Corbin ran from the shootout at a pace matching his thumping heart's speed and with sights locked on the charred buildings ahead. He ducked inside one of them through a broken window and pressed his back to the dilapidated wall, catching his breath. Bringing trembling hands to his face, he wiped away the sweat dripping from his cheeks. Or was it tears he felt against his scraped fingers?

The exhale leaving his lungs caused his spine to wilt with a shudder. He should've been bleeding out on the ground, gasping for air like a fish on a fisherman's boat deck. Instead, he was alive and sucking in a sob he didn't deserve. He faced the dead bodies lying on the highway like roadkill and slapped a hand to his mouth. Tears burned his eyes as he shook his head before closing them tightly, but the floorboards creaking behind him stiffened his shoulders.

"Don't move a muscle," a female said as the cool metal of a gun barrel pressed against his cranium.

"Listen... I'm just a guy passing through. I mean no harm."

"Give me your bag. I want to see what's in it."

"I don't have any valuables, but I have some food I can share," he offered. But she ripped the bag from his shoulder and began rummaging through his belongings.

"What's with the weird stuff in here?"

"They're just tools."

"Oh, I doubt that," the woman said. "Turn around. Slowly."

Relaxing his lungs, he spun as sloth-like as possible. He didn't know what to expect when their eyes met, but he certainly didn't expect to be repulsed by her. Her skin was scorched with a webbing of scars and her face was flat with small searching eyes. A sharp breath expanded his chest. She was hard to look at.

"You're a witcher, aren't you?" She cocked her brow.

"No." He shook his head rapidly.

"Yes, you are." She smirked, which only amplified the harshness of her face. "My little cousin is one. Every witcher has different tools, but they're all the same, more or less." She narrowed her eyes and gave him a once-over. "You're smart to lie. My cousin was only ten years old when he was hauled away and sold like cattle."

"What do you want from me?"

"Nothing. But you did stumble into my camp, and now that I look at you..." She tossed her head back with a laugh, her black hair falling away from her shoulders. "You couldn't hurt me even if you tried!"

"You sure about that?"

"Oh, please! I saw how you handled that pistol, and for your sake, I hope your water witching skills are even more pathetic than that."

Corbin dropped his arms along with the bit of confidence he'd gained from her friendliness. The sagging corners of his mouth only made her laugh some more.

"Don't get all bent out of shape. Come on. Follow me." She took his hand and walked a few steps before letting her hand slip from his. "I'm Romie."

"Corbin."

Following behind her, he couldn't help but notice that her bronze skin, toned arms, and narrow waist were attractive from the back. Not to mention her hips, which rounded into an ample rear that connected to defined legs. He pinched the bridge of his nose. The lack of female company in his life was getting to him.

"And here we are," Romie said as she spun about, motioning to what could've been a casino at some point. Except, all that was left were burned slot machines, turned-over card tables, and torn velvet drapes. Sunlight was shining through a large hole in the ceiling, and off to the side was Romie's camp. It was only a sleeping bag, a portable kitchen stove, and a small fire pit, but it was enough for someone that was traveling.

"How long have you been staying here?"

"Just a few days." She shrugged as she knelt to add wood to the fire pit.

"Why not go into Sage Brush?"

"And compete with the pretty prostitutes?"

It took Corbin a moment as his brows pushed together in confusion at her words. "Oh... So you're a prostitute?"

"I prefer companion, but yes, a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do to survive out here."

She squeezed lighter fluid onto the wood and snapped her fingers, creating a whoosh as orange flames engulfed the pit.

"Whoa, how'd you do that!?"

"Magic."

"No, really, how did you light the wood by snapping your fingers?"

"It's all an illusion." Romie held out her palm, revealing the small plastic lighter. "Anyway, I noticed you have a can of beans in your bag. Want to use it? I'll share the bottle of rum that I found."

"Deal!"

Two hours later, Corbin was lying back and staring up at the stars through the roof's hole. Romie was cross-legged beside him while stroking an out-of-tune guitar that was missing a string, but she played a melody, anyway. The night was peaceful despite what happened earlier with the farmer. The farmer. Corbin closed his eyes tight. The image of his body struck with bullets, and the blood that gurgled from his mouth hardened his stomach.

"What's the matter?" Romie asked, her fingers coming to a halt on the strings with a screech.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? That's why you look, constipated?"

Corbin rolled to his side and flexed his fingers out to the bottle of rum beside her. "I need more."

"You're a cheap drunk," she laughed but handed it to him anyway.

Taking a big swig of the rum, he noticed that Romie's scars looked softer under the flicker of firelight. Even the black hair cascading around her shoulders looked silkier as she began strumming again. There was also the thin tank top she was wearing and the tiny shorts. Good grief! His slightly drunk mind was finding her attractive again.

"What are you gawking at?" Romie asked with a sly smile.

"Hm? What?" Corbin snapped his gaze up.

"You're not a man of many words, are you? I did, however, notice that you stare a lot."

"I'm sorry. I've just never met anyone quite like you."

"Haven't been around many women, have you?"

"Sure, I have. Lots."

"Right."

"I have. Just none that look like you..." He glanced back down.

"They're just scars."

"I know. That's not what I meant."

"Oh?" She cocked her brow. "Then what did you mean?"

"Nothing." He shook his head.

"Corbin..."

"Fine! You have a nice, um..."

"Butt?"

Corbin choked on his spit and coughed to clear his throat. "Figure. A lovely figure."

"Yeah, well, with a face like mine, you have to have something to make up for it."

"Can I ask you something?" he asked, and Romie shrugged her bronze shoulder, the thin strap on her tank top slipping off. "How did you get the scars?"

"Remember when I told you about my cousin? Well, when they took him away, my family tried getting him back, and this is what they did to my face. They said that if my family ever attempted to rescue him again, that they'd kill me next time."

Corbin's brows furrowed as he studied her. "The Hounds did this to you?"

"No. The Hounds aren't the first to capture Witchers, and they won't be the last either. They just happen to be the most successful ones to this date." Romie gave the guitar another strum. "Anyway, this convo has taken a heavy turn. Feel like dancing?"

"Sure." He shrugged.

Romie stood and held out her hands to help him up, but when he got to his feet, he nearly toppled over. "Easy there, Bambi!"

"Bambi?"

"Yes, Bambi," she repeated while steadying him.

"What? How?" He wobbled.

Romie smirked and guided his hands to her hips. "I can tell you're far from home and have no clue what you've gotten yourself into."

"Yeah, so?"

"So..." She brought her hands up to his shoulders and ran her fingers to the back of his neck. He shivered, and she smiled. "You're like Bambi when he first learned how to walk. Gummy legs and making one misstep after another. That puts a spotlight on you, and people around here can sniff out vulnerabilities, and then they take advantage. Trust me."

"Is that what you're doing right now? Sniffing me out?"

"I would never take advantage of a drunk person."

"I'm not drunk," Corbin slurred.

"Yes, you are, Bambi."

"No!" He shook his head side to side quickly like a child.

"Your eyes are bouncing everywhere like you're having a hard time focussing."

Corbin paused from slowly dancing to concentrate on her face and blinked a few times. Huffing, he brought his hands up to her cheeks, keeping her steady. "Stop moving."

"I'm not," she laughed. "You're just drunk!"

"You're teasing me. I know you're moving!"

"I swear, I'm not," she chucked some more but narrowed her gaze. "Do me a favor and close your eyes."

"What! Why?"

"Just do it!"

Tilting his head sideways, he squinted at her, but she placed her hands on her hips with a scoff, as if saying, don't be an idiot. He groaned while dragging his hand down his face and closed his eyes. A few seconds ticked by as the wood logs snapped in the firepit, and then the faintest graze of something soft touched his lips. His lungs expanded with a low gasp as he registered the mouth, pressing firmly to his. A kiss... she was kissing him. Forgetting the pug-faced image of her in his mind, he wrapped his arms tightly around her narrow waist and deepened it.

◇◇◇

By morning when Corbin opened his eyes, he found himself stark naked inside his sleeping bag, and his head was spinning like a cement mixer churning thick, muddy sand. He rubbed his eyes, and the sobering memory of Romie on top of him and him on top of her—laughing and kissing, slapped him like a scorned wife.

"Morning," Romie said, and he sat up to find her packing.

"What time is it?"

"Almost noon."

"What!?" He tossed the sleeping bag off, exposing himself.

"We need a little hair of the dog," Romie said as she slipped her arms through her backpack and gave his naked state a once over. "Get dressed. We should head into Sage Brush and gather supplies."

"We?"

Flipping her hair, she brushed past him while saying, "Don't let what happened last night go to your head. We can part ways whenever we want."

"No. We can stick together."

"Alright, then. Giddy-up, Bambi, we're burning daylight sticking around here."

Sage Brush was a mile walk towards chalky, tan mountains, where it stood amongst the cacti and tumbleweeds like a wild-west town that time forgot. Neither of them spoke much along the way, and years of living alone had conditioned Corbin to enjoy the silence as he inhaled deep gulps of the desert breeze. Romie hummed while tiptoeing the line on the highway with arms stretched as if it were a balancing beam, and he'd nudge her every once in a while, prompting her to smack his chest for ruining her concentration. When they finally got there, however, his mouth couldn't keep up with his thoughts.

"It's like a time warp!" he said, gazing down the main street of antique buildings on either side with faded wood facades. A mixture of horses and dusty vehicles sat outside of storefronts, as flies buzzed over horse droppings in the middle of the road, while somewhere in the distance, the echo of power tools floated through the air.

"Yep. Good ol' Sage Brush..." Romie adjusted the thin scarf around her neck, covering her face. "Locals love telling people how Hollywood Westerns were filmed here years and years ago, but I think they're full of crap."

"What's with the scarf?" Corbin quirked his brow.

"It keeps people from staring at my scars."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Romie rolled her eyes at him. "Don't feel bad for me. I don't! It's just that sometimes the staring gets really old."

A drunk man stumbled out of a bar with a scantily dressed woman, both of them laughing while doubling over. Above them, a bright red sign flickered the word, Saloon.

"They're having a good time," Corbin chuckled.

"Shall we?" Romie motioned towards the bar.

"Yes. Please!"

When they pushed through the wooden swing doors, someone was playing a cheerful tune on a piano in the corner, while truck drivers played poker around a table with threadbare green velvet. A thin layer of cigarette smoke hovered above them, yet no one seemed to care as they puffed away on their poison while simultaneously sipping whiskey.

They weaved their way around the water-stained wooden tables, avoiding elbows from the seated patrons, and approached the bar. Romie leaned over it, allowing the strap of her tank top to slink off her shoulder. "Two whiskeys on the rocks and make one of them with a twist."

"A twist, huh?" The bartender glanced at her, his eyes pausing on her cleavage for a moment. "You sure that's what you want?"

"I'm a big girl, pretty sure I can handle it."

"Alright. Coming right up."

"I'm heading to the ladies' room..." Romie announced before walking away.

Waiting for their drinks, Corbin leaned against the bar and began people-watching. Everyone was minding their own business, except for the group sitting on the second level, staring over the railing. As he stole glances their way, he noticed how they were the only ones sitting up there, almost as if everyone knew to give them their space. The exposed weapons and ammunition bandoliers across their chests weren't entirely inviting either.

Taking the last sip of his drink, he glanced over his shoulder for the bartender, but the man had disappeared. His eyes slid over to the restrooms and to the door, Romie slipped into. He didn't know her well enough, but he wanted to believe that she wouldn't abandon him. His stomach churned, and despite the voice in the back of his head telling him not to, he headed for the bathroom with determined steps.

"Let's see what's behind door number two..." Corbin said to himself, and as soon as he pushed inside, regret yanked his jaw to the grime-covered floor.

There Romie was, sitting on the sink with a makeshift tourniquet around her arm, waiting for the bartender to plunge a needle into her brachial vein. Both of their eyes flashed to him as Corbin charged forward.

"Get away from her!"

Using all of his strength, he slammed the bartender into the wall, causing the needle to fall as he grabbed him by the shirt collar and tossed him into the nearest stall.

"What's going on here!" shouted a deep voice that reverberated in Corbin's chest, freezing his fist midair.

The bartender slumped to the ground like a rag doll as Corbin straightened and slowly backed out of the stall. A tall, muscular man who was double his size stood in the doorway.

"We were just leaving..." Romie's voice wobbled as she plucked the needle off the ground while keeping her focus on the large man. Then she took Corbin's elbow and began pulling him towards the exit. The muscular man stepped aside, a snarl of disgust on his face as he watched them leave.

"Damn junkies," he muttered.

Romie continued guiding Corbin through the saloon with hurried steps across the scuffed hardwood, but once they were outside, she gave him a hard shove.

"What the hell is wrong with you!"

"With me? I wasn't the one doing smack in a dirty bathroom!"

She glanced around and lowered her voice. "Do you have any idea who that man was back there?

"No. Why?"

"It was Merric. The leader of The Hounds!"

Corbin's skin grew cold as a wave of nausea churned his stomach like a wrung wet towel. He held his abdomen as goosebumps spread across his skin, and his vision turned spotty while concentrating on her face.

"You're on your own," Romie continued. "You're going to get yourself killed, and I don't want to be around for it. I've been through enough as it is!"

Corbin watched her rush into the street to hail down a commercial truck driver and was too stunned to move. When one slowed for her, she hopped inside, leaving him behind without a second thought.

And for the first time since his trip began, he realized his grandfather was right.

The world had gone mad, and he wasn't prepared for it.

***
Thanks for continuing to read! I appreciate it so much.

If you've read Water in a Time of Thirst, you might remember Romie. She didn't have a name in the other book since she was only briefly mentioned as the pug-faced drifter with nice legs that Corbin slept with on a lonely night. I thought it might be nice to give her more of a story in this book, even if it's still a brief encounter.

Buuut if you'd like to learn a little bit MORE about her, Like Water Through a Sieve is a short story I wrote for the Paid anthology called The One That Got Away, but now it's FREE to read! Look for it on my profile :)