____‡_______‡___
We'll do a little frog giggin', cow tippin'
How 'bout a little skinny dippin', bass fishin'
Take it easy on the 'shine
And stay away from other boys' women
That's one damn good way for a
man to get it whooped down here
These boys tough down here
Get your ass tore up down here
And be an all nighter with the hippies and the hicks
Jocks and bikers, they all came
____‡_______‡___
"Naw, woman. You ain't got a clue. The deal gives me what I need. Peace of mind ain't easy to come by...so giftin' me that much is appreciated." He told her solemnly, grateful that she had not pushed him for answers. He couldn't have blamed her if she had, after all...she didn't know him. She had a group of her own to protect, and for all she knew, he could be a well-concealed threat. She deserved to know some background on the man who would be a fixture on her property. But still, she hadn't pressed. She had accepted him at face value...had not demanded more than he was prepared to offer. It spoke volumes of her character, of that he was sure....but more so, it also spoke volumes of her perception. Polly had good head on her shoulders, and didn't seem the type to put her trust in just any random bar patrons. For whatever reason, she had deemed him worthy, and that was an honor in itself. On the other side of the coin, it was nothing short of a small wonder that Ruger himself had even been drawn to converse with her in the first place. Unless it was directly related to obtaining information, Ruger couldn't remember the last time he had made an effort to be social with the member of the opposite sex. But there had been something about the blue eyed vixen that had captured his attention, had clamored for him to act until there had been nothing left to do but comply. Whatever the end result would be, the tides of fate had swallowed him. All that was left to do now was fight to keep from being pulled beneath the surface. Because if he lost this time around, he would surely drown.
Her words offered him a bit of peace...as much as could be expected, anyway. It helped to know she wouldn't be making the demon creature a priority on her own, that whenever he wasn't in her company he wouldn't have to worry over if she was attempting to hunt a creature that so obviously originated in the pits of hell. Ruger didn't trust his own abilities to be a proper match for whatever Jarilo truly was...there would be no way he could be comfortable with Polly's, either. She was a strong and talented fighter, but he had a feeling that taking Jarilo out might be more than either of them were ready for. Such an attack would have to be a carefully researched before any attempt should rightly be made. "No!" The answering snarl that erupted from him was far more harsh than he'd intended, but the prospect of her doing anything besides running to safety was more than he could bear. "You run. You run, and you don't look back. You get quick as you can to a populated area, and you stay until backup gets there. You don't try anything else, ya hear? Not a thing!" Ruger's blue gaze flashed in the darkness, and despite the ragged edge to his voice, it was obvious that it stemmed from nothing but concern. "Sorry, sugar." He muttered after a bit, glowering sourly out the window to keep from having to look at her after his miniature outburst. "I seen him put someone down. One of the worst things I ever saw...and the idea of that happenin' to you...well, it just don't sit well with me." He admitted softly before falling oddly silent. He'd said too much and had let his past get the best of him for a moment...the only thing left to do was let it blow over. Or get kicked out of the truck...and considering it was his, it didn't look like that would be happening anyway.
The terrain was getting downright dangerous as their altitude climbed. Ruger heard the tires protest as she swerved to avoid the chunk of granite, and he shot her a grateful look for having had the presence of mind to catch the obstacle early. "I'm sure the Dodge appreciates your quick reflexes, woman." He had just bought the truck in the past 6 months, after selling the family farm. He hadn't visited the place since he'd left home, and after he received word of his father's death, Ruger had traveled home to see if perhaps he could salvage some kind of 'home base' of sorts from the old homestead. Stepping into the entryway of his childhood home had been something akin to having a nightmare in reverse. The dirty walls, the filthy grime etched into the floorboards...the reek of stale alcohol and vomit...all of those things were bad. Yet nothing compared to the rush of horrid imagery that had rushed him the second the door latched behind him. Ruger has almost been able to feel the slicing blows from his father's belt...had almost been able to taste the blood flowing from split lips. For a terrifying second, he had been sure he could hear his father's heavy footfalls in the hall, could hear him getting closer while bellowing Ruger's name.
He'd put the farm up for sale the very next day...at rock bottom price, if only to be rid of it.
Ruger's steady hands found the red box she asked of him, and he opened it with care to keep the contents from spilling out. He silently plucked one from within, slipping it in the breast pocket of his flannel for safekeeping. He trusted that if there was information about the black spheres he needed to know, Polly would have told him. He didn't want to waste time on inquiring about them, so he did as she asked and handed her one before closing the box and replacing it in it's pouch. He then rummaged for the pouch she claimed her tablet was in, listening as she spoke. "They'll have to sling a lot more than mud our way to stop us." Ruger rumbled as he pulled the tablet out and depressed the power button. The screen lit to life, and he handed it Polly's way. Seconds later, the truck was skidding to a stop, gravel spitting from beneath the massive tires. The second she was out of her seat, Ruger was in motion, pushing himself behind the steering wheel without bothering with the seat belt. The terrain would be rough and he'd likely get jostled around a bit, but it was more important to him that he wasn't restrained and was able to vacate the truck if pursuit was needed in a moment's notice.
Ruger fell deeper into the Zone as he guided the truck from the shoulder of the road. His attention was narrowed to a pinpoint, focused completely on the task at hand as he maneuvered the beast up the trail. The windshield wipers whirred rhythmically at top speed, but even that was hardly enough to keep the windshield clear. The rain thundered on the roof of the truck, coming down in sheets as the wind whipped through the trees. The earth below the massive tires was slick with mud, making it hard for the machine to gain traction. Clumps flew from behind the truck, slinging mud into the bed of the truck, to the roof, slathering it's side panels. The Dodge would likely look as is if it had sat idle in the throes of a hurricane when they got out of their current situation, but it was handling the terrain well. The trail was rutted up, having obviously been forgotten in terms of maintenance. Roots stuck jaggedly across the path, jarring the truck each time it passed over one. Ruger was experienced enough to know that while time was not on their side, they would surely fail if he pushed to move too quickly. If they got stuck, there would be no way they would make it to the kid in time...so he kept the half tone pickup at a steady roll, running over downed branches that had fallen as if they were no more than toothpicks. The Dodge was equipped with a winch, but when seconds were precious, the use of such a thing would afford them no help. Ruger had one chance, and he was determined to keep from fucking it up.
The back end of the truck suddenly began to kick to the left, the soupy mixture of mud and water causing the bed to careen dangerously to the edge of the road. With a well placed turn of the wheel, Ruger compensated for the drift and brought the ass end back to where it needed to be. He fluidly kicked the truck into 4 Low, and it growled lowly as it dug it's way further up the embankment. Ruger did his best to avoid the more sizable pieces of debris that had found it's way to their path, but it seemed the closer they got, the worse the litter became. His brow was deeply furrowed in concentration, his jaw set sternly as he worked. He drove with the same resilience that he had displayed thousands of miles away, riding through the sand dunes of a distant desert. There was just as much to risk in that moment, if not more, than he had risked during those desert raids. A child was depending on their safe and prompt arrival, and that made the situation all the more vital to Ruger's mind. "Seems to me we got the perfect battleground if what you say is true, peach. Room to move and places for cover. I don't reckon this is gonna be a long party. I fully intend to send those fuckers on their way to hell just as soon as I can land a bullet in 'em."
The air seemed to stiffen in a brief and electric moment as lightening seared the sky, ripping through the velvet darkness. The flash as it hit one of the massive pines ahead of them was blinding, and the explosion that followed was nothing short of deafening. The tree split down the middle, blackened at the core from the lightening strike as splinters of wood flew every which way. What remained of the pine buckled beneath it's own weight, and toppled precariously. "No...no...fucking no." Ruger breathed hoarsely, watching with widened eyes as it came crashing down across the trail in front of them. "God damn it!" He snarled, driving his fist into the corner of the steering wheel as if anyone would have any doubt of his current frustration. With a flick of his hand, the KC lights illuminated the damage ahead of them. The tree had landed not ten feet from their current location, and it was probably only by the luck of the wind that the truck had not been the landing site in the first place. It was only half its original diameter, but there was no way that he could risk driving over the massive chunk of wood. Even with a six inch lift, the Dodge wouldn't stand a chance of clearing it...and they simply couldn't risk losing their only transportation.
The only way that chunk of wood was moving is if it was done by hand. Ruger's gaze flicked to Polly. "You keep your eye on her. Make something up, delay her...whatever you have to do. I'll get us out of this." And with that, he was out of the truck and into the driving rain. He was soaked almost instantly, reaching into the bed of the truck to retrieve his chainsaw. He stalked up to the tree quickly, raising a hand above his eyes to keep the streaming water out of his field of vision as he surveyed the damage. Good lord, there would be a lot to cut through. If he thought for a second he could clear the trail with the winch, it would be an infinitely better option. But the trail simply didn't allow the room. So Ruger fluidly engaged the chainsaw with a pull of the cord, and the engine roared to life.
The job, when it was finished nearly 4 minutes later, was rudimentary at best. Ruger was breathing heavily from the exertion as he tossed the chainsaw to the side, muscles straining as he put his all into dragging away the heavy pieces of the tree just enough to clear a path. He sank in mud up to his ankles, and slipped more than twice, bringing himself to his knees....but somehow, he managed to create an opening just wide enough accommodate the truck. Maybe. It was likely the rims would scrape against the wood, but that was of little concern. Quickly, he grabbed the chainsaw and moved back to the truck, throwing it in back before getting back in himself. He was soaked to the skin, his hair plastered around his face, with mud crusting his boots and smudged on his face...but that look of utter derminated was still there. "How's she doin?" Ruger asked as he hit the gas.
The tires spun below them.
Ruger cursed colorfully, throwing the truck in reverse in an attempt to unlock the tires from their hold in the mud. Throwing it back in drive, he listened to the tires spin some more. No. Not now, not now. He thought as he once again made an effort to engage the truck. And apparently, some greater force shined upon him at that moment, because the dodge lurched free, lumbering through the nearly cleared path. "FUCK YES!" Ruger bellowed, gaining a sharp bark from Blue in response. Now that they were moving, Ruger intended to pick up on lost time. He had to, if the kid had a chance. He pushed the truck to the extreme, mud flying and spraying as he manhandled the beast around sharp corners and up steep inclines. "We gotta be gettin' close sugar." He told Polly lowly, not taking his eyes from the path as he spoke. The trail jutted steeply upwards, and as they climbed it felt as if they were positively vertical. Ruger kept a steady foot on the Dodge, silently urging it to keep it's traction, to make it to the top of the ridge. Just as the trail felt as if it would simply become too precarious for even the monster of a truck to handle, they broke to the top at the edge of the clearing. Ruger threw the truck in park and killed the KCs and then the engine. The storm raged on, wet and cold, and lightening illuminated the cab of the truck as he turned to look at Polly. His expression was severe as he regarded her. "Think this is the part where we part ways, sugar. You and that girl, you get yourselves to safety, yeah? Keep her away from the ridge if ya can, less you got her belted to ya. With the ground this soft, I'm bettin' the integrity of the cliff edge is compromised." He slipped the rope from his shoulder, handing it to her. "To keep ya from pullin' acrobatics out there in the trees. Ticker can't take it, remember." He popped open the door of the truck and got out into the driving rain. He let Blue out as well, and then grabbed his weapons. Almost as an afterthought, he called out to Polly once more. "And woman? You watch them caverns. Stick to elevation. Flash floodin' is common in the hills, and it can drown ya like a rat in a barrel." He shut the truck door and flicked the safety off of the M16, before moving stealthily past her. He paused once more, as if debating on something before glancing over his shoulder. "Stay safe, sweetheart." He commented in that sweetly southern, albeit raspy way of his, before disappearing into the brush...Blue hot on his heels.
____‡_______‡___
Our side of the barbed wire
Money grows in rows
If it don't you're goin' broke
So we
We hang out by the bonfire
Just the good ol' boys having a dang good time
We crank it up down here
We get loud down her
Throwin' down in the dirty, dirty south down here
Be an all nighter with the hippies and the hicks
Jocks and bikers, they all came to kick it in the
sticks
|
Feedback: 
