Work Text:
It wasn't the longest trip that Cal had ever made. It wasn't even the longest he'd made alone. But as the warm glow of civilization appeared on the horizon in front of him, he could only think that it was the hardest one he'd ever done.
He was running on empty. He'd set out thirty hours earlier from a northern Terminal, tucked up against the mountains, with a truckload of gasoline; as valuable and dangerous a cargo as any courier could ever carry. And he was taking it south, where its value was easily tripled, alone. Thrice he'd been pursued, forced off the highway and onto rough, narrow backroads to lose the bandits; four times he'd heard a bullet pierce the rig's metal skin and carve its red-hot path through the air next to his face. He'd fired back, but for all the benefits that came with being a courier, an excess of ammunition was not one of them, and the road pirates knew it.
The first batch had been amateurs. The second batch had more bullets than skill. The third gang, however, had kept after him for almost two hundred kilometres of desert. Only the rig's larger gas tanks had saved him, and only barely. He'd left them behind once when they'd had to stop to refuel; they'd almost caught him again when his own engine overheated. It had been four hours now since he'd seen them, so perhaps they were gone for good.
He could only hope, because he was stopping here, and there was no getting around it. His head seemed to be caught in the grip of some constricting snake, and the road in front of him was blurry as often as it was clear. He hadn't had a drop of water in more than eighteen hours, or a bite of food in God only knew how long.
The glow on the horizon grew and solidified itself into a little cluster of trailers and shacks, all lit up with torches and candlelight, huddled around a dusty intersection. He'd seen plenty of hamlets like it before; products of the times, existing to tap the pockets of passing couriers. The rumble of the engine was already bringing faces to doors and windows; by the time he'd pulled the rig off the road and brought it to a stop in a flat open lot, there were already two women standing outside his door, waving, trying to catch his attention.
He turned the key, shutting off the engine and with it, the air conditioning system. Dry heat fell over the inside of the cab like a musty blanket, and the force of it knocked all the thoughts out of his head. Muscle memory returned the key on its lanyard to its place around his neck, under his shirt.
What was he doing? When had he stopped- and why?
The sound of someone knocking on his door seemed horribly loud, and he winced and turned to look. It seemed to take much more effort now than it had a moment ago. There was only one woman there now; short enough that she had to stand on her tiptoes to knock and he had to lean right over to the edge of the window to see her at all.
He unlocked the door and fumbled at the handle. She got it open without his help, and hopped up into the cab, climbing over him in a motion so fluid his tired eyes almost couldn’t track it. With a satisfied huff she settled herself onto the bench next to him.
“You staying in town tonight?” she asked sweetly. She was slim, raven-haired and wore very little. Her eyes, which looked at him with growing concern, were green.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Do you want-”
“Yes.” He couldn't bear to talk business right now. There was no more road to distract him from his various aches and pains. “How much for a bottle of water?”
She tilted her head. “I can get you one. You won't let anyone else in, while I'm gone?”
“Promise.”
She shut the door behind her, and Cal's mind drifted. The world spun, slowly at first but quickly picking up enough speed to make him feel sick. He leaned forward and rested one elbow against the steering wheel, pressing his forehead into his hand and shutting his eyes. Minutes crawled past.
The door opened again, and he turned and blinked at the woman beside him for a second until he remembered who she was and why he’d been waiting for her. She had an opaque yellow plastic bottle in her hands- it looked like it might have once held lemon juice, and now it could have been holding anything at all, but he was too thirsty to be mistrustful. He reached for it.
“How long has it been since you had water?” she asked.
What the hell? “A day… or more,” he muttered. “Give it to me, please.”
She gave it, and he took two desperate gulps- it was water, all right, warm and dusty and the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted- before she placed one of her small hands over his and stopped him from taking a third. He was aware of a look of betrayal on his face that had to be almost comical. “What-”
“You gotta drink it slow if you wanna keep it down,” she said earnestly. “Just wait a sec.”
He caught his breath and did as he was told. She slid a little closer in the meantime, still holding the hand that held the water, until she was right against him. “You can lean on me, if you want.”
“You sure?” Oh, he wanted to, but he thought he might squash her if he tried it. She nodded and put her free arm around his shoulders, nudging him down gently, wriggling her way into a comfortable position as he did the same. After a bit of this they were sprawled out over most of the bench, her arms around him, his head resting on her chest.
Heaven. He could have fallen asleep right there, and in fact he almost did. His mind drifted again, and grey closed in over his vision, but a gentle tapping on his hand brought him back. “Have another drink.”
He drank deeply, and before he’d caught his breath again he whispered. “What’s your name?”
“Bunny. What’s yours?”
“Cal. Bunny… you’re an angel.”
“Thanks,” she said with a soft laugh. “Just remember that tomorrow.”
“I will… promise.”
He finished off the bottle with his next drink and felt the pain in his head let up just a little. With the ability to think somewhat clearly came a sudden fear- the knowledge that he was helpless, that this woman was a stranger, that the key to the rig was under his shirt and maybe even now she could see it if she looked down. The thought only lasted a second; he was too exhausted to keep hold of it, and it drifted away.
—
The next thing he was aware of was light, indirect sunlight sparkling off windows and the dusty ground and glaring through the windscreen.
There was a moment of disorientation; he’d spent enough nights in this cab to recognise it, but the view was wrong. It wasn’t the view from the sleeper but from the front bench seat. He groaned and turned over, feeling the leather seat crackle under him, and his hand went to his chest (the key was still there, safely under his shirt) and then to his head, which was fuzzy and still hurt, though nothing like the way it’d been hurting yesterday.
“Good morning, Cal,” said a familiar sweet voice from the other side of the bench.
Cal sat up. There she was, just getting up from where she must have been sitting on the floor. She held out the yellow bottle to him with a smile, and he took it, raising his eyebrows in amazement. “Good morning, Bunny.”
“It’s 8am or so, in case you were wondering,” she said as he scooted over on the bench to make room for her. “I woke up about an hour ago and went to get you some breakfast. I was only gone for about fifteen minutes. I don't think anyone came near the truck in that time, but I can't be sure.”
“Don't worry about it- breakfast?”
Breakfast turned out to be toasted unleavened bread- a homemade tortilla of sorts- folded over a fried egg. He devoured it, and finished the entire bottle of water, and together they took some of the edge off that fuzzy hungover feeling.
“Thank you,” he said afterwards. “I guess this is the part where I tell you to name your price.”
She smiled almost apologetically.
The price she named sounded very reasonable to Cal, and he wanted to give her something more, but couldn't think of what as he searched through the cab and sleeper. Finally he opened one of the glove boxes, took out a small box of hand-rolled cigarettes, and added it to the small pile of coins on the bench.
She looked up at him. “Are you sure?”
They were half again as valuable as all the rest. He nodded. He wanted to say you as good as saved my life , or you could have done something terrible and you didn't , or I trusted you and you didn't betray me . Instead he just said “I want you to have them.”
“Thanks, Cal,” she said, gathering up her payment, then leaning forward and giving him a farewell kiss on the cheek.
“It’s nothing.”
He sat there for a moment after she was gone, looking out at the road, before pulling the key out from his shirt and returning it to the ignition. With a sigh he pressed his knuckles against his forehead again, trying to push away the last of the lingering pain. There were many, many miles still ahead.