Finally at a gas station after driving all that distance; it seems someone else needs help. But he can't help, not with his job.

~3.2k words
FIRST

This was a commission for  SpoiledMilk as a sequel to my last story! She's been a really great friend to me and it was a pleasure to do this for her :D
She made her own piece for the story, which you can see here, please check it out!

Fiona is  SpoiledMilk's oc.
"Flax" is mine.

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Stranded By The Spider
By: Cheese
For:  SpoiledMilk

I sat in the car for a while, lost in my thoughts, engine still running at the pumps. There were two other cars in the parking lot. One is probably the clerk’s, and the other, a pointlessly named silver Pontiac Grand Prix, was now throwing out white smoke from under the hood, almost just as my gaze turned to it. Not my problem. Next to the station is a camper trailer that’s been converted into a home, with some pallets in front of the door to act as a deck, and some lattice surrounding the underneath to keep animals out. It’s gotten hot enough that the horizon distorted into a wavy mess, turning the mountains into a mess of brushstrokes.

Reluctantly, I stepped out of my old Firebird, the weight of the heat making my shirt feel dense, making a quick trip towards the gas station’s doors. A four-legged, four-armed spider stepped out of the Prix, who brought a purplish-blue star-covered purse with her. Her hair was dyed purple with brighter ends, which drew my eyes to her face against the short black fur covering her body. Her wrists and ankles faded into ‌purple, only to collapse into a thick black covering her hands and feet.

I kept walking, though. I’m not about to put myself into someone else’s business. The clerk inside was the same person as always; it feels like they never sleep or do anything but work the station. But whatever, none of my concern. Leaving for my car, I saw the spider lift her hood with one of her long arms and stare at it. All I could think was: did I look that pathetic staring at my engine bay? No wonder the trucker stopped.

I popped my trunk to remove the empty gas cans; the car can wait. Worst-case scenario is I have to go pay for more gas, which is fine, because the mafia doesn’t seem to care how much I spend on gas; they’ll pay. One by one, I filled the cans, listening to the splashing of gas echo in the small containers. By the end, I saw the spider kick the Prix’s bumper, and I hesitated at the sight. Still not my problem. I don’t need to get involved. I finished with the cans and turned to do the car. No longer having to hold the pump aloft, I stretched my arms after all the driving. The spider walked around her car and pulled a small trunk out of the backseat, brown with some probably not real gold accents.

She seemed panicked, the way she was walking around. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, only to release a frustrated sigh. My legs really wanted to take me her way, but I resisted; she’s not my problem. I loaded the gas back into the trunk, pushing aside the package, and closed it. Standing back from this angle, something about the sight struck a chord. Seeing this Firebird sit here, having taken me nearly a thousand kilometres on this road alone, this old with only breaking down once…But a broken down Prix in the background, owner pacing by the engine bay dejected, I couldn’t just stand here and let this happen. I don’t care what’ll happen if the mafia finds out.

I took myself in her direction through the thick heated air, and she looked up as I was arriving. She spoke up desperately before I had the chance myself. “Oh the gods, please tell me you’re a mechanic.”

“I…am not.” She groaned as I walked over to her open hood and looked into her engine bay, not expecting to see much I’d understand. “But I think you overheated.” Even with my extravagantly empty knowledge of engines, I know that a giant hole in the radiator is not intended.

She sighed with a shake of her head. “So how do I fix it?” She leaned into the engine bay with me.

“See that hole?” I pointed to said hole. “Can’t fix that.”

“Oh.” We both kind of stared at it for a few minutes; neither of us wanted to ask the question. She got there first. Only she wasn’t asking about a tow. “Could you give me a ride?”

I look between her and the car; the car seems done with its smoking. “What about your car?”

She shrugged, “Eh,” glancing at the sitting carriage. “It was gonna go to the scrapyard anyway.”

My gaze looked between the car and the building, surrounded by an empty parking lot, which I’ve almost never seen full. “I guess it can sit.” Her baggage, the purse slung across her shoulder and the trunk on the ground, seemed somewhat minimal for what I’d normally see. “That's all you got?”

She nods, almost eagerly. “Mhm.”

I stand still, looking between the station, her minimal luggage, her car, my car…Should I just call a tow for her? Take it out of my account? Hm. “Okay, put it all in the trunk and then we’ll be off. I can’t waste too much time here.”

The spider was quick to follow the directions; as soon as I popped the trunk for her, she stuffed her box inside. I took the nozzle out of the cap, and we were both in the car as the engine made itself known, loud and alive. We pulled out of the gas station and accelerated up to my self-imposed speed limit of 160, barrelling down the long straight road once again. The bushes on either side still sat dry and dead-looking, with their fragile grey branches, but I know that it’s a race to get out of here before they grow and mutate in the nightfall. The mountains have grown closer, and I know from practice that I’ll reach them within the hour.

Settled on the long desolate highway, I turned to my passenger. “I never asked your name.”

“Oh, it’s Fiona.” She fidgeted awkwardly with the zipper on her purse.

“Nice to meet you.” Fiona looked a little strange, tucked into a car like this, but she seemed comfortable. “Name’s Flax.” I’m not about to tell her my real identity.

“Flax?” Her face made it clear some gears were turning in her head. “I guess you could say you got the short straw.” She grinned.

“Oh, shut up.” I said despite my short-lived laugh, surprised I hadn’t heard that one before. My tail was trying to wag mildly, but it’s pinned between me and the seat. Something I’m glad for.

The tires kept rolling as silence filled the cabin; two strangers tend to have little to say to each other. The awkward pause, though, weighed on me. “Why didn’t you take the freeway? Or a plane?”

She leaned back in her seat. “A plane was the plan…but I waited too long and the tickets were too expensive for me.” She gestured with one of her four hands out the window at the desert. “This is the way my GPS directed me. Is the freeway faster?”

“Hm. No, the freeway isn’t faster. But it is safer, and it has more service stations.” I glance back at the quickly diminishing gas station in the mirror. “And the gambling capital is at about the halfway point, so there’s that.”

“Oh.” She looked down into her lap, glancing out the window. “I feel like I should have seen it.”

I tilted my head towards her. “Maybe. It’s easy to miss on a map.” I let a hand off the steering wheel, resting it on the door. “Where you headed?”

“I’m going to a sewing convention in Hallfire.”

I nodded with a speck of surprise. Hallfire's pretty nice. It’s the first city you’ll see when you get out of the mountains, but it’s most known for a scandal where a past mayor admitted to being drunk almost constantly on the job. Boring place besides that pleasant history. “Hallfire? Decent place. But…a sewing convention? Those exist?”

Fiona giggled at my ignorance. “Yeah, of course, there’s a convention for everything.”

“Even shoes?”

She shrugged. “Probably.”

I scoffed, more in surprise. “Huh, news to me.” A convention for shoes…how strange. “What do you even do at a sewing convention?”

She sat up a little straighter. “I’m going to sell the clothes I sew.” She smiled, shifting in her seat as she looked back at me. “And hopefully have a good time.”

I shrug, nodding in acceptance. Not sure what I was thinking. “I should have expected that. I’ll be stopping in Hallfire anyway.”

The air went still after my statement. Time went by listening to the rumble of the engine, the sound of rubber ripping on the road, and feeling the faint vibrations through the steering wheel. Fiona eventually glanced towards me. “So…” her head turned, “what brings you out here then?”

I delayed to my thoughts, considering the dangers of an accurate answer. “Ah, delivery.”

She stared, looked around at the interior, then back at me. “In this?”

Not my greatest moment. “It’s for a friend.” She definitely doesn’t believe me. “They don’t trust any big company with this, they said. Too fragile.”

She stared once more, this time out the windshield, brow furrowed. She eventually shrugs, “I guess that’s understandable.”

Fiona continued chatting for a while; speaking more than I was, but I wasn’t against it. As long as the topic stayed away from my ‘job’ or just myself in general. We hit the mountains, where the road was now attempting to swirl up and through the mountains. But the planners were trying to be cheap, so it felt more like a meander with tight hairpins, turns without guardrails, all the dangerous stuff. We passed some black sports car on the side of the road; I didn’t get a good look at it. It was sitting in an unpaved dirt overlook, and it took off as soon as we passed.

I don’t think Fiona noticed, but I did. It kept enough distance that it tended to disappear around turns, but I wouldn’t be fooled into thinking it wasn’t the opposition. The launch was too eager, and the windows too tinted. It wasn’t worth picking up the pace, though. They won’t learn much from following me here. That car is definitely faster than mine. Only way I’ll escape is by being the better driver. Or some mild terrorism. For now, it’s out of the question; I have no reason besides suspicion to think they’re after me.

We finally got to the other side of the mountain range, where we were going down more than up, and the car had been easing closer. I slowed my pace, curious to the reaction of my follower, and it did not slow. The car continued at its normal pace; on a following turn, they went into oncoming lanes, front bumper‌ inching closer to my rear. I hit the gas before they could go for their pit, and they fell back behind. Safe driving be damned, I started cutting corners if it didn’t mean an accident, and the car behind me started doing the same. I had yet to test the Firebird’s capabilities, so I have to take these carefully, or experience an unplanned rapid disassembly.

Fiona reacted to this change in driving with surprise, which was understandable. “Woah!” She definitely noticed the car behind, but I’m not sure she’s as paranoid as I am. She started bracing herself in her seat with two hands, while the other two kept hold of her purse. “These guys racing us?”

It took me a while to respond; my mind was preoccupied with the sports car behind us. Their driving lines were loose, and they were being light on the throttle. Perhaps scared? Terrible driving aside, they were keeping up; if only barely. Their car was just faster. They were gaining on us, close enough to see the passengers through the dark tinted windshield. In the driver’s seat is a stoic lizard; I couldn’t tell if the expression was over pure focus or anger. In the passenger seat was a surprisingly lean boar, who was fiddling with something in his lap. Both thugs wore black tuxes. Eventually, her question surfaced in my thoughts. “You can call it that if you want.”

Fiona was smiling wide as I ripped the car through turns; I was getting more confident in my ride, and it made me faster. Compared to the other cars the mafia has given me for my runs, this one is the best to drive. The other cars they gave me are muffled fridges on wheels. They never talked to me; never spoke of the forces they were going through. This Firebird did, boy did it talk. I could feel the steering wheel nudge with every minor bump in the road, telling me every little detail it could.

Our chasers were falling behind, but that only made me skeptical. Considering the options, it was either rip through the rest of the mountain range or get rid of them. “Have you ever shot a gun before?”

Fiona turned to me and gave me this look. “What kind of question is that?” The kind of look you give to the most foolish person you know after they’ve uttered the most idiotic words you’ve heard. “Of course I have!” Really didn’t strike me as that kind of person.

No time to be surprised. “I have a handgun in the glove box. Take that and make sure it’s loaded.”

“Oh, you want me to shoot them?” Fiona asks, a devilish, excited grin dressing her face. “I can do that!”

“No, no. Don’t shoot unless I say.” I started driving even harder; I could feel the car just begging to slide out, to just lose grip and send itself into or off a cliff, but I held it together. “You seem a little too excited to do this.”

She laughed, looking back at the car. “It’s not every day I get to shoot out of a moving car!” She popped open the glove-box, peering inside. The excitement drained mildly. “A Glock? That’s kind of boring.” She opened her purse and ruffled a hand through it.

I shook my head. “What’s wrong with a Glock?”

“Nothing.” She grabbed what she was looking for, “I just prefer this!” She pulled out a revolver, keeping her finger off the trigger. It was clear she put a lot of care into it; the handgun held a magnificent metallic shine, and along the barrel was some inset gold, tracing flower patterns.

“Damn.” She flicked the cylinder open, confirming it was unloaded, and reached back in. “You just carry that around?”

“Uh yeah, have you been outside lately? A girl can have hobbies, y’know.”

I nod. “That’s a fair point.”

I watch the pursuers in the mirror. They’re no longer falling behind, but they aren’t catching up either. Their lines are still loose, and they’re far enough back that they are once again disappearing behind the occasional corner. Fiona looks over at me, loading her revolver. “What do these guys want, anyway?”

I shrug. “There are a few things, probably. Me dead, leverage, the package, maybe even the car.”

“Huh, guess we’re both full of our secrets!”

I continue tearing through the mountains; the sun has started to dip below the peaks, starting to conceal the specifics of either vehicle. “Crank your window down.”

“Got it.” Fiona does just that, bringing the hot air inside, but freeing a shot.

The invitation to the heat is quick to make me feel sluggish, but I pull through. “When they get close, I’m gonna get sideways in a hairpin, and I want you to aim for the driver.” I wait for a nod on her behalf. “If you miss, go for the tire closest to a cliff.”

She rolled her eyes, casually giving her revolver a spin in her hand. “I’m not gonna miss, but alright.”

“Next hairpin.” I continue driving through the curves, guiding the car through them slower than before. I watch as our adversaries approach from behind, and then I match their pace. They’re just a few seconds behind now, which should be the perfect distance. A hand sticks out the passenger window, something shiny held within. “Get down!”

The bullets flew past uselessly. A terrible shot. An entire 17 rounds rang through the mountains, and only a single bullet hit the car. I’m impressed. These guys are definitely amateurs, so it’s probably a new gang, maybe local to this area. With aim this bad, it’s possible they know very little about who I work for. I lifted my head to see that Fiona didn’t even duck.

“Whew! That was cool.” Fiona was staring back at the car, still holding her revolver. If I saw her face, I’d assume it’d be smiling.

Eyes focused on the road again, I saw a bright yellow, black-bordered diamond. Held within the reflected shine was a line, making a complete 180 to the right. “Get ready. The car’s going sideways.” I couldn’t hold back a grin as the rear slid out, sending the car sliding around the corner, tires screeching, giving Fiona the perfect angle around the corner.

I looked to my right just as a shot rang out, with Fiona hanging out of the window, three hands holding her in place, the fourth holding her gun. The thugs immediately hit a sharp right and barreled off the cliff in front of us. It landed back on the hairpinned road, slamming the chassis and scraping all kinds of important parts against the concrete. They kept rolling, diving off a second cliff into darkness. I pulled the Firebird to a stop just before the point it hit, setting it into park.

I listened to the sound of mangling metal and squeaky suspension as it continued to tumble, out of sight. “Nice shot.” I reached over and grabbed the Glock through the still-open glove-box, and left the car. The air was cooler now; the stars were showing themselves. In the growing night's void, I saw a spark of light.

Fiona came to my side, still holding her revolver. “That was sick.” The car’s tank must have burst from the impact onto the concrete, and I watched as the ball of hell expanded. The tendrils rose from the car, and waved proudly, claiming their prize.

“Hmph, sure. I doubt they’ll get out of that.” I went back to the car and climbed back into my seat. Fiona stood there for a little while, and she started doing tricks with her gun absentmindedly. She spun it in her hand before walking back to the car, joining me. “So when’s that convention?”

“Uh,” she paused, her gaze drifting upwards. “It officially opened at 10 today.”

I nodded slowly, taking the Firebird out of park. “So you’re super late.”

“Yeah.” I started off again, at a much safer rate. “Kind of worth it for this ride though.”

“Ha, well, we’re almost at Hallfire.” The two of us went back to talking like nothing had happened. Like before the interruption, she talked more than I did. It was interesting to hear her talk about whatever it was on her mind. Less so because of what she said or how she said it, but she was making me reflect on myself without even realizing.

Not like I can get out of the mafia.