Dirt was piled up next to the dead gas pumps in front of Becky’s. The bright desert sun shined light on them, highlighting the ribbons of rust and mud-stained edges on the metal.
Becky’s was a country store that kept soda and chips on stock along with bread that came on Mondays and meat and cold cuts that came on Thursdays.
“You could easily miss the window for a good sandwich,” Coozer said as he drove into the parking lot. Stella Stonewalls, his passenger, nodded but held her worn leather satchel tightly on her lap. It really was a five-mile drive, like he said when he found her at her car up the road.
“It died a slow death,” he joked, leaning out his truck window. Stella couldn’t accept her car was dead. Not yet. This one was supposed to get her to the coast. To northern California where her best friend, Amy, lived. A country store in New Mexico should have been a pit stop for munchies but now she wasn’t sure how long she would be there. She didn’t see a garage nearby or any sign saying how far the next actual town was. There was nothing but a tiny trailer next to the store, a cooler for ice out front and a large clay pot brimming with multiple cactuses next to it.
“Becky’s one of the good ones,” Coozer said with a sigh. “She’s a looker, too. A woman who is easy on the eyes is good for your soul.”
Stella didn’t know what to do with that information so she just nodded again.
Coozer parked his truck and got out while Stella slid out of the other door. She adjusted her low riding jeans and stomped her boots so her heel would sit right inside them. She wore a jean jacket over a flannel shirt and tank top. And the silver and turquoise cuff bracelet her mother gave her two years ago when she graduated from high school. Right before she began to fade away.
Her mother’s long dark hair was left in clumps on her pillow from the chemo trying to work but when it didn’t, her mother’s brown skin turned a sickly yellow, thinned and crackled like tissue paper. Her eyes pooled to liquid, her lips chapped, until finally, flesh dropped from her body. Leaving her a residue of who she once was.
Stella buried her with her father and brother at her side. They held each other as grief ripped through their world, changing the course of who they were meant to be to some unknown creature. Moody and wounded.
So Stella cut her own long dark hair off. This was their Indian way, she remembered her mother once told her. She cut it so short it looked like a fine brown cap against her skull. And only accented her own large dark eyes.
She rubbed them, swung her satchel over her shoulder and followed Coozer into the store.
The smell of candy and bleach wafted to Stella when she walked in. Along with a deeper scent of dirt, oil, and leather.
Becky, in a workman’s shirt and jeans, with her long salt and pepper hair, pulled back in a loose ponytail, stood behind the counter. She didn’t look at them when they entered. She kept her eyes on the man standing in front of her.
He was where the leather, oil and dirt smells were coming from. Stella noticed his bulging back pocket from his wallet. His black cowboy boots and dirty blue jeans hung low on his waist. He wore a black leather vest over his long sleeve t-shirt and a weathered black cowboy hat that was in need of reshaping.
He didn’t turn to face them.
Coozer walked to the counter, greeting Becky with the same charm he usually brought her, not catching the crackle in the air.
“Good morning, my dear,” he said. “And good morning, to you, young man.”
The man glanced at Coozer this time. Stella still couldn’t see his face. She hung back.
Something in her gut told her to stay closer to the door.
“We’re just finishing up here. If you could give us a minute,” he said in a voice so deep, his words hung together like a growl.
Stella took another step towards the door as quietly as she could. But like some animal sense, he pivoted quickly to face her. This time he grinned.
Stella froze. Then tried to adjust her stance to make it seem like she had been standing there the whole time.
“What do you need?” he asked her.
“I’m fine. Finish what you need to. I’ll wait.” Stella didn’t want to tell him she was without her car. That she was stranded. She thought that would be like feeding this man a plate full of fresh meat. But Coozer interjected.
“This young woman needs some car help. I thought you could call your brother in town, Becky, to see if he could get a tow out to get her—“
“That’s fine—“ Stella said. Her gut said run. Something in her blood boiled up so fast and hot, she could either tear her skin off or run. She grabbed the door but the man was faster. Swift. Maybe otherworldly, driven by a meanness that pushed him to take whatever he wanted when he wanted. He grabbed her.
Stella screamed and kicked her legs, knocking over a display of single-serving bags of chips near the door.
“Whoa! What are you doing?” Coozer hollered. He hit the man in the back. Once. The man spun around, using Stella’s kicking legs to swing at Coozer, knocking him against the counter. Coozer’s back cracked on the edge making him scream in pain as he slid down to the floor.
Becky shouted, “Put her down! Damnit, Wyatt, put her down!”
He stopped for just a second, long enough to whip a blade out of his belt and slice it up Stella’s arm. She cried out louder. She kicked more. She stomped on his boots but he only laughed and kept her closer, heading to the door.
The shot from the rifle rang through the tiny country store, as the bullet tore into Wyatt’s side. His laughter froze in the air around them, for only a millisecond but long enough for Stella to feel his grip release her. She fell to the ground at his feet while he buckled and fell forward on top of her.
“Becky!” he cried. “God, Becky!” He moaned and tries to roll over. Becky raced from behind the counter, the rifle steady and still pointing at him.
“You okay, girl?” she asked, her chest heaving.
“Lord, Becky!” Coozer asked. “What have you done?” He tried to stand but grabbed his back and dropped to his knees again. “Shit, shit, shit” he cried.
“Can you get out from under him?” Becky asked. Stella tried to push Wyatt off of her. But he had passed out or died and was dead weight now. She gulped but then embraced him to roll with him until she was on top. She scrambled to her feet and away from his body. Blood gushed from the open wound on his side. It ran down onto the floor into a pool of sticky dark red.
“Is he dead?” Stella asked. She tried to wipe his blood off her hands but instead only got it mixed with her own running down her arm.
“How bad are you? There on your arm, girl?” Becky asked.
“I don’t know.”
Becky leaned closer over Wyatt’s body, searching his face. She kept the rifle pointed at him. “Boys got balls. To just…swipe you up…” she said, tears filling her eyes. “He was gonna just take you out of here. He doesn’t care who knows the evil he is.”
Coozer made his way to his feet and stumbled towards Becky. “Honey, who is he?”
“Is he dead?” Stella asked again.
Becky started to put the rifle down but then stopped herself. She pointed it at him again. Then stepped back. She did an awkward dance with it like she didn’t know if she dared put it down or she should drop to her knees to see what life if any was left in Wyatt.
“He’s my sister’s boy. I knew it the second he walked in. Now how am I suppose to call and tell her this? Good Lord.”
She started to hand the rifle to Coozer but he kept one hand on his lower back, a permanent grimace on his face. She turned to Stella. “You know how to shoot?”
Stella shook her head ‘no’. She was a just college kid with no focus. No plan except to make it to Arcata. She was supposed to go to the sandy dunes and pray in the Pacific breezes. She was supposed to dig her toes in the earth and let herself cry. Her best friend told her she could do that there.
She wasn’t supposed to be standing over a dead man. If he was dead. She wasn’t supposed to hold a rifle at him but here she was. She reached her shaking hands out to Becky.
“Don’t shake so much,” Becky said handing the rifle to her.
Stella adjusted her body to steady it. She pointed the rifle at Wyatt’s head.
Becky kneeled down by him, moving her long ponytail to her back to keep it from dropping on the blood. She felt his neck for a pulse. Waited a second and then closed her eyes.
“God damnnit,” she murmured. She sat back on her heels. “He’s still alive.”
“That’s good,” Stella said. Her arms quivered. She couldn’t calm them other breath. “I can call for help. An ambulance—“
Becky jumped up and grabbed the rifle back from Stella, whipped it around and pointed it at her. “No. Just…stop right there.”
Stella stepped back but found the end stand of bags of beef jerky in her way. She put her hands up slowly.
“Becky? What are you doing?” Coozer asked. He moved slowly towards her but Becky waved the rifle at him, too. She gestured for him to join Stella. “Get over there.”
“Becky—“
“No, Coozer, get over there. Now!”
A deep moan came out of Wyatt as he opened his eyes. Becky jumped back and repositioned the rifle at his head “Boy, you better lay still.”
“I don’t understand, Becky. He needs a doctor.” Coozer said, his hands up high, too. “You… evil piece of trash,” Becky growled at Wyatt.
Wyatt tried to turn over but couldn’t. He shoved his hand in his bleeding side, pressing down. He cried out.
“Becky, please.” He tried to sit up.
“Nope—”
“Auntie—”
“No!” Becky shouted. She took a shooter stance and knocked him back down, shoving the rifle into his shoulder. “I am not your auntie. I am not your blood!” Wyatt’s eyes rolled back in his head as he settled into his own blood.
Coozer glanced at Stella who kept her hands up. They couldn’t watch this man die. But no plan was obvious. “If you call for help now, you won’t be in trouble, Becky,” he offered in the calmest voice he could muster.
He looked at Stella to say something. She gulped and cleared her throat. “Right. You were defending me. You saved me…from…whatever he was going to do. To me,” Stella stammered.
But Becky ignored them. She kept her eyes on Wyatt. And his was on hers.
“For 23 years you’ve been lurking. And the numbers go up,” Becky said, her voice steely and crazy calm. One word at a time came out of her, like stakes she was shoving into him.
Cementing him into the floor.
“The first girl gone the same day you were. And we knew it was you took her. Dirty, nasty, mean boy. Killing dogs and skinning cats. Giggling about what you would do to a woman. For fun. Fun! Those poor girls.”
Wyatt didn’t respond. No denial or objection came from him. Stella lowered her hands, taking in what Becky was saying. What could have happened to her?
“You broke your mama. To know what she birthed. She’s not the same and now, you come here. In here and demand money. And then… grab this girl? It’s time you sunk down into hell and stayed put.”
“Becky, you can’t let him die,” Coozer pleaded. “Come on. He’s—“
“NOTHING! He’s not even the shit I scrape off my boots!” Becky shouted. Tears racing down her face.
Movement in the parking lot caught Stella’s eye. She glanced slyly but fought to keep her legs still. To stay grounded to that spot.
“We can’t blame him on his daddy. He was a fine man. You knew that, though, didn’t you, Wyatt? You monster! You came to his funeral last week, didn’t you? And took a girl. The town over had a sweet little thing from high school nabbed up and now, where is she? Where is she?” Becky hollered at Wyatt.
But he was fading, his eyes beginning to close.
“Tell me!” She kicked his leg. He didn’t move or groan. So she kicked him again. This time moving up for his calf to his thigh. Then closer to his side where the exit hole from the bullet was, red and bloody.
Stella glanced out at the truck in the parking lot. It was a brown SUV that had State Patrol on the side of it. But the officer was still sitting inside. Stella looked at the floor. Three steps. If she could make three big steps she could make it out the door. If she dove maybe she could avoid getting shot.
Becky kicked Wyatt again in his side. “TELL ME! IS SHE DEAD? IS SHE?”
Wyatt’s hand shot out from his side and grabbed Becky’s boot. He pulled hard once and she fell back. Hard on her ass. The rifle swung up as it fired.
Stella took that second to make the three steps. One. She was scared. Two. She couldn’t stop now. Three, she hit the door and heard her mother’s voice telling her ‘You got this, my girl.” She flew out the door onto the pavement. As she landed on her stomach she saw the State Patrol officer dive out of his SUV and charge at the store. Gun drawn.
Inside, Coozer dove down the aisle hitting the floor with a hard slap. He was wide-eyed with surprise and shock at the sheer force and strength Wyatt still had.
Becky kicked and screamed, one hand on the rifle while the other one beat on Wyatt but he had evil as his adrenaline. He used it to wrestle his auntie to the floor and grab the rifle. He roared with pain but turned the barrel on Becky.
The State Patrol officer burst into the store. “Put it down!” he shouted but Wyatt took his shot hitting Becky in the shoulder. His second shot hit the meat case beyond her as his knees blew out from the bullets the State Patrol officer put in them in rapid fire.
Outside, Stella stayed on the ground, tears ripping through her. Fear drained through her, making room for more. Months ago, she watched her mother die, not fully accepting she had no real power to stop it. That feeling stayed lodged in her gut until this moment. Her body exploded with tears and screams, with piss and blood, from the release. The pavement wasn’t the sandy dunes of Arcata but it was earth. Her face was scrapped by its rough edges. All the dirt and stones left by the people who walked in and out of that country store was ground into her chin. This would scar. Another wound but it would heal, too.
by 
Stacey Parshall Jensen
Latest posts by Stacey Parshall Jensen (see all)
- Off The Highway - January 28, 2019
Fine writing. I liked getting sucked into the story, no chance to back out
Really enjoyed that Great work.
Excellent! I was totally drawn in and wondering what would happen next. The sense of foreboding was haunting.
Excellent! The gradual sense of foreboding kept me wondering what would happen next even as I was nervous to find out. Good job