Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch

The car moved quickly over the hard-packed desert earth. There wasn’t much vegetation to impede its progress – but then, not a lot could grow in such a wasteland. What did was stunted, twisted or both, the result of the radiation that still poisoned the earth, even after all these years.

Even if there had been any flora, it’s unlikely that it would have done much to slow down the car. Calling this machine a car was stretching the definition to its limit: it had four wheels and a chassis, sure enough, but had about as much in common with the everyday vehicles of Before as a match has with a grenade. It was massive, thundering along on wheels thicker than a person, supporting a frame which looked as though it had lost a fight with a particularly enthusiastic welder.

All available surfaces had been covered with thick metal plates, and the bumper was surmounted with what looked suspiciously like a dismembered lamppost, all of which had been sprayed matte black. The overall effect was of a vehicle that wasn’t likely to stopped by much short of an earthquake, and even then, it would have to be a particularly nasty one. Someone had incongruously attached a stuffed rabbit to the passenger’s side armour-plated door, but the churning wheels had coated it in a thick crust of dirt, and the resulting impression was more sad than cute.

The occupants of the vehicle gave some clue as to its appearance. The driver was just like the car: massive, hulking, and covered in sprayed-black armour. The welding goggles carelessly tossed on the dashboard showed the provenance of the metal plating.

The passenger couldn’t have been more different. Petite, almost waiflike, she sat with her knees pulled up onto the seat with her and wore a surprisingly clean pink spaghetti dress and matching headband. Her blonde hair was festooned with flowers, drooping thanks to the stifling atmosphere within the car, and she had a tiny, heart-shaped locket strung about her neck on a golden chain. The plushie had been her addition, and she was now glaring moodily at it as its sewn-on smile was further obliterated by the trail dust.

“I did tell you it was gonna end up like that”. This was the driver, speaking in a surprisingly light voice for one so large. The passenger didn’t reply, other than to scowl at the bunny’s slowly disappearing grin, now looking more rictus than revelry. Outside, the desert continued to stream past, the hot sun baking the cracked earth and turning the horizon into a flickering mirage. Up ahead, the terrain roughened, and mountains were floating as if by magic a few inches above the heat haze.

“It’s probably ruined now. Even if we do find enough water to spare for washing, I doubt that would come out.” The passenger’s scowl deepened, her bottom lip pushing out warningly.

The driver appeared not to notice, and continued after a few minutes. “I dunno why you insist upon ignorin’ me when you know I’m right. I got that as a present, an’ what d’you go an’ do? Stick it on the side of the Beast like bunting. What a waste.” The foothills that had before been mere suggestions were clearer now, like blisters upon the scorched earth.

After a few minutes of silence – or as near silence as is possible when a several-tonne vehicle is tearing across open desert – the driver spoke again. “It’s like you don’t even care it’s a present. For our anniversary, no less. And you know what I went through to get it. Or should I say, who I went through?” The driver laid emphasis on the ‘who’ and grinned wolfishly, looking out of the corner of their eye at the car’s other occupant, who was still stubbornly staring out of the window, refusing to turn round. The driver sighed. Wasted. They eased off the accelerator as the way became more rocky, descending into a channel between the hills.

The passenger had welled up at the first sentence, but she refused to cry. She tried to wipe her eyes surreptitiously with her right hand, but the driver noticed. “Hey, you don’t need to cry. I wasn’t tryna…”

The passenger swung round angrily, eyes sparking. “You’re right, I don’t need to. I also don’t need your stupid presents!” Her eyes were still brimming with tears, but any sorrow had been eclipsed by the anger that was now burning through her. She undid the buckle of the seatbelt she was wearing and started to wind down the window.

“What are you doin’? You’re not gonna be able to pull that teddy off, even if you can reach it. You used ‘alf a roll of duct tape, remember?”

The passenger slumped back down into the seat dejectedly, but lifted her chin as inspiration stuck. Turning to look at the driver defiantly, she reached behind her neck and undid the clasp on her locket.

“Oh come on, Sugar-Pie. I know you’re not really givin’ me that back. Remember what I said when I got it for you? What I told you I’d do if you ever took it off? I’ll do it. I swear, I will stop this car right now and do it.” The driver’s voice was amused, but there was an undercurrent of steel that belied the humour. The passenger – Sugar-Pie – knew that the driver was serious. Still, she sat there resolutely with her lower lip trembling, eyes still swimming with tears, and thrust out her fist with the locket dangling from it even further toward the driver; a challenge.

Without another warning, the driver slammed on the brakes. Sugar-Pie was thrown violently forwards as the Beast’s brakes fought valiantly against inertia to bring the behemoth to a halt, her face slamming with a sickening crunch into the dashboard. Dust billowed into the air in clouds as tyres scraped across hardpan, and the car came slowly to rest.

It finished up two feet before where a jagged tangle of metal, tumbling out of the sky, had smashed violently into the ground a few seconds earlier.

The dust settled slowly in the syrupy air. As it did, the driver saw a scrawny man stood a few metres away, standing with his legs too far apart and leaning a shotgun on his shoulder. He wore a long, ratty coat over a shirt of indeterminable colour, leather trousers that were noticeably short and a stupid grin. He probably thought he looked dashing. The driver thought he looked like an idiot. If that gun went off he’d blow his eardrums for good, and with any luck take off the right side of his skull, too.

Sugar-Pie groaned slightly, and leaned back from where she had impacted the dash. She touched her hand gently to her face, wincing with the sharp pain. A movement outside caught her attention, and her hand dropped away from her ruined nose. They had more pressing matters to deal with than some broken cartilage at the moment. A girl had appeared and was pointing a machine gun right through the passenger window.

* * *

Pa adopted his favourite pose, shotgun nonchalantly resting on his shoulder and with a devilish grin. He knew he looked dangerous. The dust cloud was an added bonus; he could just imagine how intimidating he’d appear looming out of it.

He looked up to the cliff’s edge and waved to his daughter when he saw her there, aiming her rifle down. She’d timed the drop well: the old jeep that formed their barricade had landed just in front of the newcomer’s car without damaging it at all. And what a vehicle – this thing might even be their ticket out of here. It certainly looked like it could handle the drive over the mountains.

He saw his other daughter step up on his left side, aiming her rifle. Perfect. With her covering the left side, him in front and his daughter above, there was no way the occupants would do anything rash.

“Alright, we gotcha covered on ev’ry angle – and that includes above” he drawled, gesturing vaguely up with his left hand. “So do the sensible thing now, and come on out quietly. We don’t wanna hurtcha, but we will if we gotta.” He shrugged the shotgun’s barrel off his shoulder into his left palm and pointed it towards the car.

The echoes of his voice died, but nothing moved. Pa frowned slightly. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. Usually it only took a few seconds before they were out grovelling in the dirt. As he pondered, music suddenly erupted from the car. His frown deepened. “Hey, whatcha doin’ in there? C’mon out, right now, or we’ll light ya up!” He shifted uneasily and pointed the shotgun more intently.

The music continued, and he could’ve sworn he heard singing. Pa glanced to the side, where his daughter was looking at him questioningly. He licked his lips. It was important to stay in control of the situation; to show authority. “Hell, I’ll come getcha outta there myself!” he shouted, stamping over to the passenger’s door.

* * *

Inside the car, Sugar-Pie’s head whipped round to the driver. “There’s a girl out there with a gun pointed right at us!” she hissed, wide-eyed. The driver merely stared at her, oblivious. “I’m serious!” Sugar-Pie said, her voice ratcheting up an octave as she gestured wildly out of the window. “She’s right there!”

The driver spoke, unperturbed. “I told you what I was gonna do if you ever took that off. And I’ve gotta stick to it.” With that, they lent forwards and pressed a small button in the console.

Suddenly, upbeat piano erupted from speakers throughout the car, loud enough to make Sugar-Pie flinch in her seat. The piano was joined by strings and a tambourine, before the driver the belted out in truly awful alto: “Oooh, sugar pie, honey bunch!”

Sugar-Pie looked at the driver unbelievingly as they sung. Glancing outside, she saw a man with a shotgun approaching her door. “He’s coming over! You’ve gotta do something!” She was drowned out as the driver launched enthusiastically into the next line. After an impassioned cry of “I can’t help myself”, the driver pointed at Sugar-Pie’s neck. She frowned, before realising what was she was being asked. “Oh, come on. This is a life-or-death situation, you can’t…” She tailed off as the finger jabbed insistently at her neckline again.

“Look, it’s back on, okay? Now please will you focus?” Sugar-Pie refastened the necklace around herself. “That greasy little man is – oh!” she squeaked as she turned back to her window to find said greasy little man’s face not ten centimetres away and leering through the glass at her.

A change had come over the driver since Sugar-Pie had put the locket back on. With a series of quick, precise movements, the music was switched off, something slid from beneath the driver’s seat and the passenger window rolled down. Sugar-Pie squealed again and leaned to get away from the man outside. He seemed quite pleased that the window was now open.

“Well, thankya for turning off that goddamn sh-” Before Pa could finish the sentence, something slammed into his neck, shoving him backwards. His head bounced off the sand of the canyon floor. His body stayed upright for a few seconds longer, then toppled over into the dirt.

Silence reigned in the canyon. All eyes were on the man lying sprawled on the floor – or rather, what was left of him. The two daughters stood frozen, shocked into inaction. After a few seconds, the car started. Slowly, it reversed, and drew carefully around the snarl of metal partially blocking the path ahead. Having passed it, the car accelerated away, leaving two girls still staring disconsolately at a slowly-growing patch of rust-coloured earth.

“Nice one, Honey-Bunch” said Sugar-Pie, grinning lasciviously at the driver.

She smiled slowly back.