How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful :: [Gunner + Day 1 Travel]

The drug lord's daughter is painted in blood, none of it her own. She carries the gore of Elya's death — dried out ugly — upon her back, the mess of Circe's jaw crusted red within the twin lifelines of her palms, and Noah Bower's wounds were not enough, but recolored her anyhow. They are the filth building up beneath her nails and she has nothing with which to clean it all away like she used to, down the drain and gone. All she can do is bury one layer of blood beneath another.

Following the muffled smoke of the funeral pyre back to camp, the ground is covered in ash and half-burnt dollar bills. No one is left except Elya. Her bones are ground zero, pale against the scorched earth, and not even Gunner La Torre dares to disturb this furious hush. Only her footsteps make a sound as she walks away, cash crackling beneath her boots, and no matter how far she goes, leaving doesn't quite feel like being gone.

It's been hours since she wandered off to take a piss and found Noah already doing the job for her. In her absence, the others have left for the metal tracks rising up in the distance and she readjusts the bladed musket slung over her shoulder before aiming herself in the same direction. Traversing the shattered concrete scattered out every which way, her hips swing switchblade deadly. This is the swagger of a girl with a backpack full of stripper cash, a pocket full of weed, and balls big enough to jump onto a moving train.

She doesn't know which car the others are in, so the only option (and isn't it always) is to ride the caboose. Choo-motherfucking-choo! Climbing a narrow ladder up the back, the train is picking up speed quickly enough that she has to throw herself belly-down against the roof and hold on like wrapping her hands around Noah's neck. The crystal meth bejeweled chain around her neck bangs gold-against-steel and she's screaming, screaming, holy motherfucking hell screaming —

This isn't the sound of fear, but the whoop of adrenaline coursing through a girl who has gotten too used to sex, drugs, and violence to remember what a rush feels like.

The world whips by fast enough to tear pieces of her away with it. She feels the blood peel off, followed by at least five flying layers of skin and all the invisible things that keep trying to weigh her down. The only time Gunner La Torre ever forgets she's untouchable is when she's skin-to-skin with another girl's hands all over her, but now she's remembering with the full force of a speeding train. When everything else finally comes to a stop, Gunner doesn't. All of her blood keeps going.