Having rolled down onto the floorboard, Lyle winced as his ears rang from both gunshots. The shattered glass from the windshield and rear passenger side window showered into the car followed by the frigid wind and snow.
"I told you I'd kill you, you sick bastard!" Amanda screamed over the wind as she recoiled as far away from Lyle as she could into the corner of the back seat. She aimed the gun at Lyle, who was covering his head. "I knew I shouldn't have trusted you. You're all the same. All of you!"
Lyle peaked up at Amanda through his fingers and wondered for a split second if he should try again to rip the gun away from her. He decided, however, that his only option was to try to convince her that it was an accident, that he had been trying to help her. "Calm down, Amanda! Just, just calm down! You don't understand what I was doing."
"Oh I understand! Believe me, I understand exactly what you were doing!" Her tears were leaving black trails down her cheeks and she shivered in the cold.
"Just listen to me, damn it!" The temperature in the car must have dropped thirty degrees already. "You were dreaming. You were screaming and that woke me up. You were acting like you were pushing somebody off you, like they were trying hurt you. You were going apeshit, Amanda, and swinging the gun all over the damn place. I was afraid you were going to shoot me or shoot yourself."
"So that's why you were laying on top of me?" She asked sarcastically. "You must think I'm a freaking idiot, Cowboy! You have about ten seconds to get the hell out of this car."
"I'm telling you the truth. I tried to grab the gun and I fell. If I was trying something on you would I have had my face pressed onto your belly? Plus, think about it; even if I was a pervert--and I'm not--why would I try something on you while you had a gun in your hand. Just how stupid do you think I am?" He noticed that her expression was thawing a bit, her senses coming back to her.
"Just get out of the car, Lyle. Please."
Lyle slowly pulled himself up onto the back seat, sure to sit so far away from Amanda that he was leaning against the opposite door. She kept the gun pointed at him. Lyle asked, "But what're you going to do, Amanda? You can't stay in here now. The windshield's gone, one of the windows too. There's shards of glass all over. The front seat's already filling up with snow. The wind's swirling in here like a tornado. What's your plan? You'll freeze to death in here."
Amanda turned her head to take in the damage caused by the two rounds she'd spent as she'd woken up, as though at that moment she was just realizing that Lyle was right. With her head facing away, Lyle took his chance and grabbed onto the revolver's cold steel barrel and ripped it from her hand. Instinctively, she cowered into a ball, mumbling her pleas for mercy.
"I'm not going to shoot you, Amanda," Lyle assured her. "See, look," he said, just before flinging the gun out through the wind tunnel that used to be a windshield. "I don't need no gun."
Amanda unwound herself, and brushing the strands of her bleached hair out of her face, asked him, "What am I going to do, Lyle? I hardly have any clothes on." She looked down at her stained tube top and miniskirt. "I'll freeze to death out there too. Maybe my chances are better just curling up in here. You don't have to stay here with me. Just go on to your girlfriend and her little boy. I'll be okay."
Lyle ran through their options in his head. The car was trapping the wind, making it just as cold or colder than outside and the snow blowing in would soak the upholstery before too long. If she insisted on staying in the car he could leave his coveralls with her, but that would leave him with just a coat and jeans. If she went with him he'd have to give her his coveralls anyway, and what would she do for shoes? She couldn't wear high heels out there. She'd have frostbite in a matter of minutes. Then he remembered that there had to be a suitcase in the trunk.
"Here's what's going to happen," he said confidently. "I'm going to get into the trunk. We've already shot out the guy's windows, so we might as well borrow his clothes." He thought he might have even seen her smile for just a second when he said it, probably because she realized that he wasn't going to leave her behind. "Hopefully he'll have something you can cover up with."
Lyle leaned over into the front seat and shook the shards of glass from his clothes, putting on everything except his coveralls, which he tossed back to Amanda for her to cover up with until he could figure out what was in the trunk. He pulled the keys from the ignition and walked out into the snow and wind, before opening the trunk. Yes! Along with the jumper cables, spare tire, and lug wrench sat a nondescript black suitcase with a laminated identification tag dangling from the handle that read: "Albert Singleton, 281 East Main Street, Laramie, Wyoming."
"You're a real lifesaver, Al," Lyle said under his breath as he opened the suitcase, which contained nothing out of the ordinary but plenty that would help Amanda. He pulled out three pairs of socks in various colors, a pair of red and black plaid flannel pajama pants, a pair of khacki chinos, a belt, two white undershirts, a brown sweatshirt that said, "PROPERTY OF WYOMING COWBOYS," in yellow collegiate blocked letters, and a pair of white sneakers that would be far too big for her but would have to work. Thankfully it looked like Al must have been a fairly small guy.
Gathering up the clothes like he was carrying his dirty laundry to the washer, he carried them around to the passenger side rear door, opened it and set them down. He leaned down into the back seat and looked across at Amanda, who was shivering under the coveralls. "Hand my coveralls out to me and put this stuff on. I'll stay out here, back around by the trunk while you're getting dressed. You'll want to use two pairs of socks on your feet and the others on your hands. Tie the shoes as tight as you can and cinch that belt up to the last hole. Use one of the T-shirts to wrap around your head and face somehow. When you're done I'll give you my coat. Then we've got to hit the road. We're better off moving. We'll freeze to death in this car."
"Thank you," Amanda said softly as she handed him his coveralls, sounding as though she was embarrassed to say it. "And I'm sorry. I just thought--"
"Nobody got killed," Lyle interrupted her before she had to explain herself. "That's what matters." He stood to close the door, but leaned back down to add, "And don't thank me. Thank Albert Singleton. Without even knowing it, he's saved your ass twice tonight. Don't take too long, okay?" He closed the door and trudged through the ever deepening snow back around to the trunk, which had blown shut. As he pulled his coveralls back on he wondered where the hell they were going to go. Damn that girl's dream and damn that gun. They could have been just fine until morning if that car still had all its glass. But it didn't, so that meant more walking. All he could figure to do was keep following the road to the east in hopes that they might happen upon a house, that someone might come looking for them, or better yet that somehow they might make it all the way to Rocky Ford alive.
Amanda seemed to take forever getting dressed but it couldn't have been easy or fun stripping completely down in the arctic wind that had found a home now in the car, and trying to figure out how to make an old man's clothes fit a sixteen-year-old girl, and a fairly petite one at that. Finally, when Lyle was about to knock on the window to make sure she was still coming, she stepped out of the car and although he couldn't make out all the details with just the light from the dome light in the car to illuminate her, he couldn't help but break out laughing.
"Shut up," she said, almost slipping up and letting her lips form a partial smile.
Trying to catch his breath, Lyle laughed out, "You look like that M.C. Hammer guy I saw on TV the other day dancing around in his baggy pants!" The belt held the pants around her waist, but then the pants flared out and she had to cuff them a couple of times to keep them from swallowing her feet. Lyle looked at the gleaming white walking shoes and said, "You'd make one hell of a rodeo clown, Amanda."
Amanda looked down at herself. Finally, she couldn't hold it in anymore and let go of her laughter like she was exhaling after holding her breath for too long. The two of them leaned against the car and Lyle couldn't even feel the cold for a few minutes as they howled and snorted, cracking up until Amanda sighed and said, "I can't tell you the last time I laughed." She looked off into the distance, or maybe it was into the past. "Years maybe," she said. "I haven't laughed in years."
"I'd imagine you haven't had much to laugh about," Lyle said, still wondering what her story might be while wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes before they could freeze. "Maybe things are looking up for you, kid." He wanted to pat her on the shoulder or maybe even give her a hug in that moment but he knew better. Instead he handed her his coat. "Put this on and let's cover some ground before we turn into popsicles."
After Amanda zipped the coat up and pulled socks over her hands she leaned back into the car, coming back out with the nearly full bottle of whiskey.
"We don't need that," Lyle said firmly. "Leave that shit here. We don't have any use for it."
Amanda looked taken aback by the tone of Lyle's voice. "Earlier you said it might be useful out here. Maybe you were right."
"Suit yourself, but I'm sure as hell not carrying it." Lyle was about to start walking when he said, "But that does remind me," and walked out to where he'd thrown the gun. After a few moments he found it with his boot in the snow and picking it up, turned to Amanda who had followed him the ten or so feet in front of the car and said, "It can't hurt to have this either. We never know what we'll run into out here. But I'm carrying it this time. Next time this goes off we might not be so lucky." He gestured toward the shattered windshield and window.
He helped her wrap the T-shirt around her head and face the best she could and the two of them took their first steps in the same direction Lyle had been heading when he'd found the car, thinking he'd found his salvation. The wind and snow pushed them from the back, with each step a few feet closer to Rocky Ford.
After a while, Lyle's skin hurt and his feet and hands were growing numb again but he didn't want to complain because Amanda never opened her mouth to say anything other than, "Can we take a quick rest," and "I've got to tie this shoe again or it's going to fall off." The going was tough, but after they'd covered about a mile and a half, Amanda stopped and pointed ahead and off to the right.
"Oh, thank God," she said. "Do you see that, Lyle? It looks like... a house!"
"Just get out of the car, Lyle. Please."
Lyle slowly pulled himself up onto the back seat, sure to sit so far away from Amanda that he was leaning against the opposite door. She kept the gun pointed at him. Lyle asked, "But what're you going to do, Amanda? You can't stay in here now. The windshield's gone, one of the windows too. There's shards of glass all over. The front seat's already filling up with snow. The wind's swirling in here like a tornado. What's your plan? You'll freeze to death in here."
Amanda turned her head to take in the damage caused by the two rounds she'd spent as she'd woken up, as though at that moment she was just realizing that Lyle was right. With her head facing away, Lyle took his chance and grabbed onto the revolver's cold steel barrel and ripped it from her hand. Instinctively, she cowered into a ball, mumbling her pleas for mercy.
"I'm not going to shoot you, Amanda," Lyle assured her. "See, look," he said, just before flinging the gun out through the wind tunnel that used to be a windshield. "I don't need no gun."
Amanda unwound herself, and brushing the strands of her bleached hair out of her face, asked him, "What am I going to do, Lyle? I hardly have any clothes on." She looked down at her stained tube top and miniskirt. "I'll freeze to death out there too. Maybe my chances are better just curling up in here. You don't have to stay here with me. Just go on to your girlfriend and her little boy. I'll be okay."
Lyle ran through their options in his head. The car was trapping the wind, making it just as cold or colder than outside and the snow blowing in would soak the upholstery before too long. If she insisted on staying in the car he could leave his coveralls with her, but that would leave him with just a coat and jeans. If she went with him he'd have to give her his coveralls anyway, and what would she do for shoes? She couldn't wear high heels out there. She'd have frostbite in a matter of minutes. Then he remembered that there had to be a suitcase in the trunk.
"Here's what's going to happen," he said confidently. "I'm going to get into the trunk. We've already shot out the guy's windows, so we might as well borrow his clothes." He thought he might have even seen her smile for just a second when he said it, probably because she realized that he wasn't going to leave her behind. "Hopefully he'll have something you can cover up with."
Lyle leaned over into the front seat and shook the shards of glass from his clothes, putting on everything except his coveralls, which he tossed back to Amanda for her to cover up with until he could figure out what was in the trunk. He pulled the keys from the ignition and walked out into the snow and wind, before opening the trunk. Yes! Along with the jumper cables, spare tire, and lug wrench sat a nondescript black suitcase with a laminated identification tag dangling from the handle that read: "Albert Singleton, 281 East Main Street, Laramie, Wyoming."
"You're a real lifesaver, Al," Lyle said under his breath as he opened the suitcase, which contained nothing out of the ordinary but plenty that would help Amanda. He pulled out three pairs of socks in various colors, a pair of red and black plaid flannel pajama pants, a pair of khacki chinos, a belt, two white undershirts, a brown sweatshirt that said, "PROPERTY OF WYOMING COWBOYS," in yellow collegiate blocked letters, and a pair of white sneakers that would be far too big for her but would have to work. Thankfully it looked like Al must have been a fairly small guy.
Gathering up the clothes like he was carrying his dirty laundry to the washer, he carried them around to the passenger side rear door, opened it and set them down. He leaned down into the back seat and looked across at Amanda, who was shivering under the coveralls. "Hand my coveralls out to me and put this stuff on. I'll stay out here, back around by the trunk while you're getting dressed. You'll want to use two pairs of socks on your feet and the others on your hands. Tie the shoes as tight as you can and cinch that belt up to the last hole. Use one of the T-shirts to wrap around your head and face somehow. When you're done I'll give you my coat. Then we've got to hit the road. We're better off moving. We'll freeze to death in this car."
"Thank you," Amanda said softly as she handed him his coveralls, sounding as though she was embarrassed to say it. "And I'm sorry. I just thought--"
"Nobody got killed," Lyle interrupted her before she had to explain herself. "That's what matters." He stood to close the door, but leaned back down to add, "And don't thank me. Thank Albert Singleton. Without even knowing it, he's saved your ass twice tonight. Don't take too long, okay?" He closed the door and trudged through the ever deepening snow back around to the trunk, which had blown shut. As he pulled his coveralls back on he wondered where the hell they were going to go. Damn that girl's dream and damn that gun. They could have been just fine until morning if that car still had all its glass. But it didn't, so that meant more walking. All he could figure to do was keep following the road to the east in hopes that they might happen upon a house, that someone might come looking for them, or better yet that somehow they might make it all the way to Rocky Ford alive.
Amanda seemed to take forever getting dressed but it couldn't have been easy or fun stripping completely down in the arctic wind that had found a home now in the car, and trying to figure out how to make an old man's clothes fit a sixteen-year-old girl, and a fairly petite one at that. Finally, when Lyle was about to knock on the window to make sure she was still coming, she stepped out of the car and although he couldn't make out all the details with just the light from the dome light in the car to illuminate her, he couldn't help but break out laughing.
"Shut up," she said, almost slipping up and letting her lips form a partial smile.
Trying to catch his breath, Lyle laughed out, "You look like that M.C. Hammer guy I saw on TV the other day dancing around in his baggy pants!" The belt held the pants around her waist, but then the pants flared out and she had to cuff them a couple of times to keep them from swallowing her feet. Lyle looked at the gleaming white walking shoes and said, "You'd make one hell of a rodeo clown, Amanda."
Amanda looked down at herself. Finally, she couldn't hold it in anymore and let go of her laughter like she was exhaling after holding her breath for too long. The two of them leaned against the car and Lyle couldn't even feel the cold for a few minutes as they howled and snorted, cracking up until Amanda sighed and said, "I can't tell you the last time I laughed." She looked off into the distance, or maybe it was into the past. "Years maybe," she said. "I haven't laughed in years."
"I'd imagine you haven't had much to laugh about," Lyle said, still wondering what her story might be while wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes before they could freeze. "Maybe things are looking up for you, kid." He wanted to pat her on the shoulder or maybe even give her a hug in that moment but he knew better. Instead he handed her his coat. "Put this on and let's cover some ground before we turn into popsicles."
After Amanda zipped the coat up and pulled socks over her hands she leaned back into the car, coming back out with the nearly full bottle of whiskey.
"We don't need that," Lyle said firmly. "Leave that shit here. We don't have any use for it."
Amanda looked taken aback by the tone of Lyle's voice. "Earlier you said it might be useful out here. Maybe you were right."
"Suit yourself, but I'm sure as hell not carrying it." Lyle was about to start walking when he said, "But that does remind me," and walked out to where he'd thrown the gun. After a few moments he found it with his boot in the snow and picking it up, turned to Amanda who had followed him the ten or so feet in front of the car and said, "It can't hurt to have this either. We never know what we'll run into out here. But I'm carrying it this time. Next time this goes off we might not be so lucky." He gestured toward the shattered windshield and window.
He helped her wrap the T-shirt around her head and face the best she could and the two of them took their first steps in the same direction Lyle had been heading when he'd found the car, thinking he'd found his salvation. The wind and snow pushed them from the back, with each step a few feet closer to Rocky Ford.
After a while, Lyle's skin hurt and his feet and hands were growing numb again but he didn't want to complain because Amanda never opened her mouth to say anything other than, "Can we take a quick rest," and "I've got to tie this shoe again or it's going to fall off." The going was tough, but after they'd covered about a mile and a half, Amanda stopped and pointed ahead and off to the right.
"Oh, thank God," she said. "Do you see that, Lyle? It looks like... a house!"
.
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