The Variables by Shelbi Wescott

reply.
    “I can do this,” Dean said. “Herculean, maybe. But not impossible. I know this area, remember?” With that, Dean took a sharp left and bounced up over a curb, the contents in the truck bed hopping and clanking against each other. He drove through a park, passed a jungle gym and a plastic slide, and then pushed his foot down to the floor. The truck lurched forward over the grass and dirt. The vehicle vaulted, and Darla grabbed on to the door handle. She felt herself lift off the seat and slam back down as the truck moved toward a chain-link fence on the opposite side.
    “Slow down!” Darla commanded and she fumbled over Ainsley to grab at Dean’s shirt, but he ignored her pawing. “Don’t you dare—”
    Gaining speed, Dean looked over at his passengers and said in loud enough voice to carry over the engine, “Trust me!”
    The truck hit the fence with minimal impact. The chain-link broke free in a clean swipe and tumbled down off of the hood. Dean slowed down and led the car through an undeveloped plot of land, where he came upon an empty housing development. Unfinished homes dotted the landscape. A black sedan was parked in one of the driveways and the bloated body of a virus victim had fallen between stacks of rolled-up sod.
    Darla exhaled.
    “This shortcut is worthless unless you have a plan. One neighborhood to another neighborhood is not industrious, Dean.” She leaned her head against the cool glass and felt a rush of air through the gap that had once held the back window against her neck.
    The car was silent as Dean meandered around side roads and cut across empty lots, attempting to get closer north while avoiding the jams. They left the underdeveloped neighborhood, driving up over someone’s lawn to avoid debris and demolishing a set of brass frogs playing musical instruments. No one said anything for several minutes; everyone listened to the cadence of each other’s breathing.
    “I’m sorry,” Ainsley said, shedding her normal reticence in favor of peacekeeping. She shifted and turned to face Darla. Her eyes were red and puffy, swollen as if she had been in a fight. Dark streaks of soot smeared down across her temples, giving the illusion that she was sweating ash. She wiped off some, but not all, of the blood. She was a mess.
    “Save it,” Darla replied.
    “I just need you to understand,” Ainsley continued. “I can’t stand this. I can’t drive around with you like this. With you so unwilling to talk to me.”
    “Ainsley,” Darla started, saying her name as a warning. “The mere fact that you are even in this truck, sharing the same space as me, should be seen as such a marvelous act of mercy...but if you sit there and tell me that you are going to force me to converse? You’re out of your mind.”
    “I want to tell my story,” Ainsley added in a small voice. “Please, Darla—”
    “My son is gone. You were in charge of keeping him hidden. Those people came in with the intent to kill. You are not dead. The conclusion is pretty damn obvious.”
    “Ethan—”
    “Was not as vulnerable as my child. Was not your job ,” Darla seethed, every word punctuated.
    “I thought—”
    “Shut up.”
    “I know it’s my fault, but—”
    “Stop! Just stop talking!” Darla screamed. Her voice filled the tiny cab and even Dean bristled, shooting her a look over Ainsley’s head that she quickly ignored. “You are alive. Teddy is gone. That’s all I ever need to know.”
    Ainsley dropped her chin to her chest and began to cry. Her shoulders bounced with sobs as she bawled and she brought her hands to her face. The car settled into silence again. Dean mumbled something under his breath and stopped the car in the middle of the street. He threw the car angrily into park.
    “Give me the cigarettes,” Dean said, reaching across Ainsley to Darla, and waiting for her to reluctantly hand them over. When she did, he rolled down his window and lit one—holding his breath for a long