She had returned the Peterbilt and took off in a Chevrolet when it was all said and done. The pickup was smaller, an automatic, and lower to the ground, but she liked that coziness, that intimacy, for in the end, she wanted to drive with someone friendly, not the cold murderous machine she had piloted previously.
With her lover avenged and his killer slaughtered, the black Amazonian wolf who had laid waste to those cruel raiders had chosen to roam idly. She had heard tale of a settlement out west, and figured west was the best place to head, and the best place to start anew.
She kept the denim and leather of her lover in a suitcase; her way of keeping his memory along, and set out in the road dressed in her Wasteland best. The brown cowboy hat sheathed her piercing eyes, the leather sandals cooled her paws, and a pair of cutoffs and a plaid red crop-top kept her decent.
The black pickup served her well, and without the burden of revenge, she soon found driving as exhilarating as ever. She loved the wind whipping her long raven locks about, bristling along her slender, black-furred body, the engine roaring as she flattened the throttle. She understood why her man had loved driving so, and now she too carried within her that insatiable itch.
It all came to stop with a slam of the brakes, and a body in the road.
Both paws flattened the pedal as she swung a hard hand-break turn. With the tires’ final scream, the truck stopped. When the Amazonian stepped out, she was relieved and horrified. She had indeed stopped in time, but the body on the road was a boy’s; a tan pup no older than six, with tattered jeans and a ratty tank-top.
She scooped the young hound up, loaded him into the passenger seat, pulled off the road, and dove into resuscitation. Chest compressions, mouth-to-mouth, her canteen of water, everything she could think of to bring him back around. He could’ve been there days for all she knew, but coursing through her mind was the steady declaration of no te dejaré, no te dejaré.
“I won’t leave you,” she finally verbalized with a final, desperate press of the chest, and a tender thumbing of his forehead, praying for some sign of life.
It came as a cough, a splutter, and a torrent of terrified tears.
The black-furred vaquera plucked up the youngster and held him tight as an ox. She found within herself that unique cocktail of composure and compassion, a man’s stoicism, and a woman’s touch. She didn’t cry, she didn’t bawl, but she didn’t move an inch until she knew he was calming down. When he did, she helped him to the mouth of the canteen, and gave him as much as he needed.
She thumbed the tears from his little eyes. “Looking much better,” she grinned, the smile curling across her sharp snout. “Let’s find somewhere a little safer to spend the night.”
Just as she slid behind the wheel, she felt the subtle sting of pins, and looked down to find the shivering pup clung to her soft torso like a koala to a branch.
“You’ll be fine, chico.” she soothed. “You’re safe now.” She tousled his scruff before shifting gears and slowly starting down the road. With the whole ordeal still fresh, she didn’t want anymore speed demon exorcising…that was, until she noticed the drive working its charms on the pup as well. With each crest of a hill, and the rollercoaster-like descent, the sniffling grew quieter, and the frightened needles-and-pins at her side retracted.
“Hang on!” she teased, shoving the pedal down as the truck leapt over another hill. They landed with a bang, and the scruffy tan pup was in stitches of snorting laughter, which spread like wildfire to the tall black driver who roared elatedly.
“Do you have a name?” she asked, slowing down to catch her breath.
“I…dunno.” he sighed, his soft drawl slurred.
“Call me Camionera,” the Amazonian driver replied, warm Latina tones in full-flower. “Do you remember anything at all?”
He simply shook his head, and was met by the reassuring pat on his shoulder.
“It will come back,” she sighed, eyes turned to the road. “And if not, well you’re riding with me! I’m heading west to join a settlement and you are gonna be there for it every step of the way. Might get a nice cabin, might just drive around in this silly old truck.”
The word “truck” was what got him to perk up, and he nodded furiously.
“Happy to have you along!” Camionera beamed. “As for a name, how does Corre sound?”
“Wha?” he perked up, confused.
The black wolf chuckled. “Short for corredor. Means runner. You gotta run fast to make it in this world. And I think you will. ‘Specially if you love the way this ol’ goat runs.”
All the little guy did was smile, which was good enough for her. “Tell you what,” she continued, “Make it easy on you. I call you Corre, you call me Cam.”
“C-cam…i-io…m-mama?” he stuttered confusedly.
When the last word hit her ears, she stopped the truck, and went silent. Her face went blank, the smile uncurling upon her snout. She never thought she’d ever be called that. Never had a chance to, what with her man having been so ruthlessly taken from her. And in her roundabout quest to make the kid alright, the tike wrapped in ragged denim and cloth landed a haymaker on her heart. And when he saw the tears in her eyes, he started welling up too.
“Oh nononono!” she said loudly, pulling over to the edge of the road. Camionera picked up the tan pup and brought him right to eye level, pushing the brim of her brown hat up so she could see those piercing eyes. She wanted him to see what she was feeling; joy.
“That dumb ol’ mind just danced right around what we both need.” she smiled, wiping the tears away. “Ain’ nothing wrong with me being Mama, Corre. Ain’ nothing wrong.” She pulled him in for a squeeze, one where she felt the needles and pins of his little paws wrapped around her. “We’ll trim those later,” she chuckled, relishing in the warmth of a son she never thought she’d have. “But that’s later, let’s keep going. Show you how to drive like Mama, eh?”
She buckled the pup up, and without hesitation, opened the Chevy up wide. Soon the tears were all forgotten, and what the day amounted to would be the start of a strange sort of salvation. Where others would be driven mad by their hatreds, their fears, their anguish, one crazed little coincidence gave that tall, tough trucker a chance to begin again, one which she’d protect at all costs.