Ashby Holler by Jamie Zakian Page A

missing his truck, which was hidden in the woods. When the long trailer rolled from sight, Dez pressed the button on the walky and said, “Go.”
    As Dez drove out of the woods, Otis parked across the road, blocking both lanes. The brakes of the mark, a shiny new Mack truck, locked up, lighting the trees in red. A squeal rang out, smoke wafting from the eighteen wheels that rubbed against the road. The Mack truck skipped to a halt, a few feet from Otis’s stolen garbage truck, its trailer jacking slightly to the side.
    After closing off the rear, Dez seized his gun and nodded to Ellen. They crept down the road, splitting off at the back of the trailer. Ellen’s boots shuffled along the passenger side as Dez crouched below the driver’s door.
    Otis and Kev pointed rifles at the windshield, yelling for the men inside the semi to get out. The door flung open, nearly clipping Dez upside the head. A shaky arm popped out and he latched on, yanking.
    A man crashed to the ground, and Dez planted his boot on the quivering body, aiming his gun down. Two blasts rang out from the passenger side, and Dez pulled the trigger. Blood splattered the pavement in a spray of pink-laced crimson, splashing his face. He leapt over the headless body and followed Otis around the front.
    Ellen stood over a pool of blood oozing from the dead man at her feet. She shoved empty shells into her pocket then reloaded her shotgun. “Dez, check inside.” Her barrel clicked shut, and she stood behind him as he climbed into the cab.
    “It’s clear,” Dez called out, jumping to the ground.
    “Otis, Kev, check the trailer,” Ellen said, lowering her weapon.
    Dez looked at the stiff convulsing in the dirt, the decal on his jacket blasted to shreds. “We got two. Chewy was worth ten of these biker fucks.”
    “For sure.”
    “It’s empty,” Kev yelled, closing the cargo door. “Just a bunch of chains.” He rested his gun against his shoulder, strolling back toward Ellen. “What should we do with the bodies?”
    “Drag ‘em into the brush. Dez, help him.” Ellen looked at Otis then gestured to the garbage truck in the center of the road. “Park it out of sight. You and Kev get to be the first to take our new semi for a ride.”
    “It’s nice,” Otis said, his hand gliding along the deep blue fender. “A brand new Mack.”
    Dez dragged a body into the tall grass. When he loosened his clutch, dead weight thumped to the ground. He wiped his hands on his jeans, turning toward the road. Beyond Kev, who struggled to haul a bloody corpse, Ellen smiled at him. That leer in her eye made him feel like a canary caught in a cat’s gaze.
    “Fuck,” Kev panted, dropping the body beside Dez. “I need to start lifting.”
    “A few years in the pen will do the trick,” Dez muttered, heading for his pickup.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Twelve
     
     
    Sasha
     
    Sasha slid back into her seat, latching her belt buckle. “We really should hit the road.”
    “Yeah.” Vinny struggled with his pants, one arm still bound in a sling. “Fuck this.” He tore the sling off, tossing it behind him.
    “Dude!” Sasha yelled.
    Vinny curled his fingers, shot them straight, then curled them again. “I can’t even do my belt. I need two hands.”
    “Jesus, you’re hopeless.” Sasha reached over and fastened Vinny’s belt. Her stare drifted up. That bump on his throat, smooth cheeks, crystal clear eyes…the same shade of blue that lay in his brother’s glare.
    Sasha lurched back. Her shriveled shell of a conscious threatened to rear its ugly opinion, and she chased it away with the puff of a joint. A quick check in the mirrors and she was back on the freeway, running through seven gears.
    “So,” Sasha said, glancing at Vinny. “Don’t tell anybody about this. Ever.”
    “What? About just now?”
    “Well, yeah,” she droned. “But you know…we should probably just pretend we’ve never had sex.”
    The silence lasted maybe ten seconds,