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Captain Russo takes a drink from his coffee mug. This one is purple.
Sam pulls me close. His body is shaking, the anger rolling off of him palpable. He feels like a coiled spring ready to explode.
“I’ll be right behind you, baby. I won’t take my eyes off of you. There are four armed guards in an armored truck. You’ll be the safest one of all of us.”
Well, that didn’t make me feel any better.
“What about you?” I can’t stop the tremor in my voice. It’s just an hour drive. I should not be feeling this kind of panic. “You won’t be protected!” I don’t know what I would do without him now. Elly still hasn’t recovered from the loss of her husband.
“I’ll feed the captain to the wolves, baby. He’s so sour they’ll run away dragging their tongues to get the nasty taste out.” He tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
A glimpse toward the captain shows he heard Sam, but is just clenching his jaw pretending not to listen.
Sam cups my cheeks, turning my teary face to his. “It will be okay. It’s only an hour.” Gently, he gives me a soft kiss, and then urges me to walk away. “Just think, in an hour, we’ll have a new bed to break in.”
I turn back in time to see the wink he sends before he walks around the truck.
Captain Russo offers me a small salute with his purple coffee mug.
The armored truck is like a cave. Bars on the windows and the heavy grate over the windshield shadow the inside so much I feel like it’s dusk. I’m wedged tightly into the back seat between two heavily coated guards. They’re men who have been working around the camp for the last few months, and they have repeatedly proven their abilities keeping me safe.
I just hate being away from Sam.
Squeezing my eyes tightly closed, I fight the knot in my throat of being separated from him.
Stop being ridiculous. He’s only a few feet behind me.
My eyes flutter open when we lurch forward. It looks like this guy can barely even drive an automatic. I’m not sure why, but a little surge of anger rises within me at him. He should know how to drive a stick, so I don’t have to be stuck in here without Sam.
A small jeep with a huge gun on the roof leads us out the gate. Twisting in the seat, I can see Sam’s truck behind us, but the sun catches just right so he’s just a shadow gripping the steering wheel.
“They’re coming, ma’am,” the guy to my right says. I’m trying to remember his name. Because of his big handlebar mustache, Sam nicknamed him ‘Stash so long ago that I can’t remember his given name.
“Thank you.” I know he’s trying to reassure me, but it doesn’t help.
As we roll through the chain-link gates, I feel naked, vulnerable, like there’s a pack of rabid beasts waiting behind every blade of grass.
It only takes ten minutes or so before the buildings begin to grow in frequency as we creep into the city limits. The streets are deserted. Garbage is strewn everywhere, debris from gutted buildings litter the grounds. Everything I can see has teeth marks where it has been chewed or torn apart.
The first floor windows are shattered. Doors hang from their hinges.
And the smell. The burning pungent smell of dog feces permeates the cab of the truck.
“Fuck, that’s rank,” says the driver. He knocks down the vents closest to him with his gloved hand and motions to his passenger to do the same.
It doesn’t help. The bare patches of asphalt are smeared with it. I bet it’s coating the bottom of the truck already.
My guards stare out the window around us, and I find my gaze drawn to the rearview mirror on the driver’s door. I can just see the edge of Sam’s truck and I fixate on it.
A rhythmic deep resonance grows within the truck, getting louder as we get closer to a series of apartment buildings.
“Sounds like the calvary is here, y’all,” the front passenger drawls as he looks up through the side window. “Yep, I can see the choppers coming. Good.”
The tall buildings surrounding us drop to long covered parking areas, so a little more sun plays through the window, brightening the dim interior.
Squinting with the bright reflection in the mirror, I see a silver colored line appear above it in front of us.
Weird.