Gundown by Ray Rhamey

big valley and headed south for Ashland. Chloe curled in the seat beside her, asleep. A growing sense of safety had relaxed Jewel when she and Chloe got off the bus to stretch their legs at stops, a remarkable feeling to have around bus terminals. Oh, men still looked at her as though she were their favorite candy, but now she had a stopper.
    Yeah, being a pistol-packin’ mama wasn’t all bad. Whether the guys with hungry eyes wanted to do anything or not, in this state they knew she could be holding. No wonder they called ’em “stoppers.”
    She flashed on Green-Stripe in Chicago jamming a gun under her chin. What if they’d had stoppers in Illinois? He’d be in jail now—or would he even have attacked her?
    She shook off that nasty memory and let the valley embrace her. Rolling hills to the east were green with grass and clusters of trees. To the west, forested foothills rose to a mountain standing tall over them, its cap of snow white against clear blue sky. Close by the highway, tidy orchards and vineyards covered much of the valley floor. Cattle grazed in acres of meadows.
    Scattered homes thickened among the pines and oaks on the foothills and turned into a narrow little town strung along the slopes. Ashland looked like it ought to be framed and hung on a wall.
    They left the highway, and she ran her fingers through Chloe’s hair to wake her. Her head felt hot, like the time she’d spiked a fever and had to go to the hospital. And her cheeks were red. They weren’t just flushed—they looked as though she had been slapped.
    Jewel sat her up and discovered a rash on Chloe’s chubby arms. Jewel had seen fevers before, but this was strange. An image of her dead brother popped into her mind. Oh, no, don’t let anything happen to Chloe.
    Panic knotting her belly, she scooped Chloe into her arms and rushed to the front of the bus. The driver told her to be seated, and she snapped, “She’s sick. Get us there.”
    The instant the bus stopped and the door opened, she bolted out. Inside the station, she ran to the ticket window and pushed her way to the front of the line. The clerk, a tired-looking woman whose face looked like it wore every irritation she’d ever had, said, “You gotta wait your turn.”
    Jewel tried to be cool, but Chloe’s cheeks were so red! Her voice shook. “My little girl is sick! Where’s the closest clinic?”
    The clerk shook her head. “Next.”
    The seventyish man Jewel had cut in front of leaned around her. “Help the lady out. I got time.”
    Her face still pinched and sour, the clerk pointed and said, “About a mile that way.”
    “Where can I get a cab?”
    The clerk glared at her; the old man tapped Jewel on the shoulder and pointed at double glass doors that opened onto the street. “Sometimes one’s out there.”
    Jewel ran for the door.
    To one side of the bus station was a motel, on the other a convenience store. Across the street a bunch of buildings looked like a college campus. No cabs were in sight. Just her luck to land in a one-horse town.
    A van pulled away from the convenience store and revealed a taxicab parked there. The driver, a big soft drink in his hand, was getting into the cab. Holding Chloe close, she ran toward it.
    The cab backed out and turned to enter the street. Gripping Chloe to her with one arm, she stepped into its way and waved. The cab veered around her and accelerated.
    As it passed, she kicked the rear fender and yelled, “Hey!” The driver slammed on his brakes.
    She ran to the cab and jumped into the rear seat. “Take me to the nearest clinic! Please hurry.”
    The cabbie, a bulky guy in his twenties with a bushy brown beard and a ponytail held with a rubber band, gazed at her in the rearview mirror. With his plaid flannel shirt, he looked as though he’d just come down off a mountain after trapping beaver. His face was haggard, his eyes droopy with purplish hollows beneath them. The only life in his face was a glare of