Flix stood up and spoke to his brother and Peter. “The three of us are in this together. But I trust Joe, and I’m willing to go with him if you are.”
Peter and Marcus both took a step back. Marcus’s eyes widened, and he shook his head as though surprised he was being asked. Peter’s eyes were hidden behind the other pair of vision shields, but Devin imagined he looked as bewildered as Marcus. They put their heads together and whispered for a few seconds before Marcus said, “We trust you guys.”
“Good, ’cause...” Movement behind Joe and Flix caught Devin’s eye. He ripped the long gun off his back and aimed it at what turned out to be two men pulling a cart. Grown men, too, with long hair, beards, and hard, weathered faces, not teenagers like him and Joe. He released the safety, and the men’s hands shot up. “That’s close enough. Move along.”
To his right, he heard Marcus position the second rifle. Like they’d practiced, Peter pressed back to back with Devin. Part of the point was to keep everyone safe. Another part was to keep Devin and Peter’s pale faces hidden. The hoods on their jackets helped, but they needed to take every precaution.
Marcus came into view, pivoting in a circle. “All clear, boss. They’re alone.”
Joe slowly got to his feet, tugged Flix with him, and moved closer to Devin.
The taller of the two strangers spoke in rapid-fire Spanish, his beady eyes shifting from Joe to the guns to the broken overpass and back. Some of the tension went out of Joe’s shoulders.
“What’s he saying?” Peter whispered.
“He wants to know if we’d like to make a trade,” Flix said.
Joe answered the man in Spanish, and again, Flix interpreted. “Joe says we might be interested. Depends on what they’ve got.”
The conversation continued in Spanish. Flix jumped in occasionally and translated as Joe asked for outlandish items — dental dams, arm-mounted missiles, and copper-plated underwear — that had the men shaking their heads. The men wanted a gun and the vision shields. Joe said no. The more weird things Joe asked for the more interested the men seemed to be. Finally, he sighed like he was disappointed and asked for food. The men eyed one another, then uncovered the lower shelf of their cart. Insta-food bars lined the entire surface. Devin’s stomach growled loudly enough that everyone turned to look at him. The taller man shook his hair back and started talking again.
“He says you seem awfully hungry.” Flix touched Devin’s side. “He wants both guns.”
Joe had the VICE-shot in his pocket. Devin had given it to him when he and Marcus had taken ownership of the rifles. They could survive without the long guns if they had to. Devin hated guns, but he’d found they were less scary in his hands than in someone else’s. He didn’t plan on letting go of the rifles.
“Joe’s offering him rash cream.”
Rash cream didn’t seem incentive enough to part with food, but the man eyed Joe for several seconds before answering. Joe threw his face to the night sky and laughed.
“What’d he say?” Peter asked.
Flix cringed and glanced at Devin before he answered. “He says Joe’s got a nice mouth. He’d take other forms of payment.”
Devin growled. “He does understand we have guns? We could just shoot his ass and take his shit?”
“Joe’s telling him that right now.”
“Tell Joe to tell that asshole I’m about three seconds away from blowing his brains out.”
Joe jerked and stared at Devin. “I understand English. And get a grip. Remember who you are.” He returned to his bartering.
Devin’s breath stuttered as Joe’s words hit him harder than a punch. Who he was? Joe’s lover. Tanner’s brother. And Tanner had died because some idiot with a gun hadn’t exercised restraint.
“It’s okay,” Flix whispered. He petted Devin’s back. “Whatever it is that’s making you scared, you’re not what you’re seeing in your head.”
“You don’t know.”
“I know you.” Flix said it so simply, like that was the end of the argument, irrefutable.
Devin couldn’t fathom what Flix thought he knew. Hell, Flix hated him. Well, was jealous of him, at least. “Thanks.”
Flix nodded and petted Devin a few more times. “Joe’s done. He’s made a deal.”
Joe moved behind Devin, nudged Peter sideways, and withdrew something from the pack on Peter’s back. When he came back into Devin’s line of sight, he had the rash cream and a roll of the green money they’d used for poker back at the Flats. Joe pulled Flix forward with him, and the men filled their hands with enough Insta-food bars to last a week.
The taller man patted Joe’s arm, then he and his companion dragged their cart away. Everyone watched them go. When they’d disappeared into the night, Devin replaced the safety on the gun and slipped the awful thing onto his back. Joe and Flix shoved the food bars into the backpacks.
“Well, that was weird,” Marcus said. “Let’s get out of here.” Before Devin could remind him, Marcus backed away in the direction they’d been heading and toppled right over the edge of the fallen-in overpass.
***
For a moment, the world stood still. No one moved. No one seemed to breathe. And all Flix processed was the surprised face of his brother as he disappeared over the edge of the road.
Movement to his left and right. Shouts. Someone grabbed his hand and dragged him away, down a slope, over a barricade, onto dirt sprinkled with dead grass. Running. Dirt gave way to sand.
There.
Marcus lay on his side, panting, eyes screwed shut. Alive.
Flix sucked in a breath. The world rushed in again. Joe on his knees next to Marcus, touching, asking quiet questions, his face a mask of concentration. Devin with his weapon drawn, checking that they wouldn’t be robbed while distracted. Peter watching it all, his dry heaves almost enough to cover the sound of his tears.
Marcus screamed.
Joe
