Fighting for Rain - BB Easton Page 0,51

both wearing red bandanas and pointing their pistols at Wes outside of Huckabee Foods. I watch their bodies jerk from the impact of my bullets. I hear their grunts and gurgles and gasps for air all over again as they fall onto a bed of broken glass at our feet. I feel the weight of the gun in my hand and the guilt on my conscience, and suddenly, I don’t know who to feel sorrier for—the executed or the executioner.

When I finally open my eyes and lower my hands, the hole is gone. In its place stands a baby oak tree—even taller than the man who stood there before it—and Governor Steele, who’s posing next to it with a golden shovel that has obviously never touched a speck of dirt. With every camera flash, his grin widens, and his pose becomes more and more heroic. But when the camera pans over to the reporter for final remarks, she has none to give. She simply stares into the lens, the blank look on her face mirroring my own until the screen goes black.

I stand, slack-jawed and silent, as the gravity of what I just witnessed settles around me. But I seem to be the only one. Within seconds, the uproar in the food court picks up right where it left off. They treat the broadcast like it was just another bad reality TV show, shocking at the time but forgotten as soon as it’s over.

Q goes back to pelting the crowd with supplies from my backpack, working them into a frenzy as she mimics Governor Steele. “Return to naychuh, you filthy criminals! Pow! You a tree! Pow, pow! Now you a tree too! Hey! Stop movin’, muhfucka! I said, you a tree!”

I stumble backward through the mosh pit of manic runaways until I bump into the burn barrel. Then, I spin around and head straight for the hallway. I pass Carter’s family, clinging to one another at their table, but I don’t stop when they call my name. I don’t ever want to stop. For the first time since he left, I finally understand how Wes must have felt on his way out the door.

Because for the first time since I got here, I want to leave too.

But when I try to muster the courage to lift my head, to look out those broken windows I’ve been avoiding instead of down at my own two feet, I watch them turn and tread into the tuxedo shop instead.

Because, as much as I want to be, I’m nothing like Wes Parker.

I’m not brave.

I’m not strong.

I’m weak and scared and possibly going crazy.

That’s probably why he left. Because Wes wears his past like armor while I wear mine like chains.

I lift the mannequin back onto the white cube in the center of the store. Then, I close the cabinet doors and checkout stand drawers that Q didn’t slam shut while she was hunting for my supplies. I straighten the entire store, even adjusting the mannequin stands along the sides of the room so that they’re perfectly spaced and symmetrical, until I feel my blood pressure go back to normal. Until the urge to scream and pull my hair out passes. Until I feel like I have a thimbleful of control in this fucked up new world.

When the boys come back, the place looks good as new, and so does Quint … almost.

I hop up onto the counter while Lamar dumps an armload of bandages, pills, and ointments on the dust-free surface next to me.

“Look at you, up and walkin’ around. Did you get somethin’ to eat?”

“Did I get somethin’ to eat?” Quint winces in pain and lifts his fingertips to the bandage around his neck.

“You just got your ass handed to you by Queen Cuntface,” Lamar finishes for him. “And you wanna know if he ate?”

I slam my hands over Lamar’s mouth and shush him with wide, warning eyes.

Quint looks from him to the far corners of the room, as if he’s searching for surveillance equipment.

“Are y’all for real?” Lamar mumbles before shoving my hands away. “I can’t even call her a—”

“Shh!” Quint and I hiss in unison, waving our hands in his face.

But it’s too late. Lamar’s insult must have had the power to conjure Satan herself because Q waltzes in not one second later.

I slide off the counter, and Quint and I stand on either side of Lamar, as if we could actually protect him.

Her serpentine eyes slide across the three of