Friday Snippets: Take Me Out

The Friday Snippet this week continues to follow Dell after she escapes the ruin of Columbia, after she breaks the heart of the man who loves her more than anyone on earth. With a nuclear wasteland spreading all around her and an imminent mass migration south, Dell has turned her sights on the little town of Mexico, north of Columbia. Last week, she snuck past a military blockade of tanks on the interstate bridges only to be laid low by a rope strung across on the back country roads. We pick up with Dell, laying in the middle of the county road in the dark.

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Dell tilted the shotgun up and moonlight gleamed down the barrel bright and pure. The person above her stopped cold, the barrel of the gun pressed in hard under their jaw. Dell could feel agony flowering though her chest like a cold fire. The mask hid her face and she didn't care that her face twisted in pain as she moved her arm.

"I'd advise that you step back," she rasped. The figure's eyes shone in the dark, wide and glassy, like dark coins. "I'd advise you to step back before I blow your face off," she said, pressing the barrel up against his pulsing jugular. His eyes slid away and Dell heard footsteps at her head. "One step closer, and he this shotgun will have more brains than he does," she snapped. The footsteps stopped.

"Look," the sneaking man said. His voice was graveled, but still young. The brother, she guess. "Look, we just needed some gas. Don't hurt him. Don't worry Jim, it's alright," he said. "Just don't hurt him. We just needed some gas. We weren't gonna hurt you."

"Like hell," she said. "You sneaking around - get my bike over here. Now." She turned her head, watching the man as he moved in a wide arc around her. She sat slowly, groaning as the pressure forced the breath from her lungs. As she forced the sobbing man back, she saw his face in the dark. He was young. Painfully young. He couldn't have been much older than Matheson on that morning.

Dell managed her feet, trying not to listen as the boy wiped at his snot and tried not to sob any more as she stepped back. As the older wheeled her bike forward, she tilted her head. "Step back," she said. "You said you needed gas - so where's your car?"

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"What needs to be done," Dell replied. The blood on her knuckles was black in the moonlight. Something in her chest rattled as she breathed.

"Over the ridge, west of here," the older said, stepping between her and the boy. "Why?"

"You and your brother are going to live," she said. "That should be enough."

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"What needs to be done," Dell replied. The blood on her knuckles was black in the moonlight. Something in her chest rattled as she breathed. But they didn't know that. They didn't even know what she looked like beneath the insect-eyed gasmask.

She lunged, the butt of her shotgun catching the older one in the jaw and spilling him backward into unconsciousness, heavy as a wet sack of sand. The boy fell under his weight. He reached inside his brother's coat. She swung her shotgun to bear and found herself staring down the barrel of an old revolver.

So say we all.
Bri