She met my eyes, but hers looked hollow, defeated.
In town, we slowed almost to a crawl. The clock on the radio in the truck said it was eleven. We hadn’t passed any other vehicles on the road, and there were just a few in front of the bar. I had no idea what day of the week it was. Dani circled the block and parked the truck behind the bar. Music and the scent of fried food carried out into the parking lot.
We got out, careful not to slam our doors. I had to help Courtney down. I saw now that her ear was bloodied, like Gavin had bit it. I found a water bottle on the floor, and an old T-shirt. I wet the corner, wiped at the blood.
Dani was in the back of the truck, trying to open the tool case behind the rear window. She was testing different keys on Brian’s key chain.
“What are you doing?” I whispered. “We’ve got to go.”
She finally opened the case, pulled out our packsacks, held them up.
We crept through the dark alley to the shop. Dani rifled through the keys, opened it up. I held my breath, waiting for the loud peal of an alarm, but there was only silence. There was also only one truck pulled in the garage.
“Shit. It’s not here,” Dani said.
“It has to be.” I looked around, tugging at a tarp in the corner, excited for a moment. But it was covering an old car. “Maybe they have some gas. We could fill up their truck and at least get out of here.”
We were checking a jerry can when the front door opened.
I was still carrying Brian’s rifle and spun around, pointing it at the door. The man with the beard we’d seen the day we came through town was standing in the doorway. He was big, now that I saw him close up, his shoulders wide and his beard so long it touched his chest. He was wearing a baseball cap with a Harley insignia, and a Harley belt buckle pulled through faded jeans, a white T-shirt under a black leather vest. One of his forearms was scarred badly, the skin pink and raised in big welts like he’d been burned at some point.
When he saw me with the rifle, he put his hands up. He looked at us one by one, took it all in.
“You girls okay?” His voice was gruff, like a smoker’s.
Dani stepped forward, pushed the gun down so it pointed at the floor. I hung on for a moment, but she shot me a look. I relaxed my arms.
“We don’t want any trouble,” she said, “just want what’s ours.”
“You’re looking for your truck.”
She didn’t say anything.
“They have a yard out back,” he said. “Noticed the boys hiding a truck under a tarp a week ago. But it’s a locked yard—with a big dog.”
I wanted to be brave and was angry when tears threatened. My voice thick, I said, “You going to turn us in?”
He shook his head. He was looking at us slowly, the ill-fitting dresses, our bare feet and messy hair. His gaze lingered on Courtney’s face.
“You sure you don’t want me to call some help? Looks like you’ve run into some trouble.”
“No cops,” Dani said. “We just want to get out of here.”
“Where you trying to go?”
Dani looked like she was debating whether she should lie, but then she said, “Vancouver. We need food, clothes. Can you help us?”
The man looked hesitant now, like he was thinking.
Courtney raised her head, her voice breaking as she said, “Please help us.”
*
We followed him through a back door into the pub and up some stairs. I saw now that his hair was long and braided down the back, and tied at the end with leather. The music was loud, vibrating through air that smelled of grease, cigarette smoke, and stale beer. I pushed away images of Brian and Gavin. I didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to go into this man’s place, but we didn’t have any other options.
His apartment was small but tidy. We sat in the living room, huddled together on the couch. I gripped the rifle across my knees, looked around at the black velvet landscape paintings, the wooden burl coffee table, the glass shelf full of model Harley-Davidsons. On the mantel over a rock fireplace a photo of a woman was carefully placed on a white doily. The woman had long hair, parted in the middle, and a big smile. She was sitting on the back of a Harley.
“My name’s Allen,” he said, then paused, waiting for us to introduce ourselves. We were mute. “Okay, well, let me see about some clothes.”
He disappeared into a back room and came out with a couple pairs of jeans and blouses he handed to Courtney and Dani.
“My wife—she died a few years ago.” He passed me a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, a gray zip-up hoodie. “These are my son’s.”
“Thanks,” I said.