Jenla and Barth were shivering in the brisk windy breeze, teeth chattering like dancing skeletons. Jenla pulled her balaclava up further over her face, obscuring her numbing nose and rosy cheeks. Barth opted for frosted snow glasses and a thick winter scarf. They pulled their puffer jackets tighter, concealing their cold-pale hands and their weapons. Barth risked a worn gloved thumb in hopes that a car would pity them enough to pull over. They were doing their best to look like helpless travelers in need of warmth. The place they chose was just outside a fairly small town but on the way to a big city, so it wasn’t unusual to find hitchhikers dotting the roadside snow dunes.

People from small towns were so innocent. So trusting. That is, except for the odd cases, with the occasional “man from middle of nowhere murders his whole town” stories. But alas, many doors were unlocked and guards were down in favor of the good ol’ fashioned “Oh hello darlin’” way. They were basically asking to be murdered if the “man of the house” wasn’t home with his big “I’ll shoot ya mister” gun.

The storm was picking up, raining down wet chunks, not pretty dainty flakes, of snow.

“Gee it’s gettin’ pretty cold now,” Barth noted, a hint of worry sneaking into his confident-as-can-be persona.

“Dang tootin’ right you are,” Jenla agreed, “but don’t ya worry yar pretty li’l face. They’ll come.” As she said this, an old Subaru squealed around the corner, slowing down a little as it approached. “Bingo.”

The passenger rolled down his window. “Hey y’all. Need a ride? Hop right in. It’s colder than a well-digger’s butt, ain’t it?”

“Y’all are lifesavers, you are. We’ve been freezin’ our tail feathers off,” Jenla drawled back. She nodded an “I told you so” to Barth, before opening the door for him in a mock-gentlemanly manner, out of sight of the duo in the front seat. “What lovely folks,” she said, just in earshot of them. It was never bad to make a good first impression.

“Oh, bless yar hearts. Now, what brings the both of ya through these here parts?” the passenger asked. “I’m Gator.” He was a skinny man with a curly mustache that almost touched his nose. “This here is Zachson,” he added, gesturing to the silent driver, a more lumberjack-looking type.

“Well, Zachson, Gator, lovely to meet ya both. I’m Barth, and my cous- er wife here is Jenla. We’re headed just Southeast of the big city.”

Gator chuckled warmly, before dropping the act. His voice went about an octave lower, an impressive feat for the twig of a man. “Well I’m afraid that ain’t gonna be happenin’.” He pulled out a rifle, shoving it in Jenla’s face. Barth flinched as Jenla burst into guffaws of laughter.

“Ain’t a way in tarnation! You two also murderers?” she said in disbelief.

“Well I’ll be tarred and feathered. Y’all are too? That’s just hunky dory, now ain’t it, Zachson? We were nearabout to shoot ya, li’l lady, and pass ya for a possum pie. Not yar pretty man though, we right like him fine.” He waggled his manicured eyebrows in Barth’s direction, tucking the gun away. Zachson grunted his approval.

“Y’all want some cookies? Butter pecan,” he boomed.

“Ol’est trick in the book,” Barth chucked. “poisoned?”

“Yar got us!” Gator giggled, joining in the laughter. “I gotta know, what weapons ya totin’ in those bigger-than-a-bull puffers?”

“Well we ain’t all hat and no cattle! We got a few good ol’ Arkansas toothpicks, a pistol or two, solid yard or two a’rope, some extra-long matches, poison- y’all know the drill -maybe a few others,” Barth blabbed. Jenla elbowed his side hard.

“Now, what brings y’all to murder?” Jenla bantered.

“Ah, well ya see, we’re a homosexual couple, we are, and a lotta folks in this neck o’ the woods ain’t really like that sorta thing. So, we kill the lady and keep the gent. I hope y’all don’t gotta problem with that, now do ya?” Gator threatened.

“Oh, no siree. She ain’t really my wife anywho,” Barth admitted, running a finger through his mullet.

“Barth! He ain’t very good at keepin’ covers, ya see. I’m trainin’ his sorry behind. But yes, we are cousins,” Jenla confessed.

“Well, seein’ as y’all ain’t really goin’ to the city, ya fixin’ to come to our li’l cabin in the woods?” Gator suggested.

Jenla glanced at Barth. “That’d be peachy. Got any victims there yet? We’d love to murder… maybe torture… with y’all if you’ll have us.” Barth nodded his approval.

“And, uh, maybe other things as well.”