowing I was going to pay for it later with bruised knuckles. I should have used the heel of my hand, but I just wasn’t sure I could get enough force that way.

That small bit of concentration loss on my part was all he needed. He grabbed my ankle and pulled me down, rolling over part way to trap me under his fat girth. I had only one alternative left to me, since one of my arms was trapped along with my lower body under his chest. I closed my eyes and jammed my face into his crotch, biting down on the nearest bit of soft flesh I could find.

A high pitched squeal came from his mouth which quickly turned into just a loud bit of air wheezing out from his lungs. I had one of his testicles on lockdown and was using every bit of willpower I owned in my body not to gag at the smells that were assailing my nostrils.

His body curled in on itself as it tried to salvage what little bit of his man parts might still be in one piece. I knew whatever I was biting was done for, the blood from it seeping through his pants now.

I let go when I knew it was over for him, spitting and retching as I struggled to get him off me. Suddenly I was freed of his weight and looked up to see the large, dark figure of Bodo pulling him off of me. He dumped the pudgy body, still writhing in silent screams of pain, off to the side and reached down to help me up, saying nothing.

I couldn’t stand all the way up, my retching now turning into full-blown vomiting. Bodo stood over me and rubbed my back, then took my braid in his hand to keep it out of the mess. He secured it under my shirt and left, coming back a few seconds later with a water bottle in his hand.

Part of me wished it was the one full of bleach, the smell and taste in my mouth was so bad.

“Thanks,” I whispered, my voice shaking. Being so close to death like that had amped up my senses to near super power proportions. I felt like I could punch a hole in the tree truck. Or cave that canner’s skull in with my fist. Part of me really wanted to do it, too. How dare he have such a stinky crotch.

“We have to kill him,” said Bodo, softly.

I shook my head. “Just hit him really hard in the temple with the butt of the gun and knock him out. We’ll decide what to do with him later.”

“Okay. Dat’s not a problem.”

Bodo left me and I heard the sick sound of metal hitting bone, and then a grunt followed by silence. Bodo was at my side again within seconds to rub my back some more. I was finally able to stand and shrugged him off. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">