Savages

230

Ben pulls alongside the Airstream trailer off a dirt road in the Middle of Nowhere.

Tumbleweeds tossing around like they blew off a movie set. Jury-rigged power line jacked from a phone pole to the trailer. An old pickup and a Dodge GT parked under a homemade remada built of willow poles.

“Pull it up close,” Chon instructs. “Go knock on the door, tell Doc you got me with you and that I took one.”

Ben gets out.

Legs feel like old rubber, loose and shaky.

He goes up the wooden steps to the trailer door and knocks. Hears, “Oh-three-thirty, this better be fucking good.”

Door opens, a guy about their age stares at him. Boxer shorts and nothing else on, disheveled, eyes red, he looks at Ben and says, “If you’re some fucking Jehovah’s Witness or something I’m going to kick your ass.”

“It’s Chon. He’s shot.”

“Get him in here.”