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  Once inside the car, the man stowed the briefcase in the backseat. He sat behind the wheel, fastened his seatbelt, and pulled out his smart phone and keys. Gina felt an adrenaline surge at the sight of the smart phone. It was what she was hoping for. She brought her backpack up and her right hand darted into the right side pocket for the butterfly knife. “Can I use your phone?”

  “Sure.” The man handed the phone over.

  Gina took the phone and quickly thumbed through the apps. She found what she was looking for—the app to the man’s bank account. She tapped it, then brought the butterfly knife out and handed the phone back to him. “Type in your password,” she said, her voice and demeanor quickly changing as she held the butterfly knife against his stomach. “And do it now!”

  The look on the man’s face was one of stunned shock. “But...I thought...”

  Gina pressed the tip of the blade against the man’s stomach. He squealed, fumbled for the door, almost dropping the cell phone.

  “Drop that cell phone and I’ll gut you,” Gina said, her voice pure venom. She leaned toward the man, all semblance of the helpless twelve-year-old begging for money so she could buy food completely gone. “Put in the password for your bank.”

  “Okay, okay,” the man said, the panic making his voice squeak. “Just...don’t hurt me.” He quickly typed the password in and offered the phone back. “I don’t...I don’t have any money in my bank account, though.”

  “Set the phone down on the console and don’t move,” Gina said. She continued to hold the knife at the man’s belly. The man set the phone down on the center console of the sedan and remained in the front driver’s seat, his breath coming in harsh gasps.

  Gina picked up the phone. Once she had access to the account, she would transfer the money to a temporary dummy account she’d set up for this purpose. Tonight she would make another transfer to a cash center near the house and close the temporary account. In the morning, she would go to the cash center with the verification number and pick up the cash, minus their thirty percent. She’d done it before, and she’d never been caught.

  Keeping the man held at bay with the knife, she quickly glanced at the balance in the man’s bank account. She looked up at the man, fighting to keep the panic off her face. “You...”

  “I told you, I have nothing!”

  “But—” She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The bank account showed a balance of only ten dollars and some pocket change. That was combined checking and savings, too. She looked at the man again. “You came out of the First National Bank building. Nobody can get in there except employees. You work there. They won’t let people who have low bank balances work at companies anymore. I should know. That’s one of the reasons they won’t let my Dad work anymore. So how...”

  “I’m just like everybody else,” the man said. He was fighting to stay calm. His eyes darted from the knife to Gina’s face. “I’m unemployed…just like your dad.”

  “But how...”

  “I faked my way into that building. Under an assumed name, a fake bank balance.” He looked desperate. Scared. “I’m just trying to survive like everyone else. Please...”

  The panic hit Gina like waves crashing on the shore. She felt anxious; cheated. She was at her wits end; Mom had run out of medicine, rent was due in three days and they were almost out of food. She could feel herself begin to lose it. “I need that money,” she said, her hand gripping the handle of the butterfly knife. A sense of murderous rage swept over her. “You son-of-a-bitch! You lied to me!”

  “I’m just as desperate to survive as you!” the man said. He tried to back up against the driver’s side window but couldn’t go anywhere. Gina kept the point of the knife blade at his stomach. “Please,” he begged, sweat beading on his forehead. “My wife and son…we haven’t eaten in three days. I...I can help us both! I—”

  “How the hell did you fake a bank account?” she screamed.

  “I used to be a web programmer!” the man stammered. “I wrote this program...it spoofs the layout of bank websites. It even has a little database that runs in the background. I...I populated the database with fake dollar figures...gave it a transaction history. That’s what they saw.” He motioned toward the cluster of buildings in the Financial District. “I’ve only been working there for two days,” he said. “They’re going to find out that everything I showed them is fake, so I worked fast. Go ahead...” He motioned toward the backseat, where the briefcase lay. “Open the briefcase.”

  Gina’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You get it.” She moved the knife up to his throat. The blade made a dimple in the skin. “Reach slowly...”

  Teeth clenching, the man reached into the backseat of the car and grabbed the briefcase. He brought it to the front seat and set it on his lap. Gina kept the blade on him the entire time. “Go ahead,” she said, gesturing to the briefcase. “Open it.”

  The man fumbled with the combination, his fingers shaking. Gina’s heart pounded. If he was lying—

  The locks snapped and the man opened the briefcase. He turned it toward her. “See? All unmarked bills. They don’t even know I have it. I gained access to their vault this afternoon.”

  One glance told Gina all she needed to know.

  Nestled in the briefcase were stacks of bills. She didn’t know what denomination they were. What mattered was that there were stacks of bills in that briefcase, all bound together neatly. There could be twenty thousand dollars in there, a hundred thousand, a quarter of a million. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was money. Cold hard cash. And it was more money than she and her parents could ever hope for.

  “See, I was going to take this money, get my wife and son and leave,” the man said, his voice fast clipped, nervous. His eyes were wide. “I was going to head out of state, maybe go down south. Southwest actually. California, if I can. Marlene and Tony, they don’t know yet. I was just going to head home, get them, get a few things, then leave. Get some food once we cross the state line. Then just keep driving till we reach the west coast.” His right hand darted into the briefcase, fingers resting on the stacks of bills. “I can give you some of this. I know you’re desperate, that your parents are probably worrying for you. If...if you don’t live far, I can take you all with us. I’m just like you...just trying to survive. We can leave together and you can have half. You can—”

  The knife flashed and the blade sank into the man’s stomach. Gina pulled it out as the man gasped, eyes flying open in shock. The lid to the briefcase slammed shut. The blade flashed again, sinking into his throat. When she pulled it out, blood gushed, splashing the lid of the briefcase in spatters. The man gurgled blood then slumped forward until he was hanging by his seatbelt.

  Heart pounding, Gina returned the blade to her backpack and grabbed the briefcase. She opened it quickly, ran her hands over the stacks of bills as if to confirm it was real. A sense of satisfaction swept through her, followed by a sense of relief. Finally! They would be okay. There was now enough money for not only food and heat, but maybe enough to get them out of their apartment, maybe even enough to get them west, to a better life.

  Gina closed the briefcase and latched it. Then she got out of the car. She closed the door gently, looked around. Still nobody. She had to get out of there, and she had to do it fast, before security showed up.

  Five minutes later, Gina headed up Seventh Street to catch the seven-thirty bus back to her apartment.

  ~

  When she entered the apartment thirty minutes later, she was elated. “Dad! Dad!” she called out. She closed the kitchen door behind her and locked it. The apartment was dark and she fumbled for the light switch as her Dad entered through the living room. “Dad! Look what I got!” She held the briefcase up.

  Dad looked hopeful as he took a step into the kitchen. Gina set the briefcase on the rickety kitchen table, flipped the locks up and opened it. “Look!”

  Dad looked in the briefcase for a long time, his features one of
dawning amazement. He glanced at her. “Is that...is it real?”

  Gina nodded, tears of joy streaming down her face. “Yes, Dad. It’s real. I don’t know how much it is but...”

  “Gina?” Her mother stepped into the kitchen, looking curious. She was wearing her green bathrobe. While her complexion was still an unhealthy gray, she seemed strangely more animated. And she was walking, which was something Mom never did. Mom spent all of her time lying on the sofa—that’s how sick she was.

  “Mom!”

  Her mother stepped further into the kitchen and the smile on her face dwindled. Her eyes roamed over Gina. “My God, Gina,” she said.

  Now her father was looking at her with that same expression. He took a step back. “No, Gina,” he said. “Not again!”

  “What?” Gina looked at her parents, confused. “What’s wrong?” The feeling of elation, of relief, now suddenly turned into one of dread. Her stomach felt hollow, empty.

  “What’s wrong?” Dad said. “Just look at you! Didn’t you notice you had blood on your clothes?”

  Gina looked down at herself. Her shirt and jacket were stained with the blood from the man she had stabbed. She looked at her parents. “I can explain...”

  “You can explain?” Dad said. “How can you explain this? We told you to go beg for money. We didn’t—”

  “But I only did what you wanted me to do!” Gina protested.

  “We didn’t want you to kill anybody! My God, Gina...begging is one thing, but this...”

  “But you said to get the money by any means possible,” Gina said, her voice coming in fast clips. “You said the men that caused this, they deserve to die, they’re killing you, killing Mom, killing us, that we need the money more than they do, and so I did. I got plenty of money, way more than last time! In fact—”

  “Honey...” Mom approached her. Was that a look of disappointment in her eyes? “This...this isn’t what we wanted. It’s like your father said...begging is one thing, but this...”

  “And to do it again?” Dad shook his head. Now he looked disappointed.

  “But you told me to do it!” she screamed. “You told me to do anything it takes to survive and I did! I went out there and I saw my chance and I took it! Don’t you understand? It was either me or him! Me or him!”

  The shrillness of her voice snapped everything back and she started, blinking. She stood in the kitchen with bloodstained clothes, the briefcase open on the kitchen table. The light from the kitchen penetrated into the living room beyond where her mother lay shrouded in shadows. Gina blinked again. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said, her voice trembling. “Wasn’t your fault you couldn’t help me. I’m just...just trying to survive. I have to survive...please...don’t be mad at me...”

  Gina began to cry. The enormity of her emotions crashed into the girl and her knees buckled. She grasped for the table, which broke her fall. She sobbed; tears of rage and frustration and loss welled out of her, eclipsing all other emotions. She was just trying to survive! She was just doing what they’d told her to do. Why wouldn’t they leave her alone?

  The wind picked up outside, whistling around the eaves of the old apartment building. The sound of its shrieking cut through the din of her sorrow, and she wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. She was alone in the kitchen. Mom was still lying on the sofa, in the same position as always. She hadn’t moved. And Dad was in the bedroom. None of this had happened, except for the briefcase. That had happened. Gina looked at her hands, at the dried blood that stained them.

  “I was only doing what you told me,” she said. She rubbed her hands on her dirty clothes, not even looking at the shriveled-up form of her mother on the sofa where she’d lain for the last three years. The wind shrieked again and Gina shivered. It was going to get cold tonight. But now she had money to pay the heating bill. She would be okay. She knew that now. Her parents had taught her well.

  Taking a deep breath, her emotions under control, Gina exited the kitchen, went through the living room past her mother, and entered the hallway. She went to her room, not even pausing to look in on Dad. There was no need. He looked worse than Mom. Last summer hadn’t worked out so well for him. At least the elements had been in favor for Mom; she’d mummified quite nicely.

  “We’ll use this money to stock up on some food,” Gina said as she peeled out of the dirty, bloodied clothes. “Then maybe we can head west, to California. You would like that, wouldn’t you, Dad?”

  The wind whistled around the eaves in answer. Gina paused, listening. She smiled. “Of course! We’ll leave tomorrow. You, me, and Mom. Just like old times.”

  Then, chatting happily with her father, Gina dressed, cleaned herself up, and prepared to hunker down for the night.

  ROAD KILL

  Monica J. O’Rourke

  Bubba Junior Junior stuck a long grimy finger deep into his nose and dug like he was trawling for worms. He speared a large juicy booger, glistening and thick with mucus. The long stringy gobs draped over his fingers. Parts of it were puke green, parts jaundice-yellow, all of it enticing. Staring at the glossy mess was a fascinating and time-consuming process for Bubba Junior Junior. He squeezed the sludgy trail between his fingers and examined the small chunks that had mysteriously appeared in his snot.

  “When the hail did I have corn, Uncle Daddy?” He went to wipe it on his overalls, and Bubba Junior grabbed the boy’s hand.

  “What the hell you doin, boy?” He grabbed the boy’s hand. “I said what the hell you doin’? Was you gonna waste that?” He chomped down on Bubba Junior Junior’s finger, taking the pulsing snotball and the tip of Bubba Junior Junior’s finger into his mouth. Not too much damage was done, however, since Bubba Junior only had one tooth.

  He rolled the booger around in his mouth like it was a cherry Lifesaver, waiting for it to melt on his tongue, prodding the wet squishiness against his gums. Soft and salty and sweet. The best kind of booger.

  “Yummm!” Bubba Junior cried. “Never waste yer protein, boy! Now let’s go.”

  Bubba Junior peered through the field glasses he picked up at Woolworth’s right before they went bankrupt. “Hooo weee, boy! We got one!”

  “Lemme see!” Bubba Junior Junior said, jumping up and down. He peered through the glasses. “Ain’t much left. Looks like stew tonight.”

  Bubba Junior nodded. And he’d really been hoping for steaks.

  They bumped and slid down the hill on their asses, slipping through the mud from the last downpour. Once they reached the road, Bubba Junior Junior stared at the smear on the pavement. “Holy sheeeit, what the hell was it? Ain’t hardly enough ta scrape on a cracker!”

  “That thar was a wummin.”

  “You shur?”

  “Yup. Lookit them titties. There’s one—over thar. Hey, c’mere, son. Take a look over here.”

  “Comin’, Uncle Daddy!”

  Up the road a piece was the upper half of the road kill.

  Bubba Junior lifted the corpse’s arms and dragged it across the asphalt to the side of the road, chunks of flesh sticking to the scattered pebbles, the woman’s freckles smearing across the tar.

  She was intact from the belly up. Sort of. One arm was bent in a permanent wave, splintered bone jutting from the forearm, congealed blood coating the skin like warpaint. Her skull had apparently lost the fight with the concrete and was smashed in from numerous bounces on the road. Her jaw rested below her ear, a puffy purple tongue sticking out like a spoiled child’s.

  “Lookit, Uncle Daddy!” Bubba Junior Junior cried. “She wantsta French kiss!” Using his grubby mitts, he lifted her head, and with a nauseating sucking sound, wrenched it free of her neck. Squishy spongy tissue slipped off the ripped flesh, and desperate flies fought Bubba Junior Junior for possession. He slipped her tongue into his mouth and sucked on it. The bloated appendage popped, leaking ichor into his mouth and down his lips. One strong bite too many, and with a wet slurp the tongue severed from her mouth. He pulled it all the way into h
is, chewing on the sticky and salty tongue like a piece of saltwater taffy.

  “Goddammit, boy! That’s our dinner yer kissin’!”

  Bubba Junior Junior pulled the tongue out of his mouth and stuck it in his pocket. “Where the rest a her?”

  Bubba Junior looked around. “I think I see’d her bike go off the road up there.”

  Bubba Junior Junior dropped the woman’s head and it rolled off like a gutter ball, bumping against a tree with little wet crunches, leaving a trail of bloody brainy bits on the pavement.

  The two Bubbas ran up the road and peered into a ditch.

  “Yup, there’s the rest a her,” Bubba Junior said. They climbed down into the ditch.

  The woman’s legs were still wrapped around the motorcycle. Her pants were shredded, the flesh cleaved from the thighs and calves, white-red bone glistening like dew.

  Thunder rumbled in the sky. Bubba Junior looked up. “Rains is comin’ fer sure, Junior Junior. Ain’t no time to scrape this up.”

  “Nothin’ much there anyway,” Bubba Junior Junior said, hand inside his underwear, picking at his asshole.

  “Gotta learn to impervase, boy. No time for gatherin’, ain’t no time fer cookin’. Gotta learn to eat it raw like them richun’s in New Yawk and Ohier. They calls it tarter.”

  Bubba Junior carved into her stripped thighs with a shank, strings of marbled muscle and gristle dangling from his hands like a field of hot rancid cheese, bits of the fresh kill steaming in the cooling air.

  They stuffed the flesh into their mouths, blood dribbling down their chins. Bubba Junior Junior grinned, shoving the chunks of thigh into his mouth as fast as his hands would move. “Tastes like piggy!” he snorted, choking on the gob of woman hanging out of his teeth and throat.

  “Goddammit, boy,” Bubba Junior said, pounding on his nephew-son’s neck, trying to dislodge the thighmeat. He fished his slabby fingers down Bubba Junior Junior’s throat and pulled out the half-chewed, half-digested soft reddish cheese-ball of fat and saliva. He examined it and popped it in his mouth, chewing slowly. He pulled open Bubba Junior Junior’s mouth and let it all slide back in.