He stood suddenly and gripped the box, ready to take the few things back into the kitchen. He stood in the middle of the bedroom, the pale light from the window caught in the mirror. He studied the sullen and haunted stare of the man in the reflection. He dropped the box and stepped closer, his eyes locked on their own reflection.
“Give it up, bro. You ain’t getting any prettier.”
Hatcher stared into the looking glass then turned to Roger. “Find me a decent ride?”
“I got you a little Renegade. It will get you through mud and muck but don’t expect to go rock climbing.” Roger tossed him the keys. “It’s the Trailhawk version, so it’s a bit more rugged, but it’s still a Tonka toy.”
Hatcher watched him snatch the duffel from the bed and sling it over his shoulder. “How’s the wound?”
Roger looked at him sideways. “Healing. Itches like hell.” He raised a brow. “You really want to know or you having second thoughts?”
“I was just concerned.” He bent and picked up the box of food stuffs. “Can’t a guy ask how his friend is?”
“Not when you sit alone in the bedroom and repeat, ‘I must be nuckin’ futs’ to yourself all day.” He grinned and stepped into the hallway. “And for the record, Vic went with Huey and Dewey to look for stuff to stock her clinic with.”
“So she’s not around at all?”
“And if you hurry you can avoid her completely.” He twisted up his mouth. “But I’ve been thinking…”
“Oh boy, here it comes.” He set the box in the back of the dirt colored SUV. “When you start thinking, I know things are bad.”
Roger tossed the duffle in the back then turned and gave him a concerned look. “She’s your sister, right? I bet she was worried sick about you until you made it here alive.”
“Right on both.” He leaned against the garage door and waited for what was to come next.
“Don’t leave her a letter, Hatch. Sit down and talk with her. Let her know that this is something you gotta do.”
“So she can talk me out of it.”
Roger scoffed. “Could she?” He stepped to the old ping pong table along the wall and grabbed the sleeping bags, tossing them into the back of the tiny car. “I mean, seriously…if she could talk you into not going then that means you don’t really need to do this.” He grabbed the four man tent and tossed it in roughly.
“If you’re so keen on her making me stay, why are you packing my shit?”
Roger pulled the hatch shut and turned to face him. “Because I know she won’t be able to. She might try, but you owe her a face to face, man.” He shrugged. “Maybe even a hug goodbye.”
Hatcher groaned and pushed off the door then held his hand out. “Okay, bro. You win.” He took the other man’s hand and pulled him into a man-hug. “I’ll face the shrew.”
“Christ, Hatch,” Roger groaned. “Say something stupid like that and you might be stuck here forever, and I don’t want to have to dig the hole.”
Hatcher chuckled as he stepped inside and took a last look around. “I’m way faster than her.”
“You’d have to be or she would have beaten you to death when you were ten.” Roger sat at the dining room table. “Let’s hit the checklist.”
Hatcher sat down and gave him his attention. “Go.”
“Weapons?”
“Pistols and shotgun.”
Roger raised a brow. “No rifle?”
Hatcher shook his head. “If I can’t hit it with a pistol, I don’t need to be shooting at it. What else?”
“Ammo.”
“Loaded.”
Roger ticked off another finger. “Food and water?”
“Loaded, along with water purifiers and fire making stuff.”
“Fresh clothes? Foot powder?”
“Check and check.”
Roger smiled at him. “Road music?”
Hatcher grinned back and pulled a USB drive from his shirt pocket. “All the best driving bands.”
Roger raised a brow at him. “The best?”
“Boston, Journey, Styx, ELO—”
“Dude, where’s the metal? You gotta have metal for night driving.”
Hatcher smirked at him. “You didn’t let me finish.” He tucked the USB drive back into his shirt pocket. “There’s some Black Sabbath in there. A bit of Ozzy and some Zeppelin.”
Roger sat back and narrowed his gaze. “If I took that from you and stuck it in a computer, I’m not gonna see shit like Britney Spears or some boy band, am I?”
Hatcher leaned forward, his face hardened. “Don’t make me shoot you before I leave.”
Roger smirked. “Good.” He pushed up from his chair. “How are you for road munchies?”
Hatcher gave him a blank stare. “I don’t usually—”
“Dude. You gotta have jerky and pork rinds for road trips.”
“Jerky, I can do. I’ll pass on the pork rinds.” He held his hand up to cut him off. “I have to draw the line somewhere.”
Roger went back out to the little Jeep and pulled the passenger door open. He grabbed the two bags of pork rinds out then slammed the door. “Pepper jerky was all I could find.” He gave him a sly grin. “I stopped on the way back from the car lot and loaded up for ya.”
Hatcher walked around the vehicle and shook his head. “And this is the toughest one you could come up with?”
“Trailhawk, baby.” Roger slapped the top and grinned at him. “Thirty miles a gallon. And yes, it’s got a full tank. I saw to it myself.”
Hatcher walked back around the Renegade and held his hand out. “Thanks for understanding.”
“If it was Candy, nobody could stop me.” Roger’s head turned and he watched as Wally and Hank pulled up to the house across the street. They both watched Vicky step out of the truck and stare at the strange car parked in the drive. Roger groaned. “Time to step to the plate brother.” He stepped away and gave him a mock salute. “I’ll see ya when you get back.”
Hatcher watched Vicky cross the road and set his jaw. “I think I’d rather sandpaper a badger’s ass wearing pork chop panties than do this….”
Irene rubbed at her
