Justine
Iwas doing what I had to do to stay alive.
What a fucked-up place Albuquerque had become that I now had to go to Santa Maria just to avoid having a guy in a suit shoot me, but this was what the town had become. If not for my commitment to the hospital, I might have considered just moving entirely.
The drive through Santa Maria was one that I was very familiar with; it was impossible not to be with what had happened nearly a year and a half ago and the bike ride just recently. Get on the highway and just drive east. And east. And east some more, until you got to the small town with two streets, some very worn-down buildings—save for the repair shop—and a whole bunch of strangers looking scared to be outside.
It was quite the contrast to Albuquerque, which, while not anyone’s idea of New York City or San Francisco, had plenty of tall buildings, crowded street parking, and different venues and stores to choose from. Never before had the urban-rural divide seemed so start as this drive.
And to get to where I was going, I had to go even further east, into areas of Santa Maria that seemed more akin to outposts than they did actual towns. The most surprising part, when I finally did arrive at the destination, was that it was a cul-de-sac neighborhood and not just a one-off with a couple houses.
No, that was wrong.
The most surprising part was that two men in Bandit clothing immediately came to my car, guns hanging from their hands. They didn’t point them at me, but they made no effort to hide them, either. They looked like guards at a military complex, waiting for the OK to blast my face off.
“What are you doing here, pretty lady?”
Trying to stay alive.
“I was set to see Eduardo and…”
I almost blurted out “King,” but this felt like the spot where I needed to say less, not more.
“And I was told he’d be expecting me.”
The two guards looked at each other with confusion. One of them dialed someone on their phone, turned away, and spoke, but I couldn’t hear them. The other one never raised his gun at me, but still. He’d need less than a second to raise it and fire it at me, and my death would not be a pretty one.
It was the closest I’d ever come to being held up, even closer than the creepy man from before, and it wasn’t exactly something I was looking forward to doing more. Unfortunately, it seemed like this was going to get worse, not better.Also seems like you’re going to need the Black Reaper side of Zack.
“Park over there and walk with me,” the Bandit who had spoken on the phone said.
I did as commanded, got out, and walked with the Bandit. Neither of them pointed their gun at me still, so I suppose at least this wasn’t an aggressive kidnapping situation.Still could be a kidnapping regardless, though.
They led me into the building furthest down the street and up the stairs. They took me to a room to the back of the house, knocked, and opened the door a couple seconds later. Sitting in a chair was a Hispanic man, probably in his mid-thirties, with a menacing scowl that turned into a creepy smile. He was by no means fat and over the hill, but compared to the rest of the Bandits, he was clearly the “old one.”
I guess this is Eduardo.
“Who sent you here?” he said, his voice relaxed, too relaxed.
“I was told by some man in a suit and tie to come to you and say King sent you.”
The smile remained on Eduardo’s face, but there was also just the briefest of moments where he looked concerned. It was so fast it was almost instinctive, like a wince from getting punched in the shoulder too hard.
“Very good,” he said. “Bandits. Leave us.”
The Bandits stepped back without a moment’s delay. They shut the door behind them, leaving just me and Eduardo. I had no idea if he was about to rape me, talk to me, or just tell me I was to remain put until this “King” figure showed up, but if he decided to use physical force on me, it was a decided mismatch. He was probably a little over six foot, maybe a bit over two hundred pounds; I was five-foot-six and, after eating too much pizza, a hair over one-thirty.
Zack was bigger, thankfully, but Zack also wasn’t here to save me.
“Dr. Elks,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Did my men harm you?”
“No,” I said. “What the hell do you want?”
“One question at a time,” he said. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. It’s rare that any interaction we have these days with people associated with the Reapers is harmless.”
He let the words linger for a few seconds as if doing so would send a message. Problem was, the message was already pretty well sent.
“Now, to answer your question, Dr. Elks, things are about to get bloodier in this town—in this city, in fact—than they ever have. I cannot afford to have my men or myself be put in harm’s way at a hospital. I need to make sure that they are receiving top-level treatment here at the base. We need a doctor on the ground.”
