Friday Fiction - Scene 11
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Here's the next installment of Friday Fiction. If you'd like to read the previous scenes, or see what Friday Fiction is all about, click here.
Shane had run out of patience with Erica's panic and false bravado. He had a gunshot shoulder and a dead stepfather to deal with. Enough was enough.
"Give me the gun," he said, holding his hand out and staring her down. For a long time she stood her ground without blinking, but the uncontrolled shaking of the gun in her hand belied her confidence.
"Fine," she said, finally handing the gun over then planting herself in the passenger's seat with a pretty little pout. He wasn't fooled, though. She was clearly way out of her element and scared to death. "You're apparently the expert, how are you going to get us out of this mess?"
Clicking the safety back on he buried the gun in the belt at the back of his pants then climbed into the driver's seat. By this time Rags was on Erica's lap where she was hugging him like a lost kid clings to a stuffed animal. Rags, however, was giving Shane the evil eye.
"This is not my fault," he said to the dog.
"Yes it is," Erica answered.
"I wasn't talking to you." He started the RV and pulled back into traffic, careful not to exert his shoulder too much. It wasn't bleeding anymore, which he hoped was a good sign. They drove in silence for a long time, until the landscape became more isolated and desolate.
"You have a map, right?" Shane finally broke the silence.
"Yes."
"Get it out and find me the most isolated canyon or arroyo or wash you can find. Something in the middle of nowhere."
"Why?"
"You want me to fix this or what?"
With a navigational expertise that surprised him, she led them down side roads, then dusty trails into a shallow canyon that was perfect for his purposes. It was early evening and the sky was beginning to darken as he finally parked the vehicle and turned to Erica.
"Okay, here's the plan. We're going to change out of these bloody clothes, pack some food and plenty of water, then we're going to burn this thing with Frank's body and all the guns inside. Hopefully that will destroy all the evidence. Or at least enough of it so that we'll be across the border before anyone can trace it to us," Shane said.
"Are you insane? You can't burn my RV! I just bought it. And I'm not crossing any borders. This whole thing is your problem, not mine. I'm an innocent bystander."
"Oh really? Cuz I'm pretty sure it was the bullet from your gun killed Frank. And it's your RV that's got DNA splattered everywhere, and didn't you touch the knife buried in Alyssa's chest? So it'll have your prints all over it. Sounds to me like you're in as deep as I am."
"But I didn't do anything! I didn't kill that girl. And the gun went off accidentally. Besides, it was self defense!"
"Tell that to a jury. Believe me. Juries always want to believe you're guilty even if you're innocent. They're always out for blood. So you need to make a choice," Shane said as he stood and started stripping, piling his bloody clothes on top of Frank's dead body. "Are you coming with me or taking your chances with the justice system?"
He watched as she struggled with the choice and smiled his satisfaction when she stood and started unbuttoning her shirt.
Thirty minutes later they wore fresh clothes, carried packs full of food and water, change of clothes, a map, a compass, and other useful tools Shane had scrounged from the RV, and watched the vehicle burn. Bright flames crackled and great plumes of smoke curled into the sky where they merged unnoticed with the gray evening.
Wowzers! I can't believe they torched the RV! How am I going to get them over the border next week? Hmm...off to plot illegal activities...