Page 132 of Red Rooster

As if he sensed that, Jack touched his shoulder again, a softer pat this time. “She’s alright,” he said, under his breath.

But Rooster wouldn’t believe that until he saw so with his own eyes.

~*~

Red took a long sip of her milkshake and winced as the brain freeze hit. One of the vets’ wives, Sophie, laughed across from her. “I do the same thing,” she assured. “They’re too good to take slow.”

It was possibly the best thing she’d ever tasted. All diners had milkshakes, and most were pretty good, but this place had a whole laminated menu dedicated to them, filled with over two-dozen variations, all of them hand-dipped and topped with homemade whipped cream. After a solid minute of indecision, Red had finally selected the chocolate fudge cake shake. It had crumbles of real chocolate cake in it and fudge sauce too thick to come up the straw.

She leaned back in the booth and massaged the place between her brows with two fingertips. “Totally worth it.”

“You better order a burger, too, honey,” Vicki suggested, “or you’ll have a sugar fit.”

“That’s a good idea.”

There were seven of them crammed in the long, pink vinyl booth, all stirring shakes and talking a mile a minute, the kind of harmless town gossip Red had never had the chance to contribute to.

“Did you see Louise’shair?” Daphne asked.

Penny chuckled and said, “It’s better than it was last month.”

“Now that’s saying something,” Sally said.

“Oh, did you girls hear about Mark and Renee’s eldest?” Julia asked.

“Such a shame,” Penny said.

Daphne asked, “What happened?”

“Oh, it was the most terrible thing…”

Red turned her gaze out the window, stomach full of cold milkshake, body pleasantly tired from a busy day. Evening lay across downtown in rich golds and ochres, the shadows plummy at the bases of buildings. Families moved languidly down the sidewalks, holding to-go coffee cups and paper shopping bags. A line was forming at the ticket kiosk outside the movie theater, its marquee lights chasing one another around the featured showtimes.

Idyllic Americana. The sight of it filled her with a rare peace.

And then Vicki gasped beside her.

Red seemed to turn in slow motion; she didn’t want to turn at all. Vicki’s shoulder tensed where it touched her own, and she knew, as she glanced away from the street scene, that the thing she’d find inside the diner was something she didn’t want to see. Maybe even something that was her fault, because she and Rooster had stayed so long. They never stayed. Maybe this was karma telling her how wrong they’d been to do so this time.

While she was gazing through the window, Spence from the garage had come in and taken a stool right beside their table. His gaze was trained on the cash register, same as everyone else, where a man in a black ski mask held a gun on the teenager working the till.

Red had spent the last five years living on the road with a Marine. She didn’t hesitate.

“Everyone, get under the table,” she whispered.

Vicki turned toward her, panic in her eyes. “Oh, honey, don’t–”

“Get under the table.” Her voice was not her own: hard, emotionless, uncompromising. It was the voice Rooster always used before he put a bullet in someone. “Get down, all of you.”

They must have been too shocked by the change in her to resist, because, slowly, they followed orders, wedging themselves down into the booth, getting as far beneath the table as they could.

Red snuck a glance toward Spence, and found him drawn as tight as she felt, his body humming with checked energy. He nodded at her.

She nodded back, and moved.

She’d only get one shot at this, so she had to make it count.

She climbed up onto the table – slow, soundless – then crouched, lifted her hands, conjured flames in her palms with a crackle of electricity in her veins. It filled her with a rush every time, calling on her power and feeling it roar to answer. She tensed, readied, and leapt–