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Still Life with Roads	By : Ningengirai Category: 1 through F > Forsaken, The Views: 1524 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Forsaken, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Still Life with Roads
- 1
Author: Ningengirai
Pairing/Movie: Sean/Nick,
movie: The Forsaken ( aka, Desert Vampires )
Warnings: Violence/Gore,
UST, M/M (slash)
Disclaimer: Disclaimer:
The characters and parts of the plot depicted in this story do not belong to me.
No money is made from this story. This is fanwork.

Still Life with Roads

Hurry back we've all been waiting

We can't take much anymore

Where are the days where brothers are brothers

- Nickelback, �Hold out your hand�

-----

�I had the weirdest dreams,� Sean says on the bed, waking to
a bright desert morning next to a girl he doesn�t know, and then he falls
silent for a minute until finally he says, �There was all this blood...� and
falls back down on the bed.

-----

Nick thinks that he�s fucked up again, that he�s failed
again, just like Louis in Interview with the Vampire, that trashy goth novel that tried to put romance into a world made of
horror. Then he thinks that they�re all fucked, that this world of MTV and
fast-food is doomed anyway, and that one more of them doesn�t make any difference. It doesn�t explain why he�s
fighting so hard not to be one of
them, not when he thinks they�re all going to hell. Hell is just another form
of torture, and they have plenty of that on earth already. Nick thinks he�s
well prepared.

Muttering from the direction of the bed, garbled nonsense
about weird dreams and strange places.

Yeah, Nick has fucked up again. He�s as unsure of the man on
the bed as of his own volatile nature. The girl�s just another wildcard, but
she�s so drugged up she can�t see straight, so he dismisses her as just another
random figure to factor into this cat-and-mouse game he�s been playing for a
year now.

She�ll make excellent bait.

It was a girl that bit him, back then at some wild party,
when he still had a life, when insurance, a car and a roof above his head meant
something. The insane gleam of her eyes still haunts him sometimes, when he�s
relaxed enough to truly sleep, and the sleep afterwards is never relaxed.

Since then, Nick�s gotten kind of suspicious of girls,
because they�re so easily swayed and because the Eight, in true spirit of
machismo, always surrounded themselves with scantily clad females. It�s not
that Nick�s against women, but there
has to be a reason why they flock to the Eight, why there�s always some crazed
psycho-bitch hanging onto the arms of one of them.

Guys for day drivers, girls for company.

On the bed, Sean mutters something, something else about
dreams, and tries to sit up.

Nick looks at Sean, then looks at the bag of drugs sitting
next to the bed. Divide what�s in there by two and he can easily calculate the
days until he needs to check himself into the hospital with the bitten intern,
get a refill. The drugs he needs aren�t that
hard to come by legally, but why waste money? The girl doesn�t even figure into
that equation. Nick picks up another bullet, feeds it into the magazine of the
gun, and plans.

-----

When he comes to and sees Nick playing with the gun, Sean
thinks that he�ll never pick up a hitchhiker again. Then there�s the business
with that girl in the trunk, who explodes under the sunlight after Nick hits
her twice with the shovel, and when they burn rubber out of the motel parking
lot, the girl they picked up yesterday a senseless doll in the backseat, Sean
thinks that he might as well just hand in his ID, credit cards and illusions of
a normal life and hide under a rock.

-----

Fifty miles down the desert highway, feeling hot and itchy, Sean
shouts at Nick to pull over. He barely makes it out of the car before he throws
up thick, coagulating blood, the taste and smell making him feel nauseous all
over again, but there�s nothing left in his stomach.

Sean wants to hurt
someone, something. Not yet thirty, a budding career in the cutting room, his
life categorized into neat stretches of A) planning the future, B) executing
the plans, and C) enjoying the well-earned fruits of hard labour, and now he�s
hunched over on the dusty ground of the desert, throwing up blood. He wants to
reverse time and start over, forget he ever took the job of driving that car to
Miami, forget he ever met Nick or the girl, go back to things the way they
were.

Instead, Sean grabs Nick by the lapels of his dirty vest,
mixing a handful of red shirt in there, too, and throws him against the hood of
the Mercedes he�s meant to drive to Miami; by now Sean knows he�ll never make
it if he doesn�t ditch the hitchhiker and the drugged girl, and even that seems
like a fragile hope he clings to more out of stubbornness than belief.

Sean throws himself right on top of Nick, hands still
strangling handfuls of cloth, and gives in to the helpless rage that�s been in
his mind ever since Nick told him there are vampires, that they transmit their
deadly lust via bites, and that the drugged girl in the backseat of the
Mercedes gave Sean a ticket to hell, free of charge.

Nick�s body is taut beneath the loose clothing he wears. He
smells of sweat and rage, held tightly in check behind too-long lashes and that
cupid�s bow of a mouth Sean doesn�t know, suddenly, whether to kiss or punch.
He�s all lean limbs and smooth muscle, struggling furiously against Sean�s
weight and Sean�s sudden, fury-born strength.

There is a single moment when Sean understands the seduction, the heady feeling of power
that lasts, for him, only a few seconds, until Nick thrusts out his arm and
shows him the faint bite marks on the inside of his elbow, soft skin puckered
with scars. It�s better than sex, twice as colourful as the drugs Sean did,
once, in high school. There�s no fear in Nick�s eyes, only anger, anguish and
driving need.

Sean�s never seen someone as focused on a single task as
Nick. It scares him, because people with only one intention in mind are
dangerous, because these people will go to extremes to get what they want. Nick
doesn�t seem to consider breaking the law as a problem. Nick talks about
killing that guy with the black hair and the strange, old eyes as though he�s
planning a camping trip. Nick had no moral qualms about cutting up the face of
the girl in the trunk, the one that exploded, with the sharp edge of the
shovel.

Sean enjoys
holding him down far more than he should and understands why the vampires in
the movies are always portrayed as creatures of lust, of need.

The only thing Sean knows he�ll never understand is how
these movie vampires always seem to go cross-eyed and moaning at the taste of
blood, because frankly, it tastes awful.

-----

Sean is a mirror-image of Nick, nine months back, hunched
over and puking blood, demanding answers. The only difference is that there�s
actually someone around � Nick � to give him answers. It doesn�t change the
fact that Nick still gets hurt when Sean throws him against the car, but when
the other man pulls back, there�s understanding in his expression, next to
impotent anger, and Nick thinks they might actually make it out alive.

-----

�What are these?�

�Antigens, aminos, proteins. Back
in the late 80�s, when they started getting into drug cocktails for HIV, some
doctor who�d been bitten mixed one that slowed the virus. Now, everybody�s
different, but usually it takes about a week to turn. You get on the cocktail,
you buy yourself some time.�

�How long do the drugs work?�

There�s the slightest bit of hesitation in Nick�s voice.
�They can hold off the onset for a couple of years.�

�But not forever?�

�No. Not forever.�

It sounds like complete bullshit. Sean swallows the candy-coloured
mix of pills, washes them down with a mouthful of water, and asks Nick if the
girl in the backseat gets the same treatment.

He already knows the answer, and if there were any doubts
about Nick�s fraying claim to morality left, they�re now gone.

Nick says no.

Sean starts arguing with him about playing god, while deep
down he thinks that he�s grateful. He�s seen the contents of Nick�s bag of
candy and can do the basic math. It�d never be enough for three. He�s glad to
be the one Nick has chosen.

The feeling is so awful he masks it with disdain and
silence, which apparently means acceptance to Nick, because the other man
doesn�t seem to spend another minute thinking about defending himself against
Sean�s accusations.

Nick hates the world. Sean thinks that beneath all that talk
about their fast-food generation doped up on MTV and Ricky Martin, Nick is the
very spirit of their age, and he�s heard that turn of phrase before but can�t
remember where. Probably another one of those movies. Nick�s depressing, a
mid-twenties hitchhiker talking about the ancient city of Antioch, a demon,
blood-drinking knights and a virus when he should be out partying, enjoying a
life that now seems as far removed from Sean as the moon.

Still, Sean likes him. The anti-thesis of one�s viewpoint is
always fascinating, but there�s more to it than that. The last thing Sean wants
to be is some ancient knight�s bitch, and Nick�s his ticket to salvation, also
free of charge. He only has to survive the road to wherever they�re going.

They stop at some forgotten backwater hole along the road
for dinner. Tornillo, Texas. Someone�s been target
practising on the �o� in Tornillo; from what Sean can
tell, whoever it was wasn�t that bad a shot.

Nick tells him about the nine French knights who survived
the siege of Antioch during the Great Crusade, and how eight of them made a
pact with a demon, sacrificing the ninth to gain immortality and skin that
bursts into flame under sunlight. It�s a pretty shitty deal, all things considered.
Immortality isn�t all it�s souped up to be, not with
someone like Nick on your heels.

�We can�t just leave her in the car,� Sean argues as they
leave the diner, scanning the red horizon. �Don�t be so cruel, man.�

�It�s called practicality.� Smooth, muscled shoulders lift
in a shrug. ��sides, if we take her into the room with us, there�s the chance
that she�ll just go crazy like she did the last time, and there�s a lot more
people here than just one nosy hobo motel clerk.�

That�s logic Sean can�t really argue with, but he tries. �If
you leave her in the car, she might just get away. Then what?�

�Then they�ll find her, and turn her into a feeder, like
that black bitch he keeps dragging around.� Nick�s lips twist into a cruel
smile. ��sides, I locked her in the trunk, and she�s securely doped up on
morphine.�

Sean is speechless. He follows Nick for a few steps. �What
if they kill her? Won�t that stop that telepathic... thing that�s going on between her and the knight? The leader?�

Nick, walking in front of Sean, stops. The line of his
shoulders tenses. �Yes.�

�So...�

�So if she dies, there�s still you.�

Sean jacks off in the shower, teeth clenched, leaned against
dingy tiles, imagining Nick struggling against him once more, only that this
time, it�s not the hood of the Mercedes but a bed, streaked with blood, and
Nick�s begging him, �Fuck me, fuck me,
fuck me...�

-----

Nick thinks roads are the only constant thing left in his
life. He walks them, hitches rides from all colours and denominations of people
while on them, endures the burning sun and the driving rain while his feet eat
away at the concrete or dust beneath.

If he doesn�t dream of blood or the girl that bit him, back
at that party, he dreams of roads. They stretch out before him, connecting with
an invisible dot at the horizon, leading him from city to village to the
backside of America, where the farmers carry shotguns over their shoulders and
speak of niggers sitting in congress, the wives go to church every Sunday
wearing fading bruises on their arms and cheeks like battle scars, and the
children are corrupted in the cradle.

He doesn�t think he�s as depressing as Sean tells him, as
others have told him before, but once you�ve seen the world for what it is and
not through TV-coloured lenses, there�s no going back. His life is a still life
with roads leading nowhere.

-----

The girl, and neither of them even knows her name, doesn�t
wake up when Nick pulls her from the trunk, only moans softly and curls back up
as he puts her into the backseat. Sean finds himself watching her as they
drive. She�s pretty, in that standard, blue-eyed, blond-haired American kind of
way, and frankly, there�s no need to think further. He doesn�t wonder what her
breasts look like beneath the thin shirt, or how her legs are shaped. Nick took
care of that when he undressed her and put her in the bathtub, back at the
first stop when they picked her up.

Sean�s seen it all, or almost all. Maybe it�s because of
that that he sees her as another human being, and not just a possible lay, like
he�s done so many times before with other women. Maybe it�s because his life
just got that more perishable that he feels sorry, still, even after all the
arguments Nick threw at him. The girl is frightened, sleeping the uneasy sleep
of those kept on heavy drugs.

Sean asks, �What if you do turn?�

�The virus mutates into something that can�t be killed
except by decapitation or sunlight.�

�In other words, a vampire.�

Nick reads by the dim interior light, surprisingly clean
fingers gently following the coloured lines of the map he pulled from one of
his many bags. �This map says there�s an old Spanish mission about sixty miles
up the road. I say we go there and we wait.�

�How do we get his ass to the mission?� Sean�s on his third
bottle of water for the day. The late night before, at the diner, he wolfed
down a large steak with side dishes and pudding for desert, and though he�s
used to regular meals, he isn�t used to food in that quantity. The nagging hunger is something he isn�t accustomed
to, but then he�s seen Nick inhale food as if it�s air, so maybe it�s not all
that strange.

�Oh, he�ll find us.� Nick�s voice has the ring of utter
conviction.

�What if... what if she turns before he does?�

Nick sighs. �Then we kill her.�

Sean has to laugh, and his voice has a ring of despairing
humour he�s not accustomed to, either. �Yeah, that�s right. I forgot we were
going to kill her.�

�Well, what do you want to do, Sean? Want to get to know her
better? Catch a movie with her?� Nick snorts. �Just make sure you keep her away
from any major arteries.�

Sean glances in the rear-view mirror, noticing the
headlights of a car behind them, but his eyes stray to the girl once more.
�That�s not funny.�

�Exactly.�

Sean can tell Nick�s looking at him, so he steadfastly
refuses to look, too. Instead, he keeps playing with the blue-capped pill
Nick�s been doling out to him like Santa doles out Christmas presents: one at a
time. �It just doesn�t seem fair.�

�What�s that?�

�I want to put her on the pills. Let me become the decoy.�

�No.�

�She was bitten way before me, man, that means I got longer
before I turn.�

�I don�t care, I said no.�

�Why?�

�Because when the time comes, I�m gonna
need all the muscle I can get.�

Nick talks with his hands sometimes. Sean noticed that the
first day they drove. Right now, Nick�s making one of those �it�s completely
obvious, you idiot!� gestures that Sean thinks he might just want to beat out
of him.

Then again, after the shower and that disturbing daydream
about fucking Nick on a blood-streaked bed, maybe he�s just channelling
something. Maybe it�s not even him, maybe it�s that weird French knight who
should have died 800 years ago, and didn�t the French back then rape their
captured enemies? Or had that been the Romans, even further back?

He�s a bit surprised to figure out that it doesn�t bother
him, thinking about Nick that way. Sean�s always been comfortably straight and
kind of careless toward gays. It�s not that he�s had to defend himself against
the evil homosexuals the televangelists like to preach about or that he ever
wondered what it would be like to touch a man, to make him moan and come. It
just never occurred to him to think of sex with a man, not with the life he�s
leading, or has been leading.

Nick�s attractive, sure; so far, women have always been more
attractive.

Now he�s thinking about it; he�s thinking of Nick and the
blood-streaked bed, thinks about those cupid-bow lips shaping moans that carry
Sean�s name, and while Sean isn�t that
desperate to think that Nick may just be the last lay he�ll ever get, if he
gets him, the thought is firmly lodged in the back of his mind.

The headlights of the car behind them loom, suddenly, bright
and blinding right behind the Mercedes, the driver sounding the horn. Sean
yells something out of the window, something about there being another lane and
enough room for both of them... or maybe he just thinks he does, because the
chase is on and adrenaline is flooding him.

It�s kind of funny that he�s still worried about the damn
Mercedes when the French guy, the knight, points a shotgun at them and fires.
He thinks he had his priorities straight up to now.

-----

Nick�s only thought during the wild goose chase along the
dark desert highway is that he wants to survive, that he won�t give in, and if
that bitch in the backseat doesn�t calm the fuck down, he�s going to waste her.

-----

�Give her some more of the pills,� Sean demands when they
stop and get out to inspect the damage. They got away, more out of luck than
skill.

�If I give her any more, she�ll OD.�

�Why�s she still fucked up?�

�The cocktail works slow when you�re closer to turning,
Sean.�

Sean bends at the rear of the Mercedes. The bumper�s
missing. That fucking asshole shot it straight off. That�s not the only
problem, though. Cursing inwardly, Sean bends further, holds out his hand, and
feels the steady drip of gas onto his fingers.

�What�s the matter?� Nick�s voice is strained.

�We�re running out of gas.�

�How can we be running out of gas?�

Although he�s known him for all of two days, give or take,
Sean knows it isn�t like Nick to ask stupid questions. He finds himself running
out of patience. �Because they hit the tank.�

�How much have we got left?�

�I don�t know, 10 or 15 miles. Do I look like a fucking
mechanic?�

�That�s excellent.�

Sean doesn�t like the sound of Nick�s voice now, breathless, as if he�s out of
options. Nick�s standing at the side of the car, arms spreads, palms resting on
the roof, fingers drumming out a nervous rhythm. Sean stares at the darkness
surrounding them, this kind of black mixed with neon blue he�s starting to
hate. There�s a shed a little off the road, probably belonging to some farm
house that isn�t here anymore.

�I�m gonna check out this shed.
You stay with her, all right? Stay with her.�

The shed�s nothing more than an assembly of boards and blind
windows, rotting in the desert. Aside from the usual junk left behind by
hard-working farmers � an old truck missing its tyres, derelict field
machinery, empty boxes and crates � there�s not much in it. Hope sinking when
he finds an empty gas canister and angrily throws it down, Sean decides to
inspect the old truck. Jackpot. Beneath old blankets, rope and other garbage,
he finds a fire-red canister filled with something that smells like gasoline.

Nick�s hand is touching his shoulder when he jumps down from
the back of the truck, scaring the crap out of him. �Jesus!�

�Is that what I think it is?� Nick eyes the canister.

�I thought I told you to stay in the car.� Sean manages to
make his voice steady. It feels good to be the one bitching, instead of being
bitched at.

Nick seems to take the accusation in stride. �I heard a
noise, I got worried.�

Sean wants to kiss him for that, and fuck, no, his
priorities aren�t straight at all. It�s the sound of the car outside that keeps
him from bisecting that thought any further.

-----

Nick thinks they � all right, he, because Sean seems to have a soft spot for her � should have
wasted that bitch when they had the chance. All his belongings are in the car,
all his drugs, his gun, most of his money. He feels naked without those things.
Trust a fucking girl to get hysteric and drive off in a car that only has 10,
maybe 15 miles worth of gas in the tank.

-----

Under the star-spangled sky, Nick and Sean have a moment of
manly bonding.

�You know how long I�ve been tracking this guy for? Nine
months. It�s not easy, they hide their killing.� Nick does most of the talking,
in the beginning, anyway. It�s as if he wants to make up for letting the girl
get away with their car, offering Sean glimpses of his life. �Make it look like
a gang fight. Robberies. Some guy riding a freight train, killing old women.
All kinds of shit. Almost all are serial killers.�

It�d take two of him to feel any worse, Sean thinks,
coughing. His stomach hurts. He doesn�t understand why it has to hurt, or what
this virus is changing inside of him, and allows Nick to take the stolen gas
canister.

�It�s weird,� Sean says once the coughing fit is over.
�Three days ago, I had a phat job and not a worry in
the world. And now I�m gonna turn into a vampire if I
don�t whack some freaked out psycho. On top of that, I�m gonna
lose my job.�

�How�d you get into the movie biz, anyways? Your old man?�

�My old man doesn�t know I exist.� Sean bears Nick�s
questioning glance and nods. �Yeah. He walked out on my mom when she was
pregnant with me.�

�That�s fucked up,� Nick offers, sounding strangely
non-judgemental.

�Yeah.�

�I guess it just must be in the blood then, huh?�

Sean isn�t too sure what Nick�s referring to, but the coughing
just won�t stop, so he just says, �Like father, like son.�

�Shit, I hope not.� Nick shakes his head. �My mom told me my
dad was a cross-dressing Marine drill sergeant.�

They laugh, their voices carrying easily in the chill night
air, and Sean thinks he might just get used to this when Nick stops walking and
pulls something from his pocket, offering it.

-----

Nick feels a little bad for keeping it this long.

-----

When Nick hands him his wallet back, complete with cash,
credit cards, ID and everything else he tends to stuff in there, Sean wants to
punch him. It�s an absurd thought that pops into his head as he counts the
crisp twenty dollar bills: what if it wasn�t a busted tyre that landed him in
all this trouble in the first place? What if it was Nick, who so casually
handles a gun? Sean doesn�t really believe Nick�s that much of a crack shot to
hit the front tyre of a car going 80mph, but then, when he picked him up, Sean
didn�t think Nick was much of anything. Just another one of America�s rejects
stumbling along dry desert roads, going wherever the next ride takes him.

The guy�s just full of surprises, but then, so�s Sean, and if Nick thinks Sean�s going to hurt him,
well, he has another think coming. Stuffing the wallet into his pocket, Sean
laughs under his breath; they both do, until Nick points out the Mercedes at
the side of the road. There�s no sign of the girl.

They find her a few miles down the road, stumbling along in
the darkness, and then they�re found by the vampires and their psycho day
driver, suddenly in two cars instead of just the old charger Sean is used to
seeing. It�s another wild car chase in the middle of the desert.

Sean�s suddenly so fed up with being the mouse that he
discovers a reckless side to himself he didn�t know existed. He wants to
survive this, but most of all he wants to waste that French fucker. He wants to
see the guy bleed for what he did to the girl, and the girl that bit Nick, and
Nick.

The highway ends suddenly, warning signs and cones leading
from the smooth concrete onto the dusty track of the desert. When he sees their
chance, Sean takes it without thinking twice. Recklessly navigating the narrow
space between two parked trucks, barely managing to squeeze the Mercedes � or
what�s left of it � through the gap, Sean knows that neither the long,
boat-like charger nor the bulky, blue Jeep the fuckers picked up God knows
where will make it. The jeep goes up in a big ball of flames, taking the
vampires� day driver with it to a special place that�s hopefully darker than
hell, reserved for psychos who aid vampires.

He�s going there, too, because all he feels when he watches
the car burn is wild exhilaration. Nick wasted that girl in the trunk, the one
that exploded. Nick wasted the day driver.

Vampires: 0.

Almost-but-not-quite-vampires: 2.

Those are odds Sean can live with.

-----

Picking up Sean, or rather, being picked up by him, might
have been a mistake. There is a moment when Nick thinks he�s going to die, that
their car won�t make it through the gap between the trucks. There�s a moment
when he thinks that Sean finally lost it, that he isn�t cut out for the
killing, after all. A swift death might seem so much more appealing,
considering the alternatives, but it�d suck if Nick died because of the man he
decided to trust.

-----

By the time the Mercedes comes to a spluttering halt,
they�ve made it to another farm house standing in the middle of nowhere. Ten
miles from the Spanish missions Nick mentioned. Sean knows it�ll end here.

The girl�s lucid now, but in pain, bent over and wracked by
the same coughing fits Sean�s going through. There�s no hysteria left in her as
she clings to Sean, dragging her feet as they stumble toward the dark shape of
the house, Nick hammering on windows and trying doors. It looks abandoned; Sean
knows by now he�d have no qualms forcing entry. His only worry now is to get
them out of this alive, Nick, the girl and himself. Nick more than the girl,
but she�s part of the package, a piece of string he can�t leave untied.

The owner of the house is an angel granting them entry to a
sanctuary, even if she�s pushing sixty, haggard and hard, carrying a loaded
shotgun with a flashlight strapped on top, a large black dog at her side. Trust
the sight of an ailing, pale-faced girl to weaken the hardest heart. The
owner�s name is Ina. Sean leaves the girl in her care, taking a long-needed
breath while he stares at the morbid interior decoration of Ina�s living room.
Deer�s heads, marinated animal eyes, black spiders in large glass tanks � are
all the people living out here in the desert fucked in the head?

Nick�s in Ina�s kitchen, fixing a meal of toast and ham and
what looks like cheese. Sean can smell him from ten feet away, sweat, dust and
something electric. They don�t talk. Sean walks up to him, notices for the
first time that he�s an inch or two taller than Nick, and stares down at the
back of Nick�s dirty neck. He�s abandoned all his thoughts about fucking him
for now, yet the temptation is too great; Nick shudders when Sean lightly
touches the back of his neck, fingertips sliding on sweat. He doesn�t turn
around.

Sean goes back into the living room and has another coughing
fit, along with strange flashbacks of their crazy road trip so far. It�s so
fucked up. His life�s gone. He�ll be fired from his job, he wrecked the
Mercedes, he won�t be on time to get to Miami and his sister�s wedding. He even
spent the money he�s been saving up for her wedding dress.

�You want something to eat, my man?� Nick emerges from the
kitchen carrying a plate. His enthusiastic movement slows, finally stops, as he
watches Sean bend over. �What�s wrong?�

�I don�t feel so good. I feel like I did before. I think I
need some more of those drugs.�

�Sean, the cocktail doesn�t always work.� Nick says it in an
offhand way, but Sean catches sight of his eyes flitting left and right, as if
looking for a way out.

Ina returns from the upstairs bedroom and announces, �She�s resting
now.� At the bottom of the stairs, she adds, �Seems to be okay. Doesn�t say
much, does she?�

�Look, there�s gotta be some place
around here where we can get her some help,� Nick says.

�I told you Fort Stockton�s the closest and it�s over a
hundred miles.�

�Fuck,� Nick whispers.

Pouring herself a drink, Ina eyes them both. �What�s wrong
with that little gal that you�re travelling with, hm?�

Sean doesn�t speak, lets Nick do the talking. �We don�t
know. She was hitchhiking. She was like that when we picked her up.�

�She didn�t say who she was?�

Sean finds his voice. �She hasn�t said a damn word since we
gave her a ride.�

�I think maybe...� Ina reaches for a newspaper, slides it
over the counter, �...you should take a look at this.�

-----

Woman sought in
Arizona bloodbath.

Nick reads the article twice, something in his gut
tightening. He does feel sorry for her � for Megan - now. Discovering her entire family murdered, only to be
brutalized by him. Nick remembers the
sight of that ugly bite wound just above her pubic mound all too clearly.

He thinks about Sean�s fingers against the back of his neck
and shudders again.

-----

Megan comes down from the bedroom two hours later, coherent
and clear-eyed. Something strange is going on, Sean thinks, listening from the
couch where he stretched out to her story of how the girl in the trunk, the one
that exploded, was supposed to kill her after he was done with her but didn�t.

�He left her to kill me. I don�t know why she didn�t. When
she pointed the gun at me, I couldn�t breathe. I couldn�t even move. But I
think she was scared, because... she just stood there. She had the strangest
look in her eyes. After that, I don�t remember much at all.�

Lucky you, Sean thinks. By now the pain in his stomach is
too great to allow him to think about much else. Nick is perched on the stairs
behind him, the newspaper on his lap, and although Sean can�t see his face, he
knows Nick�s staring at Megan as she sits down next to him.

As much as Megan�s story moves him, it doesn�t help them
much. He can finally put a name to the girl in the trunk � Teddy � but that
doesn�t help, either. They need to plan, to figure out where they�re going from
here, and they need to get away from this house, away from Ina, before they
drag her along into this hell.

Survival of the fittest, Nick told him when they were having
the argument about giving Megan drugs. Sean doesn�t think he�s fit. They�re all
wiped out, adrenaline long since faded, leaving behind three tired, beaten
young people and an old woman at the ass end of nowhere.

There has to be a
way. Sean refuses to think that it will end here.

Buster, Ina�s dog, gets antsy and starts barking, massive
paws clawing at the cheap carpet as he gets up and trots toward the door.

�Stay put,� Ina tells them. �It�s probably just a coyote.�

They don�t speak while Ina is outside, listening to her
calls. Sean watches Megan, knowing that Nick�s watching them both. Though she
sits close to him, Megan isn�t like the other girls who do that, sitting close
to a boy; she stares at her hands, eyes wide open but unblinking, blond hair
beautifully disarrayed, caught in her own private hell of a dead family and the
knowledge that she�ll have to live on knowing
why they�re dead.

...if they survive this.

Ina returns. �Buster ran off.�

Hell breaks loose. Sean�s off the couch so quickly he
doesn�t have time to register the pain, dragging Megan down under a table. Shot
after shot is fired at the house, bullets sawing easily through wood and glass,
raining shards down on Megan, Ina, Sean and Nick. They crawl over the floor,
seeking cover where they can, the deafening noise of gunshots and the
splintering of Ina�s house so loud Sean thinks it�s all he�ll hear from now on.
Nick manages to get a hold of one of his bags, pulling the gun from it, eyes
wide and suddenly terrified under the onslaught.

�Where�s your shotgun?� Sean asks during a lull, the silence
roaring.

�It�s by the side door.� Bless Ina�s shrivelled heart and
cool head. �There�s extra shells in the refrigerator.�

Sean doesn�t think twice about the danger and starts
crawling over the floor, past Ina, past Nick, until he sees Ina�s shotgun
leaned against the wall just inside the door. He makes a grab for it, the cold,
alien weight of the weapon suddenly a welcome presence in his hands, and then,
through the glass pane set into the door, he sees the crooked tombstones in
Ina�s backyard, poking up into the night like strange fruit.

There are no more gunshots when he crawls back, the silence
punctuated by their rapid breathing, the occasional rustle of old newspapers
and the clink of broken glass. Maybe the vampires are trying to save bullets. Maybe
they just don�t care.

�Ina, what�s with those tombstones?�

The old woman lifts her head from where she placed it
against her folded hands. She whispers, �It�s an old Spanish graveyard. That�s
why the highway wasn�t put through here. They couldn�t dig it up.�

�Your house is actually built on a graveyard?� Nick�s voice
comes from Sean�s left, sounding incredulous, breathless.

At Ina�s nod, Sean turns to Nick just as Nick�s head swivels
around. Their eyes meet, complete understanding and a sudden bloom of hope in
their expressions. �Are you thinking what I�m thinking?�

�This place is blessed, baby,� Nick says, and his gaze
wanders upward and he shouts, �Sean, watch out!�

Nick starts firing at something on the landing of the second
floor. Sean catches a glimpse of the black girl, the last standing companion of
the French knight. She�s strikingly beautiful, large eyes, generous mouth
painted crimson, body encased in tight clothes � and if Nick hadn�t started
firing at her, she would have killed Sean on the spot, the large, silver gun in
her delicate hands catching a bit of the light as she stumbles back and
vanishes into the bedroom.

She fires a single shot.

Nick�s cry of pain jolts Sean into action, thoughts going a
hundred miles and ten different directions at once. He�s handled guns before,
as a teenager, seen plenty of them on the silver screen, but Ina�s shotgun is
large and heavy and the shell�s stuck. By the time he manages to crack the
shotgun open and the shell falls to the floor, Nick�s firing shot after shot at
the ceiling, the floor of the bedroom. Sean watches him disappear into the
kitchen, gun hand raised high, and the only thing he can think is, �Don�t let
him die. Don�t let him die. Don�t let him
die!�

-----

Nick thinks, �Shit. I didn�t even get to waste the fucker.�
The pain is incredible, but there are worse things than pain. He crumbles to
the kitchen floor, squeezed into a corner, left side going curiously numb and
hot � blood, pouring out of the gunshot wound. The smell is sickening. Nick
closes his eyes and listens to the rapid beat of his heart and the shrill
scream of the black girl as she falls out of the window. The screams don�t stop
there.

Sean�s suddenly at his side, cursing, taking a quick glance
at Nick�s left shoulder. The physical presence is oddly comforting, but it�s
the continued screams from outside that make Nick smile.

-----

The French knight isn�t all that scary, Sean thinks when he watches him stumble back. He
reloads and fires another round, centre mass. Black hair with silver streaks so
deliberately placed that Sean wonders if they�re real or dye, a smooth face
dominated by strangely green eyes, superhuman strength...

Clad in dusty leather and the remains of a violet silk
shirt, the knight doesn�t quite take on the monstrous proportions Sean thought
he would; Sean�s seen Nick go down, lying on the kitchen floor in a pool of his
own blood, and if that isn�t monstrous, then he doesn�t know what is.

Sunlight streams through one of the shattered windows,
quickly catching the knight on fire. Sean doesn�t stay to watch � he remembers
what happened the last time one of them got burned. He doesn�t even check if
Ina and Megan make it out, counting on their instincts to survive, running
straight back to the kitchen, where Nick lies seemingly unconscious. Sean drags
him up, pulls Nick�s arm around his shoulder, ignoring the muffled sounds of
pain all that jostling brings about, and drags the other man bodily from the
house into blessed dawn.

-----

Ina�s house makes a big enough boom for state troopers to
come pick up the pieces. They�ll never know that it wasn�t the house but the
knight who exploded, tearing down the walls to the very foundations. Nick, Megan
and Sean know. Ina doesn�t seem to remember, or doesn�t want to remember,
babbling about bad people that came to hurt the nice, young people. She�s
shipped off to some institution where they�ll take care of her � she has
nothing left. The graveyard went down along with her house, and Buster remains
gone.

Sean feels very, very sorry for her, because Ina�s the most
innocent in all of this, even if she knows how to handle a shotgun, even with
the marinated eyes Sean saw in the cabinets of her living room.

He spends a lot of time not thinking about what happened.
The wounds he sustained heal slowly, but he bears them proudly. Battle scars.
Fort Stockton�s doctors handle him carefully, as if he�s made of glass already
cracked at the centre. They don�t know how wrong they are.

The press are more interested in the destroyed graveyard.
Not three days after the incident, announcements are made that the section of
highway previously ending at Ina�s house will now be finished within the year.
Sean thinks they�re all assholes, but he keeps his opinion to himself and
concentrates on mending.

Four days later, Megan appears in his hospital room.
Scrubbed clean and rested, she looks angelic, standing there in her high heels
and mini skirt. �Hi.�

�Hi.� Sean turns from the window and hobbles to his
wheelchair. He didn�t even notice he�d sprained his ankle so badly the doctors
are amazed he greeted them still standing, even carried Nick to the ambulance
stretcher.

�How do you feel?�

�Good. You?�

�Going home today.� Megan fidgets. �Actually, not home. My
aunt and uncle�s place in Phoenix.�

�Well, they said I could probably go home tomorrow.� Sean,
finally seated, laughs under his breath. �Might still make my sister�s
wedding.�

�I saw Ina this morning,� Megan goes on. �She�s okay, but
she doesn�t remember what happened.�

�Yeah, nobody suspects a thing,� and now Sean can�t quite
keep the sneer out of his voice. �Just a couple of bad guys burned up in a
fire. Probably better that way, huh?�

�No one would believe it.� Megan tries a smile.

Sean understands. She�s moving on. �No. Probably not.�

She says thank you and walks away, just a young woman � he
can�t quite bring himself to think of her as the drugged girl anymore � on the
way back to her life.

He wonders if, ten years from now, she�ll still wake up
screaming.

The wheelchair is slow and squeaks as he rolls out of his
room and down the corridor, going almost the same way Megan did. Two doors
down, he stops, staring at the bearded nurse pulling the sheets off an empty
bed. Sean is so surprised he says the first thing that comes to mind: �What�s
up? Where�s the guy that was here?�

�Checked out, I guess,� the nurse tells him, unconcerned.

Sean keeps staring until a hand lands on his shoulder, small
and warm. Jerked out of empty-minded staring, Sean numbly accepts the envelope
the head nurse hands him. �He left this for you.�

The letter is short and so completely Nick�s style that Sean
forgets to be angry for the time being.

-----

Mopping up what remains of his life, Sean idles for a week
as he tries to decide what to do. He looks at the shards of a career, of a
lifestyle, and throws them all away. He knows what he wants to do, but a bit of his old self comes back and he plans
carefully before he sets out.

The car shop he was driving the car for doesn�t file
charges, and if the woman the Mercedes belonged to is pissed, well, she�ll have
to live with it.

His boss at the cutting studio is less than pleased when
Sean shows up two days late, but anger and reprimands quickly turn into
cajoling pleas once Sean slides his letter of cancellation across the desk.
Sean doesn�t listen, just packs his stuff and goes.

His sister receives enough money to buy a wedding dress and
a handwritten apology, and though they�ve always been close, she�s about to
start a new life with her new husband, a life Sean knows he�ll never be a part
of.

He sets out one golden afternoon and simply starts driving.
He drives for about three months, from Nevada to Kansas, Mexico to Montana,
until he finally wises up and starts doing what Nick told him about. He reads
the newspapers and watches the news, looking for the clues, the trail he knows
is there.

He buys a shotgun and keeps it stashed securely in the trunk
of the car he takes from the Fort Stockton city service, where it was kept for
sale. Shotgun and shells separate, as the cops who stop him along the road note
with muted sounds of appreciation. They don�t know about the pistol Sean wears
strapped to his boot, or the twin knives he keeps within reach, always, even
when he sleeps.

Three and a half months after leaving his life behind, Sean
sees the small figure of a man trudging slowly along the road ahead, swathed in
a thick jacket and woollen cap. The look of surprise on Nick�s face is
priceless.

Nick is paler than Sean remembers him, but he doesn�t look
haggard, just tired. When he takes his sunglasses off, there are dark circles
beneath his eyes. He�s clean-shaven, his hair for once not stringy with sweat.
�How in the hell did you find me?�

Sean tells him as he hands him coffee from a thermos. He
also tells Nick about the knight he thinks is headed for Denver, and it doesn�t
take a map for him to know that Denver is where Nick is going.

�You don�t have to do this, you know that,� Nick says, eyes
so dark Sean can barely tell their colour.

�Yeah, I do,� Sean tells him.

Nick puts his sunglasses back on.

END
- 1
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Still Life with Roads