Flanked Page 21

  The woman slapped mildewed folders on the table. “You know what you want?”

  “Not yet.” Joe tried smiling at the woman, but she rolled her eyes at him and walked off. “Well, that was fun. Let’s make sure we have enough funds to eat here.”

  “We do,” Devin said. “I saw the chip reader when we came in.”

  “Yes, but we need to see how much —”

  “We have enough, Joe. Let it go.”

  Devin had enough, is what he meant. However Devin’s parents had made mistakes by staying in Austin instead of fleeing north, then dying on him in the same epidemic that killed Joe’s mother, they at least had left him with plenty of money. Joe didn’t want to get his hopes up, but Devin’s money might make the rest of their trip a bit easier now that they were in New America.

  The woman — Peter said she was a server — came back, and they told her what they wanted to eat. Devin chose for Flix, who stared, as best Joe could tell, at a spot near Joe’s left ear.

  Joe considered the people at the table. They’d all lost someone now. He missed his mother, but the pain was based on what he thought a mother would be like more than any real sense of grief. He couldn’t decide what was worse, his friends losing people they loved, or him being abandoned by the man who should have loved him.

  “People are staring at us,” Devin whispered.

  “Of course they are,” Aria said. “Look at us.” She jutted her chin. “Look at the rest of the room.”

  Joe didn’t want to ogle the other customers, but he was curious. Was there something he hadn’t noticed when they came in? He stood up and moved around behind Devin to dig in the backpack Devin carried. From there, he could see the whole room.

  People were staring at him. A few turned back to their food when he caught their eye, but many kept on watching. It could be the rifle splayed across his back, though he was hardly the only armed person in the room. More likely, the stares had something to do with his group. At least Boggs and his wanted posters probably hadn’t followed them into New America. Joe studied the human composition of the room. Of course. He’d been so relieved to see folks from many ethnicities and races that he hadn’t taken the time to notice how they were grouped. White people only sat with other white people. Like with like. He re-fastened the backpack, squeezed Devin’s shoulder, and made an obvious show of adjusting the rifle. He may have wanted to be a part of New America, but he wasn’t doing it by subscribing to its prejudices.

  “Done showing off?” Aria asked when he sat back down. “Still think white people are your friends?”

  “It’s not just white people staring,” Joe said. “And the ones at this table are my friends.”

  Devin smiled at him, and Peter gave a vehement nod that may have been more about denying Aria than accepting Joe. Either way, Joe appreciated it. Aria would be a cancer to them if they let her. Joe didn’t intend to let her.

  The server came back with their food. Joe’s carnitas tasted like feet, but he didn’t care. The food was warm and wet, and if it had tasted good, he would have missed Sadie and her home-cooking even more.

  “Flix, eat your food,” Joe said.

  Flix pushed his mashed potatoes around on his plate and didn’t react.

  “Hey.” Devin leaned over and whispered something in Flix’s ear.

  Flix startled and looked around like he’d just realized where he was. He stopped messing with his food and put a bite in his mouth.

  Joe watched him eat until most of the potatoes were gone. He could wait out Flix’s grief and his anger, but he couldn’t let Flix hurt himself. Marcus had died trying to keep Flix safe, Joe was sure of it, and he wasn’t going to let that sacrifice be in vain. The smooth sil-fab shirt Navarro had given Joe after tending to the bullet wound was thin enough that Joe had no trouble feeling the sharp V cut in his elbow when he ran his index finger over it. Victor had sacrificed for Joe, too, and he’d asked Joe to make it matter. Joe meant to keep that promise.

  They finished their meal, and the server brought over the chip reader. Devin grabbed it and swiped his wrist over the sensor.

  “Tip,” the server said.

  Devin squinted up at her.

  “You’re supposed to leave me a tip, whitey. Extra money. You think that food brings itself over here?”

  “No, ma’am,” Devin said.

  The server jerked her head. “You’re a white man, son. You don’t go ’round calling no black girl ma’am. That’s a tip for you. Now, how much money you gonna give me?” Devin told her, and she input it into the chip reader and held it out again for his wrist. “You boys from New America?”

  “I’m a girl,” Aria growled.

  “Then grow your hair out, son. You have lice or something?”

  “Still a girl.”

  “So?”

  Joe cut in before Aria and the server came to blows. “Thanks for the tip and the food. We’re going to head out now.” He grabbed Aria’s arm and started to stand when a sandy-haired man walked up. The tag on his shirt said he was the manager.

  “Georgia, how these fine young boys doing today? You serving ’em good?”

  “Yes, sir. They’re just leaving.”

  “Fine, fine,” the man said. “Well, a word of advice, since you boys” — “Girl,” Aria growled — “seem to be unfamiliar with New American customs. Now, I don’t care who come in my restaurant. They got money, I’m gonna feed ’em. But not everywhere the same as here. Next time you come in someone store, you best follow the rules. Whites don’t sit with none else. You get me?” He waited there, looking from Devin to Peter and back again.

  “You don’t have to worry,” Devin said. “You won’t see us again. Let’s go.” He pulled Flix roughly from the chair and shoved him outside.

  Joe followed with Peter and Aria. He caught up to Devin halfway back up the ramp.

  Devin’s free hand, the one that wasn’t hauling Flix like a child’s toy, clenched into a fist. “Fucking asshole. Don’t tell me who I am.” He spit toward the restaurant.

  Joe hurried and got in front of Devin, cutting his path short. “You’re not like that. None of us believes you are. It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay, Joe. It’s really not.” Devin tilted his head back, exhaled loudly, and relaxed his fist. When he righted his head, he seemed calmer. “You better go deal with Aria.”

  “You good?”

  “Yeah, I’m good.”

  Joe wasn’t so sure, but Aria was already fifteen feet away and walking fast. Joe groaned. He wasn’t good at managing personalities. He took long strides until he caught up with her.

  Aria snorted. “Glad you dragged us all up here, wise one?”

  “Leave any time, Aria.”

  “Like you’d let me.”

  Joe wouldn’t. No matter how angry Aria may be, she wouldn’t be safe alone. And Joe had a sinking suspicion Aria was right. Whatever they encountered in New America, it wasn’t likely to be friendly. They’d only make it if they pulled together.

  “Joe!”

  Joe turned and saw Devin waving his arms from a branching road off to the right. Flix was walking on his own now, head down, moving quickly.

  Devin gestured to Flix and to a rusty sign above his head. “He pointed at the sign.”

  Joe skipped back a few paces and read. He was headed the wrong way. Flix was on the right path. Joe tapped Peter’s shoulder, and they hurried to catch up.

  ***

  “No!” Devin cried out, but he couldn’t make his feet move. In the distance, Marcus reached out as blood bloomed around the gaping hole in his chest. Devin screamed, and Marcus turned into Flix begging for help. And then it was Joe, blood covering his hands as he clutched his chest and collapsed onto the carpet in Devin’s old house.

  Devin jolted upright and winced as his brain banged against his skull. His headache wasn’t going away. It had started about the time of the funeral — which had been what, a week ago? — but it hadn’t seemed l
ike too big a deal when compared to everything else that had happened. He hadn’t even told Navarro about it before leaving Purcell.

  Something warm brushed his wrist, and for a moment, Devin was back in his nightmare, staring down at Joe as he died on the same spot where Tanner had. But then Devin’s vision cleared, and it was only Flix lying next to him, whole and safe.

  Devin traced the long scar that marred Flix’s face. Not so whole, then. He looked around the room in the pale moonlight, remembering how they’d come upon this vacant house in Asscrack, O’Klansas and decided it was a good place to stop for the night. Aria was squished into a corner, sleeping sitting up. Peter was burrowed so far into his sleeping bag that Devin couldn’t see any part of his head.

  Joe was across the room, sitting against low, built-in wood cabinets, his legs stretched out in front of him, rifle at the ready, staring at Devin.

  Devin untangled his wrist from Flix’s hand and tucked Flix’s arm back into his sleeping bag. He stood and moved over to Joe, who watched him the entire time. When he got close, Joe rolled his head to the side and looked up at him, all big eyes and sharp jaw, full lips and long, lean neck. Devin kicked Joe’s feet together and straddled his legs, sitting up high on his thighs. He palmed the side of Joe’s neck and used his thumb to nudge Joe’s chin higher.

  He should have words for this, why he wanted to devour Joe, needed to touch his skin and feel his pulse race. Some raw human desire. Nothing came to mind, though, except the certainty that the need would never fade.

  Joe didn’t mention the nightmare, though no doubt he’d witnessed it, and Devin was grateful. Words weren’t the comfort he wanted.

  He dipped his head and caught Joe’s lips in a kiss. Fuck, the warmth of him. The feel of his lips. The slick of his tongue. Cool, nimble fingers skating up Devin’s stomach and ribs. Palms scraping across his chest. Devin hummed his pleasure and smoothed his thumb over Joe’s neck, pressing against the base of his throat. When he followed his thumb with his lips, Joe inhaled sharply.

  “Joe?”

  Peter’s voice sounded timid and a little scared, but Devin couldn’t help wanting him to shut the hell up and go back to sleep. Devin didn’t stop loving on Joe; he just moved to the side of Joe’s neck and nuzzled the soft skin there.

  Joe patted Devin’s thigh and whispered, “Wait.” Louder, he said, “I’m here, Peter. What is it?”

  From what Devin could tell, Peter was shuffling around in his sleeping bag. Devin pictured his sleep-tousled hair and clueless expression.

  “I just... I had a nightmare, I guess. I wanted to make sure you were here.”

  “I am,” Joe said. “Do you need anything else?”

  Silence. Then, “Are you and Devin messing around?”

  Devin shifted so he could peek over his shoulder. “Shut up and go back to sleep, Petey.”

  “Gross.”

  “Take it into another room, Romeo and Juliet.” That was Aria.

  Fabulous. More of an audience. Devin’s headache throbbed. He whispered, “I hate these people” at the same time as Peter said, “No! Don’t leave!”

  Joe nudged at his chest until Devin moved and sat next to him. “I’m not leaving the room, Peter, and both of you, if you don’t like me and Devin together, tough.”

  Hearing Joe tell the others to fuck off eased one of Devin’s worries. New America didn’t seem any friendlier than Texas had been, and as excited as Devin was to go north, maybe learn about himself and his family, he feared that the northerners’ prejudices would drive a wedge between him and Joe. He didn’t want to find a missing part of himself only to lose the one person who mattered to him.

  Joe threaded their fingers together, and Devin raised their hands to kiss Joe’s knuckles. He wasn’t being fair. Peter’s nightmares seemed to have morphed from what had happened the night he’d been kidnapped and his parents killed to what had happened to Sadie and Marcus. Peter relied on Joe for his safety, so it was understandable that he’d need Joe around in order to sleep.

  Hell, the nightmares affected all of them. No one talked about it during the day, but none of them were sleeping well. Devin wanted to hate Aria, but her sleep-soaked whimpers broke his heart. Even Joe tossed and turned. But the worst was waking up every morning and seeing Flix lost and aimless. Losing a brother you loved was hell. Devin had grieved alone for Tanner because he had no choice, but Flix had them, had Devin, and was still going it alone. Flix would crack. Eventually, the strain would be too much to carry all by himself, and he would need a friend.

  For now, though, Devin wanted to take care of his own needs.

  With his free hand, he cupped Joe’s jaw and angled his head so their lips would meet. Sitting on his lap had been better, a nicer angle, but this was good. They could be quiet. Devin didn’t need sex, just closeness.

  He kept telling himself that it was closeness he wanted until his lips were slick and swollen with kisses, he had Joe’s shirt fisted halfway off, and he ached with need. He wondered how far he could push and still consider it not sex, how much they could do before his modesty or Joe’s common sense got the better of them.

  Pants off. That was the line. He could work with that. Still gripping the back of Joe’s shirt, he pulled him toward the ground. Horizontal. Yes.

  “Papi, wait.”

  Devin tried. He really did. Especially once the hands that had been in his hair and down the back of his pants shifted and braced against his shoulders. But his momentum and Joe’s weight in his arms propelled him forward, and he didn’t stop until Joe’s back hit the dirty wood floor and his head clunked against the stock of the rifle.

  Joe winced, and Devin cringed with him as the rifle clattered across the floor, the sound echoing around the room.

  Aria groaned, and a loud thump against the wall had Devin picturing Peter flailing around in his sleeping bag, trying to decide whether to should hide or flee. And then the screams started.

  Loud and ragged, Flix begged in his sleep for Marcus and swore at Joe. Interspersed through it all were his desperate, anguished screams.

  Joe pushed Devin off of him and scrambled around. The movement jolted Devin from his paralysis, and he crawled toward Flix as fast as he could. Joe flicked on his flashlight, illuminating Flix, sleeping bag twisted around his legs, struggling to stand. Flix managed to make it upright, but he stumbled. Devin caught him before he hit the floor.

  “Let me go, you bastard! They’re killing him!” Flix screamed and lashed out with his fists. He kicked and writhed, and Devin struggled to hold him.

  Devin settled for lowering them both to the floor and letting go. He stayed close, though, and spoke as calmly as he could. “Flix. Flix, listen to me. It’s Devin. Devin, not Joe. It was just a bad...” He stopped himself and grabbed Flix’s hands. He pressed the palms together between his own and willed himself to breathe.

  The screams kept coming, rising and breaking like lightning in a storm. Devin waited it out, whispered nonsense as close to Flix’s ear as he could get, anything to break Flix free from having to relive Marcus’s death. If only he could look to Joe, ask him how to handle this, but it didn’t matter. He already knew what to do. “Marcus is gone. It’s over,” he rasped, hating himself for saying it.

  Flix stopped. His eyes snapped to Devin’s like they had no choice. His mouth closed for a moment, then it opened slightly, the hint of uncertainty staining his face.

  “That part is over now, Junior. He’s already gone.”

  Flix reached up and touched Devin’s face. It wasn’t until then, until Flix’s fingers trailed through the wetness on Devin’s face, that Devin realized he’d been crying, too.

  Flix’s chin quivered. He stared at the fingers that had stroked Devin’s face. After a moment, he met Devin’s gaze. “He’s gone.”

  Devin nodded.

  Flix nodded, too, then laid down on his back and pulled his hand out of Devin’s grasp.

  The room had quieted, and Devin glanced around. Peter had shifted
so his back pressed against a wall, as far from Flix as possible. Aria sniffled in the corner. And Joe watched.

  Without taking his eyes off Joe, Devin lay next to Flix, getting close enough that their sleeves brushed.

  An hour later, when Peter and Aria’s snores had synchronized and Flix had rolled into Devin’s side and cried a wet spot that covered half of Devin’s shirt before falling into a jittery sleep, Devin was still wide awake.

  Across the room, he was sure Joe was, too.

  SEVENTEEN

  Blood-red and flashing, the huge sign had been visible for half an hour. As they drew up to the building underneath it, Joe re-read the words. Maze-On Cowboy Travel Experience. The sign even had a thirty-foot-tall animated cowboy throwing a lasso around a sheep. He’d rope the sheep’s hoofed feet, drop it onto its side, and reel it in. Then the animation started over.

  Joe pushed the hair out of his eyes — back in Purcell, Sadie had offered to cut it and he’d told her no; another regret — and studied the building. The place was built of weathered wood-look concrete, the same as some of the fancy houses in Austin. The finish didn’t quite match up, though, like the building had been expanded over and over with a slightly different product on each addition. A front porch ran the length of the building. Merchandise filled every window: clothes and food, candles and hot plates, rusted crosses, colorful pots and statues, glittery jewelry far brighter than the gaudy pieces Flights of Fantasy had made the girls wear. A man and a boy who looked to be about ten pulled up on bicycles, chained them to the porch railing alongside three or four others, and went inside. It all seemed so civilized.

  Until Joe saw the one thing he had never seen before that curdled the contents of his stomach: the small, hand-painted sign that said Whites Only.

  Well, Devin and Peter could go in and buy their supplies. Devin was the one with the money anyway.