CHAPTER FORTY
BRONWYN
I’d disobeyed Short. He’d told me to lock the door and stay in our room, but when the shooting started, it woke Trip, and the loud noises immediately upset him. He was rocking and wailing with his hands over his ears. It didn’t help that I was absolutely terrified myself.
Short had told me a war was coming, but naïve as I am, I somehow didn’t envisage it coming right to our door or tonight. The thought that one of the shots I can hear might have already taken Short away from me is more than I can bear. The realisation hits me… Ilove him.And I never got to tell him. I’ve only known his touch for just one glorious night, when he did more than any therapist to start to repair what my father had done to me. It wouldn’t be fair to lose him now.
I try to comfort Trip. In the state he’s in, he doesn’t protest as I wrap my arms around him, trying to make him feel secure, just like Short had done that first night in his house. But the gunfire, if anything, is getting louder and closer, and along with my fear for Short, I’m scared for me and my son.
What if the Kings are outnumbered? What if their enemies get into the clubhouse? They’re the Mojave Devils, the ones who want Trip. And me, would I be collateral damage, or would they take me to sell into a life of slavery as well?
Realising I’m copying Trip’s backward and forward motion, I’m no less distraught than he is, flinching every time I hear a gunshot, which means I’m jumping every second now.
A particularly large bang has me whimpering, and I don’t want to be alone.
I remember seeing Paint’s sister and her daughter, and Word’s mom following me up the stairs, and I guessed they’d gone into one of the other rooms on this floor. There are only five, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find them. Right now I need company, else I’m going to go mad, and be no use to my boy.
Lifting him into my arms, and being as small as I am, I stagger at the weight of an eight-year-old boy. But he won’t walk on his own, and I’m not going to leave him. Awkwardly, I try to shift him into one arm and balance him between myself and the wall as I twist the key in the lock and open the door. Then, I venture out into the corridor. Three other doors are open as if their occupants left in a hurry, and I swear some of the shots I can hear come from the interior of the rooms. My heart almost stops, before I realise, they must be coming from the Kings. If the Devils had gotten into the clubhouse, they’d already be up here, and I would have already bumped into them.
I go to the door that’s still closed and knock loudly on it. Suspecting the occupants inside will be as scared as I am, I call out loudly to let them know I’m a friend.
“It’s Bronwyn. I’m with Short, and I’ve got my son with me. Can you let us in?”
A particularly loud bang has me almost dropping Trip, but somehow, I hold on to him.
Just when I’m about to call out again, even as I’m worried I’m wasting my time on an empty room, the door cracks open, and a worried woman’s eyes stare out. When she spies me and my burden, she opens it fully and lets me and Trip in.
When I place Trip down, his legs immediately fold, and he drops to the floor, taking up a foetal position. He keeps his hands to his ears as he begins rocking again, and making a distressed keening.
“He’s… autistic.” I don’t know for sure, but some of his issues resemble that condition, and it’s an explanation that will do for now. “Loud noises upset him.”
“He’s not the only one. I’m not liking this myself.” An older, but kindly, woman approaches us. “I’m Cathy, Words’s mom.” She holds out her hand for me to shake, politeness winning out even in this ridiculous situation. I place my palm to hers automatically.
“I’m Jenni,” Paint’s sister tells me, her face wearing an anxious expression. “Do you know what’s going on? Are the Kings winning?”
Shaking my head, I dampen her optimism. “I’ve only come from the room a couple of doors down.” Shuddering, I admit, “I’m scared, and don’t know what to do for him.” I indicate Trip. He’s getting more agitated by the moment, and I’m worried he’s soon going to start swinging his fists. It’s the only way he can control his world.
“I’m Alice Jane.” Looking around Jenni, I see her daughter sitting on the bed. She seems a couple of years older than Trip. In her hands, she’s holding a pair of over-the-ear headphones, which she’d obviously just removed. Jumping off the mattress, she hurries over and offers them to me. “Would these help him?”
“They were helping you.” Her mom looks undecided, but her daughter’s determined.
“I’m bigger than him.”
And I’m too selfish to look a gift horse in the mouth. I take what she’s offering and place them over Trip’s ears, watching him anxiously.
“They’re noise-canceling,” the girl tells me. “Uncle Paint always buys the best shit.”
“Alice Jane!” her mother exclaims.
The girl looks unrepentant and shrugs. “Well, he does.”
“That girl’s going to be the death of me,” Jenni states, rolling her eyes.
Words’s mom simply stares at her. “Considering what’s going on around us, I think death by swear words is the least of our worries.”
Trip, with the benefit of the apparently expensive earphones, has at least calmed down, though he’s still curled in a ball and rocking.
Alice Jane asks nervously, “Are we safe up here? Shouldn’t we go down to the clubroom? Maybe we can find out what’s going on…” Her voice breaks off as another long volley of gunfire comes from outside the window. I’m not surprised as she screams and jumps. Jenni moves fast, pulling her into what safety she can offer in her arms.
