(three years ago)
The Maple Twins were holed up in the Miss Pancake Restaurant, just a little past noon on a Monday. The girls were flush with cash from a robbery in Denver, both were armed, and they had two hostages. Social Agent Rue had been tracking them from Colorado through Wyoming. Apparently, after getting their hands on some guns, the bandit sisters had conducted their crime spree all the way from Vermont to Nancy’s state, boring Idaho.
Social Agent Rue sat in the driver’s seat, not saying anything, tapping on the steering wheel with her standard-issue, grey gloves. Nancy decided to speak up, “How ‘bout, you take the front, and I’ll do the back.”
“Hmph,” and that’s all the girl expressed. She seemed annoyed that Nancy was even there. Tassel Rue was an older and a much more experienced social agent. Close to thirty by the looks of her, and Nancy was just on her second active week, a virgin still. All Nancy had been doing in Idaho was running down credit thieves. She had to slap a girl once, to get her to stop crying. That’s about as much action as she’s had. The last time she’d fired her nine-point-nine had been a month ago, during a training exercise.
“So, happy?” Nancy asked.
Rue took a moment to speak, after sipping on her coffee, and returning it to the cup holder. “The twins killed a clerk in Denver. Then pissed on her body,” Rue stepped out the car, “Don’t hesitate, and don’t fuck up.” Nancy left the car too, following after Rue.
Idaho was lovely on a clear day, when there was nothing but blue above, except to the north of course, where the mountains stood against the horizon. But those grey and white tipped peaks were pleasing enough to see too. The scenery was one thing she liked about Idaho, at least.
She pulled her handgun out, now heavier then she remembered, or perhaps, she thought, it was just her nerves fooling her. Things were probably going to get hot. Nancy had never shot a girl before or even aimed at one. She could take down practice targets all day long, comfortably without thinking, and was considered a good shot too. But looking down a barrel, pulling the trigger, and watching a girl’s body drop to the ground from her own bullet was something she hadn’t trained for, a girl can’t really. Nancy was wondering if she was ready.
Rue marched right towards the front door, gun out, looking determined or maybe just impatient, hard to tell due to her constant scowl. Nancy hurried behind the restaurant, looking for a backdoor.
Her nose picked up the smell of burning bacon as she turned the corner. Someone was letting it burn, or more likely, had been forced to. She nudged a gate door open with her shoulder. It wasn’t locked so it swung freely into a fenced area, where some chickens were roaming. Her footsteps were light enough, but the chickens still dispersed in a fury of clucking and screeching as she came in. God Damn chickens. If the twins had heard them, and if they cared, they would come check now. Nancy kicked at a chicken, a brown and white spotted one that was in her path, sending it fluttering away.
She found an old door, color faded, with the wood chipped around the doorknob. Someone must have been locked out before, or, it had been broken in to in the past, figured the social agent. Though the door was locked, she was able to pry the doorknob off with little effort.
Nancy took a second to think. I’ll move in, take them by surprise, order them to drop their weapons, and they will. Then Rue and I will arrest them, and no one fires a shot, no more girls will die. Nancy wished that it was going to be that easy, but she had a bad feeling. Social Agent Lilac had warned her once, “Life’s not a Disneyland ride, darling. Sometimes girls get hurt. Sometimes they die.”
There was a sudden rush of wind that rattled the fence and spun up dirt around her. And the smell changed too, the bacon’s odor was gone and was replaced by the odor of spent gunpowder. She looked up at the sky and saw, what she didn’t want to see. Hanging over the mountainscape, against the blue sky, full and dangerous, the moon had come out early this Idaho afternoon.
Nancy pulled open the door. She did it slowly, worrying about the moon and everything else that could go wrong. Bang. Bang. Bang. Gun shots and girly screams erupted from within. Nancy stalled, tightening the grip on her gun and leaving the door halfway open. I need to move in. Do it now. But then, right as she went to move, the door slammed open. A girl, with dark brown hair that hung down to her shoulders, and panicked eyes just as deep a brown, pushed into Nancy with a long-barreled rifle. Taken by surprise, Nancy was knocked backwards, tripping to the ground. Nancy’s handgun bounced away from her hand. The brown-haired girl didn’t stop to look. She just kept running out the gate door.
The air rippled across the dirt as Nancy crawled to her gun. She had to spit out something discolored and nasty, as she stood up with her nine-point-nine once again in her hand. The dirty wind whipped against her, beating around her uniform coat. She had to pull her cap down tighter, or she would have lost it. More commotion was coming from inside, mostly yelling, but a little crying too. There was no sign of Social Agent Rue yet, so Nancy chased the rifle girl.
Behind the Miss Pancake Restaurant was an empty field. It went on for two hundred yards until small rocks and bushes sprang up, and a hill slowly rose. The Maple girl sprinted that way, while awkwardly clinging to her rifle that was almost as tall as she was.
Nancy cried out, “Stop!”
But the girl couldn’t hear or simply ignored the order. She kept running until she found cover behind bushes and squatted down. When Nancy got within fifty yards, the Maple girl whipped her rifle around and looked straight down the barrel at Nancy. At this range, the girl had a clear advantage. Nancy’s nine-point-nine was just a handgun, after all.
However, Nancy aimed back, using both hands, and yelled, “Drop it, or I’ll shoot.” The wind went calm, and it got quiet. Nancy repeated herself again, making sure the girl had a chance to hear her. But she didn’t listen again. The girl kept her rifle aimed towards Nancy.
After giving the girl three seconds, Nancy fired. The gun blast was louder then she expected, sounding twice as loud, and it left her ears ringing. The Maple girl slumped first then tumbled forward onto her rifle. Her body lay motionless.
Nancy wasn’t sure what emotion she felt, watching a girl die, but she was proud of herself anyway. One shot and a kill at fifty yards wasn’t easy.
“Hmph,” came a voice from behind her. Social Agent Rue was standing just a few paces away, gun out, barrel smoking. “You hesitated,” the older social agent said, “You should have shot before she even turned around.”
“The other twin?”
“Dead.”
That night, a local reporter interviewed Nancy. Sheryl Willow was her name, just out of journalism school and hungry for a story. Social Agent Rue had left. She had no patience for ‘fame-seeking’ as she called it. Rue wouldn’t even admit she fired the last shot with Nancy on the backside hill. Instead, she let Nancy have all the credit for it.
Miss Willow embellished the showdown more than Nancy liked. Now Nancy’s shot was over a hundred yards, dirt in her eyes, and against a gale of wind. Nancy tried to tell the reporter, that she might have missed, and maybe it was Rue that really made the miracle shot. Yet, the reporter wrote the story about only Nancy anyway, and commented in the last paragraph that Nancy Rose never missed, “except once in a full moon.”
Nancy wondered if it was really hers or Rue’s bullet that killed the Maple twin, because only one bullet hit her actually, right through the heart. But, by the time the article was released, and the praise was given to Nancy, she didn’t care. She was just happy she was not known as a virgin anymore.