Slip-Stream
by Candace Smith
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Candace Smith
Published by Strict Publishing International
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Prelude
Quinn snatched the poster off the stable door. “Fuck.”
Conner shook his head at his partner’s back, and he followed Quinn towards the sounds and lights of the bar across the street. “You might not be so popular if you didn’t leave bodies everywhere we rode.”
Quinn did not answer. With things falling to shit in the Alliance, his pistols and shotgun were practically attached to his hands. This far out, he thought he might be safe enough to at least have a fuckin’ shot of whiskey in peace. Reyes had been on his ass and trailing him with Brenner by his side for over a week. The gunslingers had not run into them, but word was out and their few friends in the outlands had warned them.
Reyes had been after Quinn for more than a decade. His predictable pattern made him easy to avoid, but he was still a pain in the ass. Quinn and Conner could never seem to catch the rebel when he was not surrounded by a posse. Now that Quinn’s bounty was so damn high, the gunslinger knew it would just make the son of a bitch more determined.
Quinn’s palms hit the slats of the swinging bar doors, and every head in the room swiveled in his direction. Unease melted the cheerful faces, and voices hushed their tone to murmured speculation. The gunslinger’s coat rustled around his legs, presenting a foreboding black cloud of death… broken only by the silver shine of the pistols in the gunbelt slung low on his hips.
Quinn’s confident long stride never slowed, and as he walked across the dusty plank floor men scurried out of his path. Even the few cowboys who did not recognize the gunslinger could feel the menace and danger surrounding him. Quinn’s spurs jingled a hollow metallic sound, eerily reminiscent of ejected bullet casings.
Behind Quinn, Conner followed into the saloon with his fingers sliding towards his pistols. His easygoing demeanor was misleading, compared to Quinn’s ominous appearance. Alone, Conner could have probably managed to saunter in unnoticed. With Quinn, that was not going to happen.
The natural half-smile beneath Conner’s blond mustache was an illusion that had cost men their lives. His slate blue eyes were in constant motion, sweeping the surroundings for potential danger and possible avenues of escape. He was a strategist, and although his outward appearance seemed to portray a laid back look, he leaned towards imaginary thoughts of pessimistic outcomes that sometimes wore Quinn down.
Quinn rode with his instincts, reacting immediately to situations. If someone pissed him off, he shot him. Conner planned for possible danger, and if his warnings got to Quinn… he shot then, too. It was a temporary fix against the needling in his guts, because Quinn had discovered long ago that Conner was a vast repository of dangerous scenarios. Still, it worked into an amicable partnership that had kept them relatively safe for two decades.
By the time Quinn crossed the room, Conner had settled on his impression of the shabby bar. The furnishings were sparse and made from the same rough grayed planking as the floor. The staircase beside the bar did not have a railing, though jagged rips on the steps suggested there had been one in the past. Too many fights and they gave up replacing it. Conner’s senses heightened a notch.
Twelve men were seated at tables and three more stood at the bar. Half wore guns, including a cowboy standing at the end of the bar who stared at his shot. He glanced at the gunslingers when they entered the saloon, caught Conner’s eye, and quickly focused on his drink. The other men with weapons had the furtive, nervous expressions that Conner had seen on wishful cowards before. No. The one to watch is the loner on the end, pretending to ignore Quinn while he figures out a way to collect the bounty. Fuck it.
Quinn approached an occupied table against the far wall, and the three seated men scrambled to their feet. Quickly grabbing their drinks, cards, and coins, they hustled towards the other side of the room. Quinn sat at the table in the corner, his back against the wall, watching the door, and his shotgun resting across his thighs.
An hour later, he kept a finger on the trigger while he slammed another shot of whiskey. Tipped back in his chair, his eyes scanned the bar from under the wide brim of his hat. To a stranger, the quiet man looked at ease. Conner knew better. Quinn’s coat was open, leaving him access to his pistols.
After so many years, Quinn was used to the sideways glances. Hell, here, some of the men probably knew him. He pulled the wanted poster out of a deep inside pocket of his long black riding coat. Quinn ripped this one off the door where their horses were stabled, but he had seen them pinned up in most of the outlander towns.
The drawing showed a man with a brooding face, a shadowed stubble beard, and wavy black hair rolling over the collar of his coat. Dark eyes looked out at him, piercing and mean, and the top lip was lifted on one side in a snarl. The man in the picture stood straight, with his long black riding duster blowing in the wind. There were flaming bursts from the barrels of the pistols he was shooting. Quinn tossed the sketch onto the table. “Do I really look like that?”
Conner glanced down at it. “You’re taller.” His blue eyes resumed dragging across the room, taking in every movement. Outlander towns made Conner nervous. You never knew where you stood. Even though they shared a common goal, outlanders were fickle with the Alliance, and a big enough bounty could entice any low-life scum. “You think he’s still following?”
“That bastard can’t track worth shit.” Quinn tucked the poster back into his pocket. “Besides, if he tries to come into town, someone will send out a six-barrel welcome for him.”
Conner swallowed beer, and peeled at the label with his thumbnail. “I heard Reyes has been hiring outlanders for scouts. He might not be as unpopular here as you think.”
“Look at them, Conner. Who the hell do you think they’re more worried about, Reyes or me?” Quinn was six foot three of lean muscle, and his reputation for speed with his guns and fists made most men turn away.
“That’s not what I’m saying, Quinn. I’d just feel better if we made it to an Alliance. These damn outlanders would sell their own mothers out.”
A pretty whore with lavender eyes and green hair smiled at Quinn from the corner of the bar. Her slim fingers leisurely caressed the pale skin of her bosom while she reached for the low-cut bodice of her dress. She tugged the ruffled edge lower, showing the tops of her swelling breasts. Quinn licked his lips, narrowing his eyes and hoping for a glimpse of nipple. “Fuck me. That’s a Trisharp nine hundred series. What the hell is she doing in an outlander’s town?”
Conner turned to look at the android. Trisharps were the most life-like, and the nine hundred series was the first to be programmed with an ability to read emotions to seduce. He had heard of them, but they were all supposed to be in the cities… an area he and Quinn avoided. “Do you think she’s stolen?”
Quinn grabbed Conner’s shot and slammed it. He knew that his partner was thinking of traps and would not drink the whiskey anyway. He pushed back his chair, gripped his shotgun, and stood. “Damned if I know, but she’s about to be stolen now.”
“Quinn, I don’t think this is the time to feed your cock.”
Quinn rubbed his thick rod through his pants, and slung the barrel of the shotgun down towards the floor. “Anytime’s the right time, Conner. Now, especially. If Reyes gets me and I gave up a chance at a nine hundred, I’ll be rotting in a compound cage regretting it.”
Conner traded seats for Quinn’s, and he watched the bar while his friend hit on the whore. He muttered, “Ah shit, Quinn. We don’t have time for this.”
Conner had spent more of his life with Quinn than without. They were cousins, and formerly of the Quiseeria Royal Clan before the big uprising left them orphaned two decades ago. Conner had been ten and Quinn was twelve. It was the first time Quinn had saved Conner’s life.
Quinn strode up to the woman, his cowboy boots thumping on the wood floor and his spurs whirling and jangling a cold warning. An outlander edging towards the whore backed off. Quinn stared into her seductive lavender gaze. “How much?”
She batted her eyes and licked her upper lip. “Right to the point. I like that in a man.” The voice was low… sultry and smooth.
Quinn’s eyes stroked down her face. She had perfect alabaster skin colored faintly over her cheeks, and a narrow nose. Her pink bottom lip plumped slightly with small bursts of warm gel when she sensed he had fixed on her mouth. Quinn’s balls tightened. He could almost feel her tongue lashing his cock. “And I’d like the fuckin’ price on that pussy.”
Damn she was hot, and it was obvious the fucking Makers had increased the synthetic pheromones. The bitch was oozing sex. Quinn had never been with a nine hundred. Shit, this is the first one of the new series he had even seen. He heard they even replaced the oily lubricant with something that slid like real pussy juice. He felt the slut’s fingers stroke down his cock. In the back of his mind he knew she was registering his need and would compute a high price.
“How about two gefrons for an hour?” she purred.
Quinn stared at her, trying to bluff, and realizing she was already calculating his quickening breath. “What the fuck is that pussy made of, crystal nelam?”
She leaned closer. Her silky green hair slipped across his whiskered cheek, dragging the strands and leaving pheromone residue on his skin. The whore had him, and she knew it. She whispered in his ear, “I’ll rock your world so hard, cowboy, you won’t be able to remember the ‘real’ stuff.” Her hand clutched his balls and she gave a little squeeze.
Fuck me. The closest Quinn had ever come to the ‘real’ stuff was rubbing Becky Simpson’s tits through her sweater when they were twelve. The memory made him wince. He wondered if Becky was living the dream in one of the cities. The women and girls who had not died in the uprising had been captured by the rebels. Very few made it out of the cities… none of his family. The women that had were hidden in Alliance territory… and far out of reach for a rogue with a price on his head.
The woman’s tongue reached out and swirled around the shell of his ear, making his balls swell and tighten.
“Fuck, two gefrons.” He dug into the pocket of his long coat. The black riding duster had been his father’s. It was the only thing besides his Royal Clan ring that Quinn had managed to save, and he had worn it since it dragged on the ground. Now, it reached just past his knees, and the caped shoulders filled out across his broad muscles.
The woman held out her hand. She lifted the two coins and licked both sides of them with her tongue. Satisfied that they were real, she popped them into her mouth and swallowed them.
At least some things were consistent with the whores. You had to rip their guts open to rob them. Quinn had only done it twice. Security on later models made it too dangerous, and he could not imagine the enhancements on a nine hundred. Not with the prices they charged.
Conner watched Quinn make his way to the stairs with the droid. “Fuckin’ lucky bastard.” His gaze fixed on the bartender who seemed to be a little too interested in a traveler easing his cock with a whore. The bartender wiped his hands nervously on his waist towel, and he leaned over the bar and spoke low to the man standing by himself.
Conner continued to watch carefully. This was looking like a setup, but he did not want to piss off Quinn if he was mistaken. When the man turned to walk out, his casual glance at Conner was a beat too long. Fuck, we’re in trouble. He waited until the man was out the door and then he walked quickly towards the stairs. Passing the bar, Conner reached out and grabbed the bartender’s collar. “What fucking room are they in?”
The bartender’s eyes darted to the sides, and Conner could see he was getting ready to lie to him. “You bullshit me and I’ll tell him. You’ll be the first one pushing up danias, I promise.” It worked. Whoever bribed him did not scare him as bad as Quinn. Conner ran up the stairs.
Quinn was watching the whore undress. She was unlayering petticoats and undergarments with slow, undulating movements. His cock was aching. “Fuck, hurry up. I only got an hour, and you’ll still be rolling down your damn stockings when my time’s up.”
She was a smart one, all right. Right off, she had pulled everything down below her breasts. It worked at keeping him distracted while she undressed. After each button or ribbon bow, her fingers pinched a nipple, reddening the tight tip and releasing more scent.
She was naked, kneeling in front of him and reaching for his zipper when Conner burst into the room. “It’s a setup. Fuckin’ bartender sent someone out right after you hit the stairs.”
The woman hissed, and Quinn looked down. Her eyes turned from lavender to red, and a metal razored lamination slid over her teeth. Quinn kicked her away with the heel of his boot while her fingernails were coating with metal talons. “Fuck,” he yelled. “Fuck you.”
The whore smiled, her blood red eyes almost glowing. “Oh, cowboy. I think we’re beyond all that,” she lisped through the sharpened teeth.
Conner stumbled back a step and drew his pistols. “What the fuck is she? I never knew a pleasure droid could do that shit.”
The woman laughed. “I guess you’d have to say I’m a nine hundred plus. Reyes had me made especially for you, Quinn.” She stood and ran her claws down her lithe body. “I guess he knows what you like.”
“You fuckin’ bitch.”
“Quinn, we gotta’ go.” Conner was crouched low, listening at the door for footsteps on the stairs. He held a pistol aimed at the droid, and another at the hallway. Most of his focus was on the droid.
“You damn whore.” Quinn’s face was a mask of dark fury. “You were going to rip me apart while I was fuckin’ you.”
“Oh, cowboy. I wouldn’t have let it go that far. If your friend hadn’t so rudely interrupted us, I would have swallowed your cock by now… and not in the pleasant way.”
“Quinn, we really don’t have time for this.” Conner was glancing nervously at the whore, but his attention was shifting towards the stairs down the hall.
“I paid you two gefrons, you bitch.”
She purred in a seductive lisp that did not match her hellish face. “Well, why don’t you just come on over here and get them, cowboy?” The woman raised her claws and opened her jaws to rip him apart when he attacked.
“Quinn?”
“Fuck this. I’m getting my money.” Quinn lifted his shotgun and her red eyes blazed. The shot rang out, burning and melting her wiring around the hole. A second shot roared from the shotgun, splitting her head and killing her receptors. She sank to the floor in a clumsy pile. Quinn rolled her over with the toe of his boot and scooped up his coins and the few extra in the box. He walked quickly past Conner, muttering, “I don’t really see what the big deal is about the nine hundreds.”
Conner looked back at the scrapped android. The remaining red eye seemed fixed on him. “Yeah, I think seven hundreds are about all I can handle.”
“I guess it’s a pretty safe bet that if Reyes isn’t here already he’ll sure as hell be in town by morning. How the fuck did he figure out where to plant the whore?” They edged along the wall towards the back stairway.
Conner shrugged. “Maybe he has them in more than this town.”
“They’re too damn expensive.”
“Quinn, that poster you have says there’s five hundred lisha on your head.” Conner gripped his sleeve until Quinn turned. “Are you hearing me? That would buy ten of those whores. If New Kingdom is backing Reyes, which is a pretty sure thing, they’d be more than willing to hand the droids over.”
“That’s a dumb move, even for Reyes. If the first one didn’t get me, why the hell would he think I’d go for another one?” Quinn was at the top of the stairs leading down the side of the building. He pushed Conner back, slamming him against the wall. “Damn… stershon threes.” Quinn quickly peeked around the door. “Four of them, Conner.” Who the hell is backing Reyes?
The enhanced horses had night vision as well as more speed. Conner had only seen some stolen specs on them. “You sure?”
Quinn glared at him. “Yes, I’m fuckin’ sure. Their green eyes are lighting up half the fuckin’ town.” The glow turned off in front of the bar. Quinn thought of the horses they had stabled. They were twos, and had not been turned in for maintenance in more than a year. Even in top shape they could never outrun stershon threes. “Well, this sucks.” He crept onto the landing and stared down at the street.
Conner knelt beside him, watching the men dismount. “It’s Reyes, all right. I think that’s Brenner with him. I don’t recognize the other two guys, but they look like gussied up outlanders.”
“What do you know about threes? I mean, besides the night vision and speed,” Quinn asked.
“Ah, shit.” Conner stared at the horses with his mind reeling through the specs. “Endurance, strength, reflexes… they bite and kick targets they’re programmed to track.”
“What about the lock?”
“Can’t get by it, if it’s set. It’s a bio-coded thumbprint, and it registers heat. They started that shit when you cut off that rebel asshole’s thumb to get into the vault in Amevra. Cold dead meat won’t unlock them any more.”
Quinn tapped his finger on his shotgun barrel. “The two on the end didn’t set the locks.”
“You think it’s a setup?”
“If it was Brenner or Reyes’ horses, maybe. These were the stershons the other two were riding. Can they be shut down by remote?” Quinn sure as hell did not want to be in the middle of a getaway and have the damn horse freeze on him.
“I have no idea.” Conner heard heavy footsteps down the hall. “I don’t think we have much choice. The boys are heading this way and we’ll never outrun them on our nags.”
They sidled down the stairs, watching the swinging barroom doors to make sure the men were still together and nobody lagged behind as a lookout.
They heard Reyes yell, “Son of a bitch.”
Quinn smiled. “Guess he found the nine hundred.”
“What’s left of it, anyway,” Conner replied.
They crouched low with pistols drawn, and approached the horses. Conner grabbed Quinn’s arm and pulled him back. “Shit, they’ve been scented.”
“What? You mean like the dogs?”
“Look at their nostrils flaring. We’re not getting on them, and if we don’t get the hell out of here, they’ll start screaming as soon as their receptors hit the match,” Conner warned.
With no choice left to them, the men ran towards the stables. They swung into the saddles and galloped out of town. Quinn turned south, knowing it was their only chance.
Conner rolled his eyes. “Oh shit. I know you’re right, but I hate the fuckin’ wasteland.”
Wasteland was right. Endless miles of desert sucked up every drop of moisture… and all scent.
Chapter I
Paul whistled to Jimmy, kicking in the end of the row of sod. “There she goes.” He nodded towards Kera. As soon as the end of the day approached, their work slowed down while they kept glancing at her so they would not miss it.
Kera dropped the last heavy bag of mulch at Stan’s side. She looked towards the sinking sun and began to stand and stretch the kinks out. It was an unconscious daily habit of hers, letting her body know she was finished. Behind her dark sunglasses her eyes were closed, and she pushed her palms towards the sky. She arched her back and swayed from side to side, swinging her long hair behind her.
“Damn. If anyone ever told me a girl could look sexy in a wilted straw cowboy hat and work boots, I’d tell them they were fucking crazy,” Jimmy said.
The woman’s clothes were not the focus of the young men’s attention. Across the half finished lawn, they watched Kera’s stretching profile. Her breasts, firm and pushing against her sweaty tight tee shirt, the short cutoffs following the curve of her ass… “Damn, Jimmy. What I wouldn’t give for an hour in the sack with her.”
“Shit, Paul. Kera would tear your ass up,” Jimmy answered. After work, he had a third date with her roommate. Kera was for fantasies. Emily, his ‘Babydoll’, was real.
Kera was five-ten, and her long tanned legs were strong from the work. Even her biceps were tight from carrying bags of dirt, mulch, and fertilizer. Every part of her was solid… and yet, soft somehow. Her brown braid swung just past her waist, and her green eyes were slightly slanted… exotic looking. Women called them cat eyes.
“Come on, guys. Let’s wrap it up for the week. I gotta’ cold beer waiting for me,” Kera called out. She knelt again and helped spread the last of the bag of mulch. It was Friday, and the cold beer was waiting in an ice chest in the back of Jessie Hansen’s pickup truck.
When Kera got home to the apartment, Emily had already left for her date. She tossed her hat on the divider to the kitchen and headed for the shower.
Kera skipped the panties and bra, slid on a pair of low-slung faded jeans, a thin flannel shirt with ripped off sleeves that she tied at the midriff, and her comfortable, beat-up cowboy boots. Two things came naturally to Kera: her redneck roots and the ability to look stunning, despite them.
Kera’s one real luxury was her red sports car. Emily talked her into splurging and buying it when the floor of Kera’s old pickup rusted through. Kera liked the speed of the car, but damn, she missed her old truck. It took fifteen minutes sliding around the curves of the dirt road to drive to the Winslow’s ranch.
Kera parked by the wooden fence that bordered the property, next to the entrance. She stared down the road, almost seeing where the carefully tended posts and planks turned into sagging hog-wire for a hundred feet until the wood border resumed. Kera winced. The break in Winslow’s property was owned by her parents.
When the county decided to put the utilities on the main road, Kera’s daddy bought the easement that split the rancher’s three hundred acre parcels. For years, Winslow had joined his property and had been running cattle on it. Somehow, he never got word of the sale. It was a one hundred foot wide strip and ran two thousand feet back. Two thirds of it was swamp, and the price was cheap.
When her daddy cut the fence, Winslow stormed the county land office. His lawyer told him it was a legally posted sale and Kera’s father refused to sell. The rancher was stuck with a split pasture, and the Taylor’s... with their added-on doublewide trailer and four wheeler tracks running through the swamp… for neighbors. It had turned into a thirty-year feud that would rival anything Kera’s distant family had going on in the hills of Kentucky.
The dust from Jessie’s pickup truck billowed out on the long dirt driveway leading to the ranch. Kera always liked cowboys, and she had caught Jessie’s eye at the rodeo a few weeks ago. He was following the bull riding circuit through the south, and filling in the breaks between contests by working on ranches. It was perfect for Kera… he was leaving on Monday.
“Hey, Kera.”
The cowboy’s lop-sided grin bothered her. Actually, there was a lot about Jessie that was less than perfect. Instead of the confident, quiet cowboy she was searching for, Jessie was pretty much a drunk and slowly sinking off the rodeo circuit.
“Hi, Jessie.” Kera climbed back into her car to follow him. They drove to the old mining pit and parked in the trees. Sitting on the tailgate of Jessie’s truck, they drank beer and looked down on the crowd. The phosphate mine had shut down before she was born and the kids used it as a Friday night track.
“Winslow caught Sammy poaching hogs again. This time, he had him busted.”
Kera swallowed some beer and continued to watch the track. “And?”
“Sixty days in jail… and then the bastard called the McCaffrey ranch and got John and Michael fired.” Jessie belched and squashed his beer can, tossing it into the cooler and grabbing a replacement.
Kera was on her second, and Jessie was working on his sixth. She could already see his shoulders beginning to sag. Shit. She was hoping this final sendoff fuck might be more interesting. Hearing Winslow had screwed with her brothers again was nothing new. She turned and knelt over his thighs, and was relieved to feel his hands go around her waist… until he moved her to the side to watch the race. Fuck. “You still leaving?”
“Yep. Winslow’s givin’ me more money to work this weekend fixin’ the pig fence.”
“Sammy will just cut it again when he gets out,” Kera shrugged. Winslow had built the fence on the property line, and Sammy had been cutting it since the first time their mom had complained about the smell. “So, we still on for tomorrow night?”
“Nah, I gotta’ spend time after work fixing the brakes on my trailer and checking my gear.” He drained another beer, crushed the can, and popped the top on another one.
Kera tossed his cowboy hat into the bed of the truck, wrapped her fingers in his hair, and planted a kiss on his lips. He tasted like sour beer. When she pulled back, searching his eyes, he lifted the can and downed more.
The asshole moved her aside again, to continue watching the race. Enough. The sorry bastard was not worth her time. Kera slid off the tailgate and walked to her car, listening to his questioning slurs about where the hell she was going. Kera did not bother to answer. At least I’ll get some sleep for the canoe trip tomorrow.
When she got home, Emily was already asleep. Kera plopped onto the couch and tossed her cowboy hat on top of the table. She turned on the television and fell asleep to an old black and white western.
Emily heard Kera come in. She rolled over in bed and sighed, wiping her tears. Emily’s lips trembled while she cried into her pillow some more, pulling the lace from the edge of her sleeping panties out of the crack of her bottom. This had been her third date with Jimmy, and things had been going so well. Emily always waited until date number three to make sure the guys were not really using her to get near Kera.
She had dressed in a short-sleeved, light blue sweater that matched her eyes. There was the tiniest of lacy white edging around the hems and a scooped neck that showed off the slope to her breasts. They were a little large on her short frame, but symmetrical with her tiny waist and round bottom.
Her jeans were new, with heart shaped blue studs on the back pocket that matched her sweater. Even her sandals had matching embedded jewels. She could not do much about her blonde curls. Emily pulled the sides back with combs that had blue ribbon bows, so her hair would not spiral around her full face. She had checked herself several times in the mirror, adding coral frosted lipstick to her full, pouting lips.
Satisfied that she looked like a seductress ready for action, she left on her date. She got what she was after… sort of. Jimmy took her back to his apartment to watch a movie. It was some comedy they lost interest in when he put Emily’s hand on his crotch. There was a nice fullness that made her nipples poke against her silky lace bra.
Her fingers slowly worked his zipper, while his hands fumbled around her breasts. Jimmy pulled off her sweater and unhooked her bra. She looked into the excited passion in his eyes and felt an ooze of wetness. His hands were massaging her boobs and tweaking her nipples until the stinging peaks ached for his lips. She felt his cock throbbing in her hand.
Emily kept waiting for him to reach for the zipper of her jeans. Instead, his hand threaded through her curls and he pushed her head towards his lap. She would have preferred to get right to the action that would sooth her tightening channel. Her little pussy had not been stroked by a cock for months. Emily sighed and wrapped her lips around the head of his shaft.
Within minutes, he was gripping her curls and thrusting his hips. It was all she could do to keep up with him, and her hands were pushing against his thighs to keep him from pushing down her throat. He was gasping and groaning while she tried to slowly caress him with her tongue… and that was when it all went bad.
‘That’s right, Babydoll, treat your daddy good. Come on, Babydoll, give your daddy what he needs.’
Emily could still hear him and she sobbed into her pillow. She had tried so hard to look sophisticated like Kera, and he still thought she looked like a little girl. Emily wanted, just once, for some guy to say her name in passion. Every guy she had dated eventually forgot she was Emily… a woman. A sophisticated, twenty two year old woman, darn it.
Tears finally wore her down, and she fell asleep to the sound of gunfire from the television. Emily dreamed that she was holding the pistols.
* * * * *
Kera's middle finger slid her sunglasses down her nose, and she focused a killer glare over the rim. She stood at the counter in front of a short clerk. He was standing eyelevel with her chest, and the black bikini top barely concealing her breasts consumed more of his attention than ringing up her beer and sandwich. The man licked his lips, glanced up at her green eyes, and quickly refocused on her order. The same finger slowly slid her glasses back into position.
Fuckin’ pervert. The guy’s wife was working the deli-counter, oblivious to her husband’s wandering eyes. Kera glanced over to the middle-aged woman. She was dressed in stretch pants and a smock top with a nauseating display of happy faces spattered all over it. Emily was smiling and chatting with the woman while she prepared her sandwich.
Kera paid, and stepped to the side when Emily walked up to the counter with her water and a veggie wrap. The lettuce hanging out was already wilted, and Kera could just imagine what it would look like in a few hours. “Shit, Em. You won’t be fighting me over that one.” She picked up her double meat sub and the six pack, and headed to the car. “Don’t forget to pay for a bag of ice,” she called to her roommate as she swung open the door to the cooler.
An hour later, they launched the canoe into the slow moving river. Saturday was their official day of rest, and the only day they both had off from work. If the weather was good, they spent it on the river and away from the distraction of all the chores they should be doing. Kevin owned the outpost and the girl’s had worked out a discount rate for their weekly excursions. All they had to do was get the canoe back by five, before the larger groups returned.
They drifted in the current, and Emily shucked her tee shirt. “Are you going home for the holiday?” Emily took a swig of water before dipping her oar into the water.
“Shit, I don’t know,” Kera sighed. “John and Michael are out of work. Sammy’s in jail for poaching on the Winslow’s ranch again, and Lucy’s had another kid. With all that crap going on, mom will still find time to lecture me about when I’m going to settle down. You’d think half a dozen rug rats would be enough to keep her happy.” Kera could almost feel the headache from an all day family affair. She had seven brothers and two sisters. At any given time, one of the boys was in jail, and one of her sisters or in-laws was pregnant or presenting a new ‘baby Taylor’ to the group.
To Emily, it sounded fantastic. She was an only child who spent most of her childhood in boarding schools while her mother husband-hopped… and not always with her own. “I thought you were going to try to get your title back.” Emily’s paddle pushed off a half-submerged cypress stump.
“If they hadn’t waited until the afternoon, I wouldn’t have lost in the first place. Hell, I was loaded by the time Harry took me on.” Kera had been wrestling her brothers since she was three. She almost asked Emily if she had plans, but managed to catch herself. Unless friends were throwing a barbecue, she would be spending another holiday curled up with a book. “I think I’m skipping this one,” Kera decided.
“Hey, ladies,” a voice called out. Hank looked across the water to the two young women. The little one in the front was wearing a blue two-piece with ruffled edging, and a baseball cap over riotous blonde curls. The one in the back, shit. Even half-drunk, his soldier tried to stand. Hell yes. She had big tits trying to bust out of a black string top, and long tanned legs stretched out and propped up on the middle seat while she rowed. Hank crushed another empty beer can and tossed it over the side.
“Hey, you redneck asshole,” Kera yelled. “I swim in this river, and I don’t need your trash to slice my feet on.”
Hank realized he had already struck out. “Fuckin’ lesbian bitches. Come on, Brian. Let’s catch up to the crew.” They plowed their oars into the water, and as they passed by Hank tried to stand up and turn, cupping his balls and pumping his hips. He lost his balance and almost fell overboard, but managed to grab the sides and plop back onto his seat.
Emily turned the canoe and Kera snagged the can with her oar before it sank. She stuck it into their cooler along with her empties. “How can people be so stupid,” she muttered.
They rowed another hour to a small beach hidden behind a sandbar. Most weekend warriors never noticed the small branch leading to it, and they thought the sandbar was the bank to the river. The young women had only found one other couple who had discovered their hideaway.
Last year, when they rowed behind the small island, they found the lovers on their beach. The man’s naked ass was in the air, while he pumped madly into the woman beneath him. Emily turned redder than her worst sunburn, and she panicked when Kera rowed them forward and glided them onto the beach.
Ten feet away from them, Kera plopped down on the sand and began eating. Emily grabbed her lunch and faced Kera, trying to avoid looking at the impassioned couple. They must have been trashed, because they kept on groaning and slapping their sweaty bodies together. In between bites, Kera made loud comments about how great it must feel for the man to be pushing sand up the woman’s butt. Emily was at a cross between wanting to bury herself in the sand or burst out laughing.
Ever since then, Emily craned her neck to look around the sandbar, silently praying they would be alone. “Looks like we get the beach to ourselves.”
Kera smiled to herself at the relief in Emily’s voice. “Good. At least no one else is going to have to watch you eat those decaying vegetables.”
The girls finished lunch and waded into the shallow water to cool off. “Man, I love Saturdays,” Kera said. Without removing her hat or sunglasses, she dunked her head back underwater. Her long brown braid floated behind her, before catching on the current and wrapping under her breasts. She resurfaced and swigged some more beer. “Ready to shove off?” Kera stood and stretched in the sun with the water beading down her lean body. She walked to the sand, squeezing water from her hair.
Emily scrambled towards the beach, tripping on a limb submerged by the bank. She slipped and went under the water, coughing and sputtering when she finally got her footing. Diamond droplets shined on the tips of her light curls. As naturally alluring as Kera was, Emily was just as naturally adorable.
“Come on, grace,” Kera laughed. After so many years, she was used to her roommate’s klutziness.
They had not been back on the river for five minutes before they saw a group of canoes pulled under a canopy of oaks up ahead. Hanging onto the rope swing, the familiar sound of the redneck’s voice yelled out before he let go and splashed into the water.
“Shit. I figured we’d lost them for the day,” Kera said. “Em, head over to the cypress on the other side. We’ll follow the bank and hide behind the branches until we’re past them.”
“Sounds good.” Emily turned the canoe and they glided under the greenery. It was cooler in the shade, even though they had to watch for underwater obstacles and hanging limbs. The voices were becoming distant, and just before Emily headed the canoe back to the middle of the river she heard rushing water. “Hey, Kera. I think I hear another stream up ahead.”
Kera frowned. In all the years she had been on the river, and it had been every summer for more than a decade, she had never known there to be anything other than a few carved inlets from erosion and their sandbar. “I don’t think so, Em. We can check it out, but it’s probably just some rancher’s trench to veer some water to his livestock.
They rowed a little further, and Kera heard the sound of the water as they passed. “Hold up. It sounds like it’s back here.” They paddled backwards and Kera stuck her oar into a solid stretch of hanging vines. When it passed through, she said, “I think it goes behind this. No wonder I never noticed it before.” It was completely masked by the vegetation.
Emily turned them to see if the canoe could pass through. She used her oar to push the curtain of vines to the side, and they found themselves in a narrow stream.
Kera turned around and could see no sign of where they had rowed through. It was a solid landscape of jungle, with water lapping at the low hanging leaves. “This is really weird. I don’t remember anyone ever mentioning finding it.”
“Do you want to see where it leads for a while?” Emily suggested. “I mean, it dead ends at the vines we rowed under, so we can’t get lost.”
“Might as well. We can follow it for half and hour, if it goes that far, and then turn back. We should still make it back to the outpost before five.” Kera dipped her oar. “The worst that can happen is we’ll end up behind the rednecks again.”
Although Kera was fully aware she came from a family that was proud to declare themselves rednecks, the one time Bobby Thompson called her the name in junior high she punched him and bloodied his nose. She did not mind being a redneck; she just did not want anyone saying it to her face.
She had left home at sixteen, which was not unusual for the kids in their family. What set her apart from the rest of them was that Kera stayed in school. Out of ten children, she was the only one with a high school diploma. Her mother said the way Kera talked was hoity, and it eventually led to the discussion of how she wasted her time not ‘gittin herself a good man’. She reminded Kera how she was seventeen when she had Michael, as if Kera’s choice to stay in school was an insulting embarrassment to the family. At least Lucy and Kim did not let her mom down. They had five kids between them.
Kera tried to peer through the dense greenery on either side of them. They had paddled several minutes before it occurred to her that water was lapping at the bottom of these leaves too. There were only hints in the shadows of tree trunks, and no sign of any sort of stream bank. “Hey, Em, look at the trees. There isn’t any shoreline. It all looks like that vine cape we rowed under.”
Emily studied it. “Dang, Kera. I’ve never seen so many plants. It sure doesn’t look like this leads through any pasture.”
They followed the anomaly for a while longer, and a current began pulling them forward. “Shit, Em. I think this is far enough for today. We better turn back, and we can ask Kevin about it when we get to the outpost.”
Emily had to really dig deep to help Kera get the canoe turned. It was as though they were being sucked down stream. They were sweating and breathing hard by the time they climbed the current to the calm water. “Where the hell does this lead?” Kera panted.
“That current is stronger than the river.” Emily reached back for another bottled water and ran it around her neck. It was a darn good thing Kera was in the back or they never would have pulled free.
They rowed until they hit the wall of vines and Emily reached with her oar. She hit something solid, and separated the curtain to find a tight barrier of cypress trunks. There was nothing behind them but more jungle.
Kera laid her oar across her thighs. “This doesn’t make any sense.” She studied the banks, looking for a beach. “Crap, there isn’t even anyplace to pull the canoe in to look. For all we know, the pasture is only a few feet passed this stuff.” She searched down the creek. There was no sign of any other canoes. “Damn. There’s no way we’re going to reach the outpost by five. I guess all we can do is keep following the stream until we can pull-up someplace, then we can try to figure out where the hell we are.”