Chapter 15: Police stop
The desert sun was a hammer on the cab’s roof, the heat shimmering in waves off the asphalt. Will had her bare feet propped on the dashboard, watching the yellow lines blur together. The silence between her and Gus was different now, not frozen, but heavy and warm, like a shared blanket.
“Think we’ll see any of those giant rocking chairs?” she asked, her voice cutting through the drone of the engine.
Gus grunted, one hand lazily draped over the steering wheel. “Seen one, you’ve seen ‘em all.”
“Says the man who gets excited about a new brand of beef jerky,” she shot back, a small, real smile touching her lips.
He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth twitching. It was enough.
The flash of red and blue in the side mirrors was a sudden, violent intrusion. Gus’s whole body went rigid. “Hell,” he muttered, his eyes flicking between the mirrors and the road ahead. He signaled and guided the rig onto the wide, dusty shoulder.
Two cops approached, one from each side. Their silhouettes wavered in the heat. The one who reached Gus’s window was tall, with a lean, hungry look and mirrored sunglasses. His badge read ‘Deputy Miller’. The other, heavier-set, stood by Will’s door, his hand resting on his belt.
“Afternoon,” Miller said, his voice flat. “License and log book.”
Gus moved slowly, deliberately, handing the documents over. “Something wrong, officer?”
Miller scanned the papers, not answering. His partner, ‘Deputy Hayes’, leaned down to peer at Will through the window. She stared straight ahead, her heart beginning to drum a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
“This your daughter?” Hayes asked, his tone falsely conversational.
“Niece,” Gus said, the lie smooth and practiced.
“Uh-huh.” Miller handed the documents back. “Mind stepping out of the vehicle, sir? We’ve had reports of narcotics moving along this route. Gotta check your cab.”
The world slowed to a thick, syrupy crawl. Gus complied, his movements careful, his face a mask of neutral cooperation. As he stepped down, Hayes spun him around and snapped cuffs on his wrists. The metallic click was deafening.
“What is this?” Gus’s voice was low, dangerous.
“Just procedure,” Miller said, opening Will’s door. “You. Out.”
Her legs felt like water. She stood on the gravel, the sun burning the top of her head. The vast, empty desert suddenly felt like a prison.
“Why you traveling with him, sweetheart?” Miller asked, his sunglasses reflecting her own frightened face.
She crossed her arms, the defiance she’d worn since leaving home flaring up, a last-ditch defense. “That’s none of your damn business.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Miller’s hand moved faster than she could blink, tangling in her red hair and yanking her forward. Her face slammed into the hot metal of the patrol car’s hood. Pain exploded across her cheekbone. She cried out, a short, sharp sound swallowed by the desert.
Gus roared, straining against the cuffs. “You touch her again and I’ll—”
Hayes shoved him hard, muscling him into the backseat of the cruiser and slamming the door. Gus’s furious shouts were muted by the glass.
Miller leaned his weight on Will, pinning her to the hood. The metal seared her skin through her thin dress. “Feisty. I like that.” His free hand ran down her side, over her hip, and hiked up the hem of her dress. The hot, dry air hit her bare legs. “Gotta perform a cavity search. Make sure you’re not hiding anything.”
She struggled, but he was impossibly strong. His hand rubbed roughly between her legs, over her cotton panties. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears of shame and rage mixing with the sweat on her face. This wasn’t happening. This was a bad dream on a hot highway.
She heard the rip of fabric as he pulled her panties aside. Then the blunt, terrible pressure as he pushed into her. A dry, tearing invasion that stole her breath. She bit down on her lip until she tasted blood, her fingers scraping against the hot paint of the car. He grunted with each thrust, his body a crushing weight.
Hayes opened the other rear door of the cruiser. “My turn for a chat with her.” He uncuffed Gus, pulled him out, and shoved him towards the rig. “You. Stay put. Don’t make this worse.”
Hayes walked back to Will. Miller withdrew from her with a wet sound and stepped back, adjusting his uniform. Hayes unbuckled his belt. “Open your mouth.”
She was hollow, a shell. She complied. The taste of stale coffee and salt filled her mouth as he forced himself in, gripping the back of her head. She gagged, her eyes streaming, fixed on the distant, shimmering mountains that promised a freedom that was now a cruel joke.
When he finished, he pulled her upright. Miller was back, his pants unzipped. “On the hood. Hands and knees.”
They positioned her like an animal. One behind her, pushing back into the raw, aching space he’d already violated. The other, in front, forcing her mouth onto him again. They moved in a brutal, synchronized rhythm, a violation in stereo. Her world narrowed to the smell of stale sweat and gun oil, the gritty texture of the car’s paint under her palms, the searing, splitting pain as her body was used and discarded.
It seemed to last for hours. When they were done, they let her slump to the gravel. She curled into a ball, the sharp stones digging into her skin, her dress tangled around her waist.
Miller zipped his fly. “No drugs. You’re free to go.”
They got in their car and drove off, the tires spitting dust and pebbles that peppered her skin.
Silence returned, broken only by the hum of a distant truck. Gus was at her side in an instant, his own horror and fury forgotten. He gently pulled her dress down and gathered her into his arms. She was trembling violently, a leaf in a storm.
He didn’t say it was okay. He didn’t say anything. He just held her, his big, calloused hands stroking her hair, rocking her slightly as she shook. He carried her to the passenger side of the rig and helped her in, his touch infinitely careful.
He climbed into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and pulled back onto the highway. His profile was carved from stone.
Will leaned her head against the cool window, watching the desert fly by. The defiant glint in her green eyes was gone. In its place was a flat, dead calm. She looked at Gus, at the white-knuckled grip he had on the wheel, at the pure, undiluted murder in his eyes.
Her voice, when it came, was a rasp, but it was clear.
“Find them,” she said.