Amanda Leduc - The Centaur's Wife

Sure enough, there is a loud bang and they jolt to a stop. Everyone swears. There’s a pause, and then the back doors roll open. The man called Darby steps to the back of the truck and jumps down. Someone outside is talking, but Estajfan can’t make out the words.

“The engine blew,” the boy says. The panic in his voice hasn’t gone away. “ The engine fucking blew. ”

The woman stands and goes to the boy. She’s afraid too—they all are. Afraid of him, of the road, of themselves. “We’ll fix it. Darby and JJ will know what to do.”

“JJ works with bikes, Moira—that’s what he said! And it’s already halfway through the afternoon. By the time we fix this, it will be dark.”

“So we camp,” she says, wearily. “We all need some sleep anyway. The truck has broken down a hundred times, Brian. It’s not like we haven’t done this before.”

“But what if there are more of— them— outside?”

Moira shrugs. “Then I guess it’s good I saved this one, isn’t it? Maybe he’ll be able to vouch for us.”

She’s half joking, but as usual, Brian doesn’t get it. “How are we supposed to negotiate with these things? I mean, look at it. Him. Whatever.”

Moira is silent for so long that Estajfan thinks she isn’t going to respond. But then she bends toward him. “I’m looking,” she says. She’s talking to Brian but Estajfan feels the words go right through him. “I’m watching, Brian. There’s nothing you need to worry about, at least not right now.”

“Where did it come from, anyway?” Brian asks. “It didn’t just appear on the road. It came from somewhere.”

Moira shrugs, then locks eyes with Estajfan again. He hasn’t blinked—he can tell that has unnerved her a little.

“JJ said he knew where we could take it,” Brian says. “He didn’t say he knew where it came from.”

“Whatever. Go ask him.”

The boy jumps down from the truck and shuffles away. Estajfan hears voices at the side of the vehicle, though he can’t make out the words.

Moira walks away from him and slumps down against the wall, her arms resting on her knees. She stares at him. He blinks, slowly.

She saved his life, he thinks.

He flexes his fingers, and they move a little more.

A long time passes. Hours? Estajfan can’t be sure. The light fades, eventually. Every now and then someone swears or bangs the side of the vehicle.

Then Brian appears. “We’re spending the night,” he says to Moira. “JJ says to get that thing out of the truck.”

Moira rolls her eyes. “And how am I going to do that?”

“Not you,” the boy mumbles. “I just wanted to tell you what was happening.”

The other men jump into the truck. Together with Brian, they grab Estajfan by the legs and haul him toward the doors.

He can move more than his fingers now, but he stays limp as a fish.

“Jesus,” says JJ. “This thing is heavy.” As they tip Estajfan over the edge, his head thumps against the frame, hard. He fights to keep from grimacing in pain, but he can’t help it.

“Hey,” Moira says. “Did you see that?”

“See what?” JJ again.

“He hit his head,” Moira says. “And I think he winced.”

“So? Fucker’s tied. He’s not going anywhere.”

They drag Estajfan away from the vehicle. When they drop him, his head hits the ground again, but he doesn’t react. He’s staring straight at Moira, who looks away.

“Is the truck fixed?” she calls.

“It’s fixed, princess,” Darby drawls back. “But we’ll camp here for the night.”

“Since when do we stop because it’s dark?” Brian says.

“Since now,” JJ snaps. “I don’t want to have to fucking stop and fix the engine because we’re driving over God knows what in the night. What the hell kind of hurry are we in, anyway?”

Moira points to Estajfan. “We just play prison guard until the morning? Why didn’t we leave him in the truck for the night?”

“Sure,” Darby says, slowly. “You can be the one to open the door in the morning, Moira, and see if it’s broken free of the ropes and is ready to jump down and crush us all.”

“I meant keep him in there, with us,” she snaps. “No one’s sleeping outside.”

Darby thrusts his chin at the truck. “We’ll sleep in there and leave him out here. You can take first watch. I thought you liked horses, Moira. Don’t all little girls want a pony?”

“I’m not a little girl,” she retorts. “And he’s not a fucking pony.”

Darby doesn’t respond, just heads to the truck.

Moira stands looking after him, and then jumps into the back and retrieves the rifle. When she comes back, she settles down against a tree and scowls at Estajfan. “Don’t go anywhere,” she snaps. “If you even know what I’m saying.”

There’s a sadness in her face and eyes that reminds him of Heather, and makes him want to speak. But he looks away from Moira and stares at the trampled grass, the vines and overgrown weeds all around them. He digs his hands into a cluster of vines and pulls against the ties. The strands of rope weaken, give way. He waits until there’s more commotion from the men—a clang, “ Fuck you, that was my finger, jackass ” — and when Moira looks up their way, he jerks and snaps the ropes, then lets his hands go limp.

He won’t be able to get at the ropes binding his legs as easily.

Soon the daylight is gone and the dark is all around them. Eventually he hears the men swearing at each other as they settle down for the night, and then they grow quiet. Moira hasn’t moved.

He looks up at the sky and tries to count the stars.

The tingle in Heather’s fingers becomes a tingle in her hands, a warm flush that spreads from her shoulders down to her toes. As they run, she feels Estajfan come awake. He can move, and yet he doesn’t. He can speak, and yet he doesn’t.

In the early afternoon, Aura stops. Petrolio reaches for Heather—she almost falls, she’s that stiff, but he has her, his hands gentle. He lifts her down onto the ground and holds her until the sleep passes from her feet and she’s sure her legs will bear the weight.

“You haven’t eaten,” Aura says. She pulls her satchel over her shoulder and reaches into it, then hands her an apple.

“I’m not hungry. And anyway, you haven’t eaten either.”

“I’m not pregnant,” Aura says. “If anything happens to you, Estajfan will never forgive me.”

Heather bites into the apple, chews, swallows.

As she takes another bite, Petrolio comes to stand in front of her, swishing his tail back and forth.

“He can move his arms at least,” she says, her mouth filled with apple.

“Is he being watched?” Petrolio asks.

She closes her eyes and sees flashes of the woman—brown eyes, crooked nose—the boy, the man with the tattoo. They are all thin and tired and angry.

“I don’t know if they’re watching him, but they’ve stopped,” she says. “I think there’s something wrong with the truck.”

Petrolio nods. “We need to go now.”

Heather drops the rest of the apple on the ground and lets Aura lift her up onto Petrolio.

They run.

Something shivers in the ground beneath Estajfan’s ear. He knows, instantly, that they are here. He can feel Petrolio’s beating hearts, the simmer of Aura’s rage.

And Heather—he can feel Heather.

There’s a rustle nearby and the man who is now on watch—Darby—sits up and cocks his gun. A twig breaks.