As Kathleen and Allison drew closer, some of the bikers began to study them. Kathleen swallowed hard and tried to keep her eyes averted and to seem as unassuming as possible. If this were any other situation, she would have given them a wave and a friendly smile. She would have hoped they were having a good day and that they got to their next destination safely. But those days seemed like eons ago. Those niceties belonged to a time when her daughter hadn’t been manhandled by another gang on the side of the road. In the days when she hadn’t shot that man who’d hurt Allison. In the days when Kathleen wasn’t a... She couldn’t think it.
Some of the bikers whispered to each other as she and Allison approached. A strange anticipatory silence descended over them. The tattooed man handed off the last of the produce he’d gathered and then stood on the bumper again with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed at her. Kathleen refused to glance back at Allison, and instead kept going with slow, steady steps.
In response, two men and a woman pressed their backs against the van and crossed their arms as if guarding it. The man with the patched leather jacket glared at her and put one hand on the side of the van, as if he owned it.
Kathleen tried to stop her own snarl in response. She resented the fact that these people were making her feel like a wild animal. What was the point of threatening her when they outnumbered her? The only reason was to make them feel strong and her weak. She began to rethink the situation and what she should have done—hide in the woods, abandon the bikes, wait until the bikers left—but she was tired of obstacles standing between her and safety.
The tattooed man on the bumper took a deep breath and shouted, “Find your own haul, lady.”
A sudden cold swept through Kathleen. She felt frozen in place. It wasn’t that his command had shocked her. At this point, she was used to the violence of strangers. Instead, the cold seemed to freeze her higher thinking, giving her hands agency of their own.
The memory of Andrew Lang loomed in front of her. She’d tried to be the mediator. She’d tried to take the high road, placate him, and hope his better nature would win out. Instead, a man in Andrew’s crew pawed at her terrified daughter while Kathleen tried to play nice. That interaction had ended with Andrew dying on the ground with a gunshot wound to the neck.
While the…murder had been ghastly, what terrified her more was the fear in Allison’s eyes. She wouldn’t let that happen again. Not this time. Not ever.
She reached behind her back. As soon as she felt the ridged grip of the handgun, it seemed to galvanize her. She whipped out the weapon and pointed it at the tattooed man, while steadying her bike with the other hand. Beside her, Allison came to a stop, and Kathleen heard her daughter’s sharp exhale.
“Whoa, I didn’t mean to scare you, lady,” the tattooed man said, and his face melted from suspicious to pleading. “Nothing here is worth dying over. Put the gun down. We’re not going to hurt you.”
“Find my own haul?” Kathleen asked and felt Allison reach out to take the bike from her, freeing her hand. “You’re the one robbing the van. Do you have the driver tied up somewhere?”
“We’re just looking for supplies,” the leader with the patched jacket interjected. He held up his hands, palms out. He wore fingerless leather gloves. He took a step forward, and Kathleen swung the gun to point at him.
“Really?” Kathleen asked and motioned the gun to the head of cabbage that had been crushed on the asphalt. “Is this what you call that?”
“It was rotten,” the leader continued. His voice was soft and lulling, as if trying to woo her into a false sense of security. “You can see for yourself. We shouldn’t have made such a mess. Just having some dumb fun.”
“It’s not so fun now, is it?” Kathleen growled. “I can only imagine what else you’d consider fun.”
She thought of Andrew choking on his own blood. Andrew, who had thought it would be fun to backhand her and steal her things. Andrew, who had thought it would be fun to hurt Allison.
Her hands began to tremble, and she tried to steady them.
“I promise you,” the leader said calmly. “We won’t hurt you. We’re not trying to hurt anyone. This van was abandoned when we found it.”
Kathleen hesitated. With many cars not working, it would make sense that this van might have been abandoned. Maybe he was telling the truth.
Another man wearing a red paisley bandana shifted and took a step back. Kathleen caught his movement in her peripheral vision and saw his hand move toward his belt. That same cold rush of terror flowed through her. Without a second thought, she swung the handgun barrel to point at this new threat.
She should have known. While the leader was spewing a bunch of crap about how they meant no harm, one of their members was getting ready to reach for the gun strapped to his waistband. Kathleen mentally slapped herself. After everything they’d been through, she shouldn’t hesitate anymore. The bandana man’s hand rested on his holster and stilled when he realized the gun was pointed at him.
“Give that to me,” she demanded and held out her other hand.
The man with the paisley bandana glanced between her and the leader. The leader nodded to him reluctantly.
“Give it to me,” Kathleen repeated, this time just a touch
