Free Further South by Eryk Pruitt

 
     
    Melinda Kendall saw the two headed her way and figured she was in no mood for this shit. Not today. She instinctively drew her legs to a close, but knew it was too late. They had seen her and made steadfast plans to fuck with her. Other days she could make sport of them, turn whatever nonsense right back on them. Hell, she even thought the taller of the two was kind of attractive and could even have afforded him a go with the right ration of spirit to mixer. But not today . For today, she had begun to kick and her attitude on life could use some improvement.
    And sure as the sunrise, they were on her, funniest guys on the planet, probably the pride of whatever dipshit fraternity had released them into the wild. They took turns challenging and daring each other, arguing which would be the first to make an ass of himself. The taller one won and could barely contain himself as he approached her.
    "Hey, little missy," he said, his Louisiana accent a gumbo of drawl and polished mumble. " You having some car trouble?"
    Options presented themselves to her, although she'd prefer a proxy handle her decision-making, due to her condition. True, this car had gone about as far as it was going to go, especially with her in it. She'd ridden it hard since Nacogdoches and had no more money for gas. But these guys had money . Maybe they could even give her a ride. She had an arsenal of tactics at her disposal to get what she wanted. The only question would usually be: Which one would work on these two?
    But not today.
    She'd sat outside the bait and tackle shop for over an hour after the car had quit on her, at first trying to figure out what to do and then just trying to get her thoughts to quit racing. She was in a fix alright and the only thing that would cure it was miles. Distance. Putting a lot of highway between her and her troubles. Running out of gas had done a number on her plans.
    All morning people went in and out of the bait shop and minded their business. In empty-handed and out with bags of minnows, cans of grubworms and various other whatnot. She knew she had to look a fright, but most folks had the decency to let her be.
    But TallBoy and Pudgy didn't strike her as the decency type. Instead of acknowledging them, she only stared back from behind her sunshades. This threw fuel on their fire.
    "What's the matter, baby?" asked Pudgy. "You need a ride? I can give you a ride." He fell over laughing. He'd come at her with his best material.
    Again: options. She weighed each and every one of them. She could ask for help -- beg, even. She wanted to give them the finger, offer a few suggestions to what they could do with their fancy, rich-kid fishing poles, but she couldn't see an endgame with an outcome in her favor. Guys like this had a violent streak in them that didn't mesh well with their entitlements. She also had a .22 in her bag and thought about a round bouncing in their skulls. But she knew her limitations and reckoned now wasn't the best time for her to make these kinds of decisions. She said and did nothing.
    TallBoy sensed something. He popped Pudgy's shoulder with the back of his hand. "Let's get in there and get our stuff," he said. "Leave this one alone. She looks like she's been through the wringer and something ain't right with her."
    "She's just how I like them: skinny and skanky." Pudgy wasn't ready to give in. "It don't look like that long ago since she's been hot."
    Melinda lowered her head. They walked past her and up the dry, wooden steps of the bait and tackle shop, then disappeared inside. Best thing for them , she told herself. Actually, she knew it was the best thing for her. As much as she'd love teaching a couple of idiots a valuable lesson on how to treat a lady, one that should have been taught a long time ago, she didn't need the attention. What she needed was to get as far away from Texas as possible and to do so quietly.
    So for starters, she'd need a ride.
    The Oldsmobile Cutlass wasn't even