Desperadoes in Baja V: Desert (Crossing)
[All lyrics quoted from the Dropkick Murphys album "Blackout"]
The highway turns inland to the desert. Summer in Baja means heat crushing the land like the fist of an angry god. Breeze coming through the windows doesn't help. It's more like sticking your head in front of a hair-dryer set to high. Not that there's much air moving past them anyway. Any time the speedo gets near fifty-five, the Volkswagen wheezes like that guy who choked his chubby every time she broke out the schoolgirl kilt and bull-whip. Sweat rolls down Faith's body. No worries, as she should say. Arm propped on the door, cigarette cupped behind her hand. Eyes hidden behind oversized shades. Every so often she tokes a bit, careful to blow the smoke outside. Midget in the driver's seat whines if he gets a whiff of her second-hand.
Not a problem. In prison with a bunch of women all cycling together, you learn real quick how to set up your own space. He can play that J-pop stuff from something called "Macross" all he wants. She's got her own soundtrack cued her own CD player. Dawn slipped some primo tunes into the package containing her new ID. A few discs of the Man In Black's best. She'd thought Xander had been screwing with her, sending "Live at Folsom Prison" a month into her sentence. Ended up playing "Folsom Prison Blues" over and over. Won't admit to liking country. But Cash? Yes, please. Course, most of Dawn's gifts are good old-fashioned punk and headbanger rock. Spike did a number on the mini-B's musical tastebuds. Nestled in there was gold: three Dropkick Murphys albums. Faith caught onto them while she was living in Quincy one summer. She went to every show she could between the training and Slaying. Now she's got their latest pumping through the earphones:
It's another November evening
As you remember your way home
You mete out your aggressive tendencies
On what's left of your blackened soul.
Haze blurs the air above the sticky asphalt. Every so often, the Naziwagon lurches when it hits a pothole. Scenery going by is like the desert outside of SunnyD. Sand, scrub, lizards. Some really wild cact-ii? uses? whatever the plural, freaky. Skinny ones with what look like roots on top, huge branched ones like those she once saw in Arizona riding a freight while on the run from Kakistos. Australia's like this, isn't it? According to the tour guides Andrew forced her to study. The "outback". The "bush". Faith tries it in a Down Under accent. Yeah. Her home, now. City perched in the middle of nowhere--sorry, "Woop-Woop". Port like Boston, only surrounded by sand instead of green. No quarries to swim naked in there. Faith is dry and hollow as she imagines the land on the edge of Perth might be. No weight. Like the paper her past is now. One good strong wind could blow it away. Nothing there.
It's another busted knuckle
It's a fight you'll never win
And now you bow your head in shame
For a sin no one forgives
"Water?" Andrew offers a plastic jug.
"Thanks." She tilts it back. Water's warm. Not any less thirsty after it's down, only the dust washed out of her mouth.
"Would you like some juice? There's some in the cooler in the back seat." Andrew's fingers dance on the steering wheel. "Or--or we could stop for a break--"
Faith glances at him. Hunched over, cringing, expression like a ferret with a habanero stuck up its ass.
"'Case you're wondering, you didn't do anything wrong," Faith says, pinching out her cig. She tosses it into the ashtray. "I know you're worried. Acting like the way I did on mornings when my ma was both sobering up and getting her monthlies."
"Well, you've just been so quiet." Andrew runs his fingers through his hair. Christ, what's he do to style it that way, stick his finger in a socket every morning?
"Don't open up that much." Faith tips her seat back. " I'm not exactly the kinda girl who eats ice cream with her BFF and braids her hair every time she's gotta problem. Only three people I have ever broke down in front of like last night. Angel, B. And you. When I get like this I usually pound on someone. One way or another. Neither's a good option, so just gonna pull an Angel for a few hours."
"I--I'm glad." Andrew drinks deep from the water bottle. "That we have, um, a connection."
"We do, huh?"
"We're both outlaws, right?" Andrew blinks against the glare. "Both wounded souls seeking redemeption, like the Jaffa Tea'lc rebelling against what he did in the name of his lord. Both--"
"Murderers." Faith says it softly. "Killers."
"Yes." Andrew stares fixedly into the distance. "Does it ever get better?"
"Used to be I thought killing Finch, then the others was like a huge weight." Faith stretches out. "Went crazy with the idea of carrying for the rest of my life. Then I thought, like a big debt you have to pay off. Only now? Price you pay. Never goes away. Pay it in big ways and little ones. Part of the reason I freaked back there was getting how much my screw-up cost me."
"This just sucks." Andrew frowns. "It's not at all like Vader at the end of 'Jedi'. I just feel horrible and small."
"Gonna have to suck it up, Drew." Faith flips down the sun visor. Glare from the windshield's killing her eyes.
"Yeah." Andrew pouts. "We used to play Monster, Jonathan and I."
"One of those, whatcha call them, roleplaying games?"
"No, more like dress-up." A fond smile flits over his lips. "Jonathan was really more my older brother Tucker's friend. I mostly tagged along. Weekends they--we would build these really elaborate models. Like of the school. Even with all the people, like the jocks and cheerleaders."
The smile turns feral.
"Then we'd put on our costumes. I was Gojira." Andrew bares his teeth. "We'd stomp everything flat. It was great pretending to hear them go squish."
"Drew?" Faith raises her sunglasses up.
"Um, yes?"
"That's seriously fucked up." Faith smirks. "Almost as weird as what I'd do."
"You played Monster too?" Andrew asks.
"Sorta. After my ma kicked off, I was in foster care for a couple years," Faith says. "One family had this older brother who was way into slasher movies. I mean, the full Fangoria trip. Liked the idea of freaking me out, so one night he sprung 'Friday the 13th' on me. Only, I ended up thinking Jason was the coolest guy ever."
"With the hockey mask and the--" Andrew gulps. "Wow. I never could watch those."
"Got an old souvenir Bruins facemask and a plastic sword." Faith looks out at the desert, the landscape becoming grey streets and alleys. "Scared the local kids by sneaking up behind them and breathing heavy. One time even got some younger kids to play out the movie, them being the vics and me stalking them through Camp Crystal."
"Faith?"
"Yeah?"
"That's seriously fucked up."
"Pretty much what the social worker thought when my foster 'rents screamed about it," Faith says. "Got pulled out of that home fast."
They drive in companionable silence for a while.
A dust devil whips across the road in front.
"So who'd win," Andrew says, "Jason versus Gojira?"
"Jason!" Faith sits up. "No contest. He'll have some new lizardskin boots."
"Stop!" Andrew snaps his fingers four times in a Z formation. "Hammer time! You really think Jason can take the King of Monsters? Hello, there, atomic breath, superstrength, fifty feet tall."
"Like that matters," Faith scoffs.
"Jason ends up a toasted marshmallow," Andrew says.
"Yeah, maybe." Faith smiles triumphantly. "But when the Big Liz is back at his crib--"
"Monster Island."
"Whatev, he'll be kicking back, all serene then--" Faith cover her face with her hands, dark eyes peering out as if through a mask. "Whoosh-hah, whoosh-hah, and WHAM machete through the neck."
"Gojira can't be killed by a machete!" Andrew yells, outraged.
"Damn straight he can if the J-man's swinging it."
"Can't!"
"Can!"
Unheard, the CD segues into a new song while they squabble:
Til the end like a friend stands by you again
And I wouldn't change a thing
Toe to toe, friend or foe, its all that I know
And I wouldn't change a thing
The highway turns inland to the desert. Summer in Baja means heat crushing the land like the fist of an angry god. Breeze coming through the windows doesn't help. It's more like sticking your head in front of a hair-dryer set to high. Not that there's much air moving past them anyway. Any time the speedo gets near fifty-five, the Volkswagen wheezes like that guy who choked his chubby every time she broke out the schoolgirl kilt and bull-whip. Sweat rolls down Faith's body. No worries, as she should say. Arm propped on the door, cigarette cupped behind her hand. Eyes hidden behind oversized shades. Every so often she tokes a bit, careful to blow the smoke outside. Midget in the driver's seat whines if he gets a whiff of her second-hand.
Not a problem. In prison with a bunch of women all cycling together, you learn real quick how to set up your own space. He can play that J-pop stuff from something called "Macross" all he wants. She's got her own soundtrack cued her own CD player. Dawn slipped some primo tunes into the package containing her new ID. A few discs of the Man In Black's best. She'd thought Xander had been screwing with her, sending "Live at Folsom Prison" a month into her sentence. Ended up playing "Folsom Prison Blues" over and over. Won't admit to liking country. But Cash? Yes, please. Course, most of Dawn's gifts are good old-fashioned punk and headbanger rock. Spike did a number on the mini-B's musical tastebuds. Nestled in there was gold: three Dropkick Murphys albums. Faith caught onto them while she was living in Quincy one summer. She went to every show she could between the training and Slaying. Now she's got their latest pumping through the earphones:
It's another November evening
As you remember your way home
You mete out your aggressive tendencies
On what's left of your blackened soul.
Haze blurs the air above the sticky asphalt. Every so often, the Naziwagon lurches when it hits a pothole. Scenery going by is like the desert outside of SunnyD. Sand, scrub, lizards. Some really wild cact-ii? uses? whatever the plural, freaky. Skinny ones with what look like roots on top, huge branched ones like those she once saw in Arizona riding a freight while on the run from Kakistos. Australia's like this, isn't it? According to the tour guides Andrew forced her to study. The "outback". The "bush". Faith tries it in a Down Under accent. Yeah. Her home, now. City perched in the middle of nowhere--sorry, "Woop-Woop". Port like Boston, only surrounded by sand instead of green. No quarries to swim naked in there. Faith is dry and hollow as she imagines the land on the edge of Perth might be. No weight. Like the paper her past is now. One good strong wind could blow it away. Nothing there.
It's another busted knuckle
It's a fight you'll never win
And now you bow your head in shame
For a sin no one forgives
"Water?" Andrew offers a plastic jug.
"Thanks." She tilts it back. Water's warm. Not any less thirsty after it's down, only the dust washed out of her mouth.
"Would you like some juice? There's some in the cooler in the back seat." Andrew's fingers dance on the steering wheel. "Or--or we could stop for a break--"
Faith glances at him. Hunched over, cringing, expression like a ferret with a habanero stuck up its ass.
"'Case you're wondering, you didn't do anything wrong," Faith says, pinching out her cig. She tosses it into the ashtray. "I know you're worried. Acting like the way I did on mornings when my ma was both sobering up and getting her monthlies."
"Well, you've just been so quiet." Andrew runs his fingers through his hair. Christ, what's he do to style it that way, stick his finger in a socket every morning?
"Don't open up that much." Faith tips her seat back. " I'm not exactly the kinda girl who eats ice cream with her BFF and braids her hair every time she's gotta problem. Only three people I have ever broke down in front of like last night. Angel, B. And you. When I get like this I usually pound on someone. One way or another. Neither's a good option, so just gonna pull an Angel for a few hours."
"I--I'm glad." Andrew drinks deep from the water bottle. "That we have, um, a connection."
"We do, huh?"
"We're both outlaws, right?" Andrew blinks against the glare. "Both wounded souls seeking redemeption, like the Jaffa Tea'lc rebelling against what he did in the name of his lord. Both--"
"Murderers." Faith says it softly. "Killers."
"Yes." Andrew stares fixedly into the distance. "Does it ever get better?"
"Used to be I thought killing Finch, then the others was like a huge weight." Faith stretches out. "Went crazy with the idea of carrying for the rest of my life. Then I thought, like a big debt you have to pay off. Only now? Price you pay. Never goes away. Pay it in big ways and little ones. Part of the reason I freaked back there was getting how much my screw-up cost me."
"This just sucks." Andrew frowns. "It's not at all like Vader at the end of 'Jedi'. I just feel horrible and small."
"Gonna have to suck it up, Drew." Faith flips down the sun visor. Glare from the windshield's killing her eyes.
"Yeah." Andrew pouts. "We used to play Monster, Jonathan and I."
"One of those, whatcha call them, roleplaying games?"
"No, more like dress-up." A fond smile flits over his lips. "Jonathan was really more my older brother Tucker's friend. I mostly tagged along. Weekends they--we would build these really elaborate models. Like of the school. Even with all the people, like the jocks and cheerleaders."
The smile turns feral.
"Then we'd put on our costumes. I was Gojira." Andrew bares his teeth. "We'd stomp everything flat. It was great pretending to hear them go squish."
"Drew?" Faith raises her sunglasses up.
"Um, yes?"
"That's seriously fucked up." Faith smirks. "Almost as weird as what I'd do."
"You played Monster too?" Andrew asks.
"Sorta. After my ma kicked off, I was in foster care for a couple years," Faith says. "One family had this older brother who was way into slasher movies. I mean, the full Fangoria trip. Liked the idea of freaking me out, so one night he sprung 'Friday the 13th' on me. Only, I ended up thinking Jason was the coolest guy ever."
"With the hockey mask and the--" Andrew gulps. "Wow. I never could watch those."
"Got an old souvenir Bruins facemask and a plastic sword." Faith looks out at the desert, the landscape becoming grey streets and alleys. "Scared the local kids by sneaking up behind them and breathing heavy. One time even got some younger kids to play out the movie, them being the vics and me stalking them through Camp Crystal."
"Faith?"
"Yeah?"
"That's seriously fucked up."
"Pretty much what the social worker thought when my foster 'rents screamed about it," Faith says. "Got pulled out of that home fast."
They drive in companionable silence for a while.
A dust devil whips across the road in front.
"So who'd win," Andrew says, "Jason versus Gojira?"
"Jason!" Faith sits up. "No contest. He'll have some new lizardskin boots."
"Stop!" Andrew snaps his fingers four times in a Z formation. "Hammer time! You really think Jason can take the King of Monsters? Hello, there, atomic breath, superstrength, fifty feet tall."
"Like that matters," Faith scoffs.
"Jason ends up a toasted marshmallow," Andrew says.
"Yeah, maybe." Faith smiles triumphantly. "But when the Big Liz is back at his crib--"
"Monster Island."
"Whatev, he'll be kicking back, all serene then--" Faith cover her face with her hands, dark eyes peering out as if through a mask. "Whoosh-hah, whoosh-hah, and WHAM machete through the neck."
"Gojira can't be killed by a machete!" Andrew yells, outraged.
"Damn straight he can if the J-man's swinging it."
"Can't!"
"Can!"
Unheard, the CD segues into a new song while they squabble:
Til the end like a friend stands by you again
And I wouldn't change a thing
Toe to toe, friend or foe, its all that I know
And I wouldn't change a thing