Cactusflower - Chapter 1 (Pre-Release Draft)

Rocket – Sierra Vista

Rocket stood in Abuela’s driveway, watching the taillights of the overloaded Impala disappear around the corner, carrying her coterie toward their new life. Their new life. The one she’d be joining in just under two hours once she figured out her own transportation.

She shouldered her backpack, checking that her few belongings were secure. She’d made the right call volunteering to take an Uber when she saw how cramped the car was getting. No point in everyone being miserable for the drive when she could handle herself just fine.

She needed a phone.

The corner gas station was still open, fluorescent lights buzzing like dying insects. She approached a college-aged guy pumping gas into a beat-up Toyota, all flannel shirt, and nervous energy. Perfect target.

“Hey,” she said, flashing her most helpless smile. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but my phone died and my ride just ditched me. Could I maybe borrow yours real quick to call an Uber? I’m totally stranded here.”

The guy—early twenties, soft eyes, probably majoring in something useless like art history—looked her up and down. Young girl, alone at night, genuinely distressed expression. His white knight complex kicked in immediately.

“Oh, shit, yeah of course. Here.” He handed over his iPhone without even hesitating. “Take your time.”

“You’re literally saving my life. I’m Sarah, by the way.”

“Kevin. And no worries, I’ve been there.”

The Uber app was already logged into Kevin’s account, which made this even easier. She scrolled through the available drivers, picking the one with the highest rating because she wasn’t stupid, even if everyone treated her like she was. Brian. Four-point-nine stars. Clean Honda Accord. No creeper vibes in his profile pic.

Perfect. Time to get the fuck out of here.

She quickly typed in the Waverly Street address and requested the ride, then handed the phone back to Kevin.

“Thank you so much. My ride should be here in like eight minutes.”

“Cool, cool. You gonna be okay waiting here?”

“Yeah, totally safe. Thanks again, Kevin. You’re a lifesaver.”

He smiled, pleased with himself for helping a damsel in distress, and drove off into the night. Rocket waited by the gas station, checking the time on the ancient wall clock through the window.

Smart move volunteering for this. Give everyone space to settle in, show up fashionably late, make an entrance. Plus, traveling solo means I can move at my own pace, make my own decisions. Maybe pick up anything interesting along the way.

The headlights swept across the gas station as Brian pulled up, and Rocket slipped into the passenger seat before he could get out and be polite. She needed this to be quick, efficient, and forgettable.

“Brian?” she asked, flashing him her best innocent-college-girl smile.

“That’s me. You’re… Sarah?”

“That’s me. Thanks for picking me up so late.” She tilted her head, letting her voice carry just enough vulnerability to make him feel protective instead of suspicious. “I really appreciate it. The car was getting pretty crowded, so I volunteered to take my own ride.”

Brian was older than his photo suggested, maybe forty-five, with kind eyes and the soft build of someone who’d given up on the gym but not on basic human decency. Wedding ring. Family photos stuck to his dashboard. Perfect.

“No problem at all. Where we headed?”

“Tucson. Jefferson Park area. I’ve got the exact address.” She rattled off the Waverly Street location, then added casually, “My roommates are already there setting up our new place. College, you know? Always moving somewhere.”

“Sure, sure. University of Arizona?” Brian glanced at her briefly in the dim light from the dashboard, and Rocket caught the slight hesitation. She straightened her posture, letting her voice carry more authority.

“Mm-hmm.” She settled back into the seat, letting her voice warm with practiced charm. “Pre-med. It’s brutal but worth it, you know? Helping people and all that. Started early through dual enrollment—graduated high school at sixteen, so I’m younger than most of my classmates.”

The explanation seemed to satisfy whatever doubt had flickered across his features. “Wow, smart kid. Good for you.”

God, I’m good at this. Watch him relax. Watch him decide I’m safe, normal, exactly what I appear to be. Just another broke college kid bumming rides across the desert.

Brian pulled away from the curb, and Rocket felt something loosen in her chest. Motion. Forward progress toward whatever came next. She was good at adapting, making her own way when plans changed. Independence was underrated anyway.

“You mind if we stop for gas?” Brian asked as they hit the main drag toward the highway. “Tank’s running low and it’s a bit of a drive.”

“No problem. Actually, that’s perfect—I could grab some snacks or whatever.”

About an hour and twenty minutes later, they were pulling into the Triple T Truck Stop in Tucson. The place was lit up like a space station in the middle of the desert night, all fluorescent white and buzzing electricity. Big rigs idled in the parking lot, their drivers grabbing showers and coffee before the next haul. The kind of place where people passed through but nobody stayed.

Rocket stepped out to stretch her legs while Brian filled the tank, and that’s when she saw her.

The girl was maybe sixteen, seventeen max, perched on a concrete barrier near the convenience store entrance like she was waiting for something that wasn’t coming. Thin to the point of sharp edges, with sun-bleached hair that had been dyed black sometime last century and was now growing out in uneven stripes. Her clothes hung loose and mismatched—men’s cargo pants rolled up at the cuffs, a torn band t-shirt that advertised some emo group from 2019, combat boots held together with duct tape and hope.

But it was her eyes that made Rocket pause. Too old for her face. Too hollow for someone who should still be worried about homework and boys and whether she’d get into college. The kind of hollow that came from having the bottom drop out of your world and landing somewhere you couldn’t climb back from.

vampires. Had to be. The stillness gave it away, the way she sat without shifting or fidgeting, like she’d learned to conserve even her nervous energy.

The girl was holding a cardboard sign: “Hungry. Anything helps. God bless.”

Fuck. She’s begging. She’s one of us and she’s fucking begging at a truck stop in the middle of nowhere because she doesn’t know any better. Because nobody taught her how to hunt. How to take. How to make people want to give her things.

Rocket approached slowly, hands visible, smile carefully neutral. She’d learned the approach from watching Marigold with strays—don’t startle, don’t threaten, don’t assume.

“Hey,” she said, settling onto the barrier a few feet away. “I’m Rocket.”

The girl’s eyes flicked up, wary but curious. “Cactusflower.”

“That your real name or your chosen name?”

A ghost of a smile. “Chosen. My real name’s boring.”

“I feel that.” Rocket pulled out her phone, pretending to check messages while actually studying the girl from her peripheral vision. “You been here long?”

“Few hours. It’s a good spot. Truckers tip better than regular people, and they don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Smart. But also…” Rocket paused, choosing her words carefully. “Also dangerous as shit, you know? Lot of bad people come through places like this.”

Cactusflower’s laugh was bitter as burnt coffee. “Like I’m not dangerous too?”

“Oh, I can see that.” Rocket’s voice carried genuine respect. “I can see exactly what you are. Question is, what are you doing about it?”

That got her attention. Cactusflower turned to face her fully, and Rocket could see the predator lurking behind the homeless-waif act. Young, yeah. Inexperienced, definitely. But not prey. Not anymore.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re sitting here with a cardboard sign when you could be making people line up to take care of you.” Rocket gestured toward the convenience store. “See that clerk in there? Older guy, wedding ring, tired eyes? Bet he’s got a daughter about your age. Bet he’d love to help a girl like you get back on her feet.”

Cactusflower’s expression shifted, interest and hunger warring with caution. “You’re saying I should—”

“I’m saying you should eat. Really eat. Not scraps. Not charity. A real meal that leaves you satisfied instead of just not-quite-starving.”

She’s listening. Good. She wants to learn. That’s the difference between survival and just… existing. The willingness to become something more than what broke you.

“But,” Rocket continued, “not here. Not alone. That’s how you end up dead or worse.” She stood, brushing dust from her jeans. “I’m headed to Tucson. Got a house, got a family. People who understand what we are and how to be it without getting caught.”

Cactusflower stared at her. “You’re asking me to come with you? Just like that?”

“I’m asking if you want to stop begging and start taking.” Rocket’s smile had teeth now. “But yeah, just like that. Sometimes the best decisions are the fast ones.”

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant rumble of truck engines and the hiss of air brakes. Rocket could see Cactusflower weighing options, calculating risks, trying to decide if this was salvation or just a different kind of trap.

“What’s the catch?” Cactusflower asked finally.

“No catch. Just family rules. You contribute, you belong. You don’t contribute…” Rocket shrugged. “Well, we’ll figure that out when we get there.”

Brian honked softly from the car, indicating he was ready to continue. Rocket took a step toward the Honda, then looked back.

“You coming or staying? Because either way, I’m leaving in thirty seconds.”

Cactusflower looked at her cardboard sign, then at the truck stop’s harsh lights, then at Rocket’s extended hand. The decision took fifteen of those seconds.

“Fuck it,” she said, grabbing her small backpack and leaving the sign behind. “Let’s go.”

As they approached the car, Rocket caught Brian’s questioning look and flashed him her most winning smile.

“This is my cousin, Carmen. She’s been waiting for me to pick her up—total miscommunication about timing, you know how family is.” She laughed, the sound bright and effortless. “She’s coming to Tucson with me. That’s cool, right? I mean, I already paid for the ride.”

Brian glanced between them, clearly noting that they looked nothing alike, but the combination of Rocket’s charm and the late hour worked in their favor. She leaned forward slightly, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror, her voice carrying that particular warmth that made people want to help her.

Easy. Just a little push. Make him want to be the good guy who helps family reunite. Make the inconsistencies feel less important than being helpful.

“Sure, no problem. Long as everyone’s got seatbelts.”

They climbed into the backseat together, Cactusflower still clutching her backpack like it contained everything she owned. Which it probably did.

“Thanks,” she whispered to Rocket as the car pulled back onto the highway.

“Thank me when you’re taken care of,” Rocket whispered back, watching the truck stop’s lights disappear behind them. “We’ll teach you how to get what you need. How to make people want to help you. How to be strong instead of just… surviving.”

Another stray. Another damaged girl who doesn’t know her own power yet. Good thing I decided to take my own ride - now I’m bringing home a potential recruit instead of just showing up empty-handed.

Hope I’m not walking into some kind of setup I don’t know about. Babydoll and Copal went ahead to “scout and secure” but who knows what that actually means.

The Honda carried them through the final stretch of desert toward Jefferson Park, three people who’d all made choices about where they belonged and who they trusted. Outside the windows, the Sonoran landscape gave way to suburban streets and streetlights, civilization creeping back after nearly two hours of desert highway and truck stop fluorescence.

By the time they were navigating the residential streets toward Jefferson Park, Cactusflower had stopped clutching her backpack and started asking questions about the house, the others, what exactly she was walking into. Rocket answered honestly—which was to say, she told the truth about the parts she knew and improvised the rest.

“There are five of us,” she explained as they navigated residential streets toward Jefferson Park. “Babydoll’s our leader. She’s the one who keeps us safe, makes the big decisions. Copal’s quiet but smart—she sees things coming before they hit. Marigold’s our heart, keeps us from going completely feral. And Blondie…” Rocket paused, considering. “Blondie performs. Everything’s a show with her, but she’s loyal when it counts.”

“And you?”

Rocket grinned. “I’m the one who finds strays at truck stops and brings them home.”

The house on Waverly Street looked ordinary enough in the pre-dawn darkness—single story, desert landscaping, the kind of place that blended into any middle-class neighborhood in the Southwest. But as they approached the front door, Rocket felt a moment of uncertainty. She’d been operating on assumptions about what Babydoll and Copal had set up, but the truth was, she had no idea what she was walking into.

“Ready?” she asked Cactusflower.

“No. But let’s do it anyway.”

Rocket pushed open the door without knocking. Because whatever was waiting inside, it was still better than being alone.

“We’re back!” she called into the house. “And I brought a present!”

The sound that greeted them wasn’t the organized welcome she’d expected, but the beautiful chaos of people claiming space and making it theirs. Voices overlapped from different rooms, footsteps moved back and forth across hardwood floors, and underneath it all was the rustle of plastic bags and the soft thud of belongings being unpacked.

“Rocket?” Marigold’s voice called from somewhere deeper in the house. “¿Eres tú?”

“Sí, it’s me!” Rocket responded, stepping into the living room with Cactusflower trailing behind her. The space was bigger than she’d expected, with cream-colored walls and large windows now properly covered with thick blackout curtains that blocked every trace of outside light. Professional installation, just like back at Abuela’s—no half-measures when it came to safety.

Blondie emerged from a hallway to their right, her arms full of shopping bags, blue hair catching the light from a floor lamp someone had already set up. She stopped short when she saw Cactusflower.

“Who’s this?” she asked, not unfriendly but definitely curious.

“This is Cactusflower,” Rocket said, keeping her voice casual. “Found her at a truck stop. She needed family.”

Blondie’s expression shifted slightly, recognition flickering in her eyes. Not of Cactusflower specifically, but of the type—another lost girl who’d been thrown away and was trying to figure out how to survive. “Well, shit. Okay then. I’m Blondie.”

“Blondie,” Cactusflower repeated, as if testing how the name felt.

“Don’t get used to it. Might change tomorrow depending on my mood.” Blondie grinned, but there was warmth underneath the sarcasm. “Come on, let me show you what we’re working with here.”

She led them through the living room toward the kitchen, where more bags were scattered across a small dining table. “So somebody went shopping,” Blondie explained, gesturing at the chaos. “And I mean shopping. Like, proper wardrobe refresh shopping.”

Rocket picked up one of the bags and peered inside, finding clothes that actually looked like they’d fit her. “Who went shopping? Babydoll?”

“Ray ‘King’ Crown,” Blondie said, pulling out a black crop top and holding it up to herself.

Rocket turned to Cactusflower. “She’s very protective of her brand,” she explained with a smirk.

“I gave him the list!” Copal’s voice called from one of the bedrooms. “But he knew what to look for. Fashion was… part of his old job.”

“His old job?” Cactusflower asked.

The room went quiet for a moment, everyone suddenly finding their shopping bags very interesting.

“Rocket!” Copal called again from the bedroom, followed by the sound of footsteps. She appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking more relaxed than Rocket had seen her in weeks. “How was the ride?”

“Educational,” Rocket said, gesturing toward Cactusflower. “Picked up a hitchhiker.”

Copal’s gaze moved to the new girl, and something passed between them—a moment of recognition, of shared experience. “I’m Copal,” she said softly. “Welcome.”

“Where’s Babydoll?” Rocket asked.

“Bedroom. Trying to figure out the sleeping arrangements.” Copal paused, glancing at Cactusflower. “Which just got more complicated.”

“Four bedrooms, right?” Rocket asked. “Should be enough.”

“Five of us, now six,” Blondie said, counting on her fingers. “Plus… well, you’ll meet him.”

Before Rocket could ask what that meant, Marigold emerged from the hallway, her arms full of what looked like brand-new bedding. She stopped when she saw the group gathered in the kitchen, her eyes immediately finding Cactusflower.

“Another hermana,” she said, and it wasn’t quite a question. More like a statement of fact, acceptance, and maybe a little resignation.

“Found her panhandling at the truck stop,” Rocket explained. “Figured she’d fit in.”

Marigold studied Cactusflower for a long moment, taking in the combat boots held together with duct tape, the too-large clothes, the careful way she held herself like someone expecting to be told to leave at any moment.

“¿Cuánto tiempo?” Marigold asked gently.

“Few months,” Cactusflower replied, understanding the question even if she didn’t speak Spanish. “Been on my own since… since it happened.”

Marigold nodded. No judgment, no pity, just understanding. “It gets easier. Having family helps.”

The moment was interrupted by the appearance of a man in the kitchen doorway—middle-aged, with the kind of hard edges that came from years on the streets. His clothes looked expensive but worn, like he’d dressed to impress but slept in them, anyway. There was something predatory in the way he carried himself, even when trying to look harmless.

“Everything okay in here?” he asked, his voice carrying a strange mix of authority and deference. “I heard more voices…”

Rocket’s body went rigid. She’d seen him driving, sure, but standing up in their space, King looked a lot more intimidating than he had from behind the wheel. Her hand moved instinctively to her pocket, where she’d always carried a knife back when knives mattered. Something about his presence set off every survival instinct she’d learned the hard way.

“King” Copal said quickly, catching Rocket’s reaction. “This is Rocket. And this is…” She gestured toward Cactusflower.

“Cactusflower,” Rocket replied.

“Nice to meet you both,” King said, though he seemed to be directing most of his attention toward Rocket. There was something in his posture that suggested he was trying to assess whether she was a threat. “I was just making sure everyone had what they needed for the first night.”

“King’s the one who did the shopping,” Blondie explained, holding up a makeup palette that looked expensive. “And apparently he knows what teenage girls actually wear, which is either impressive or concerning.”

“I asked the sales associate for help,” King said quickly. “Told her I was shopping for my… nieces. Who were starting college.”

Nieces. Right. This guy gives off serious dad vibes, but not the good kind. More like the kind who shows up to school events uninvited and makes everyone uncomfortable. What the hell is he doing here?

“King’s staying here too,” Marigold explained to Cactusflower. “He handles things during the day.”

“So he’s not…” Cactusflower inquired. “Not, one of… Not like us?”

“He works for us now,” Babydoll’s voice came from the hallway before she appeared in the kitchen doorway. She looked tired but determined, wearing new clothes that fit better than anything Rocket had seen her in. “Handles anything that needs doing while we’re…” She paused. “No disponibles.”

“So he’s day shift operations. Errands, maintenance, that kind of thing,” Rocket confirmed.

King shifted uncomfortably under Cactusflower’s curious gaze. “I made some bad choices. Hurt people I should have protected. Now I’m trying to do better.”

The vagueness of the answer was clearly for Cactusflower’s benefit. Rocket already knew exactly what those “bad choices” were.

“Speaking of errands,” Marigold said, “we’re going to need phones. Cheap ones that don’t require our real names.”

King nodded immediately. “Prepaid. Cash only. I can pick some up tomorrow.”

“Make sure they have texting,” Rocket added. “And maybe get us all the same number so we can reach you during the night if something comes up.”

“Smart,” King said. “I’ll add that to the list.”

“Where should I put my stuff?” Cactusflower asked quietly.

“There are four bedrooms,” Marigold said. “We were figuring we’d double up, but…”

“I can take the couch,” Cactusflower offered quickly. “I don’t need much space.”

“No,” Copal said firmly. “King already sleeps on the couch. We’ll figure it out.”

“She can stay with me,” Rocket said without hesitation. “I brought her home, I’ll make sure she’s settled in.”

“I’m sharing with Copal”Marigold said, nodding approvingly at Rocket’s decision. “Blondie, you good with taking the single?”

“As long as it has good lighting,” Blondie replied. “Speaking of which…” She gestured at the shopping bags scattered around. “Someone went all out. New clothes, makeup, the works.”

“Campus life requires the right… accessories,” Babydoll said with a slight smile. “If we’re going to blend in around the University, we need to look the part.”

“University of Arizona,” Copal explained to Cactusflower. “We’re going to be students. Cover identities.”

The phrase sent a chill down Rocket’s spine, but not an unpleasant one. Cover identities. College students. She liked the sound of that.

“Smart,” she said finally. “What about him?” She nodded toward King.

“Don’t mind me. I’m just part of the scenery,” King said.

Rocket studied his face, looking for tells, for the kind of micro-expressions that revealed lies or hidden agendas. What she saw was fear, carefully controlled but definitely present. Fear of them. Of what they could do to him if he stepped out of line.

Interesting.

“Alright,” she said finally. “Works for me. But if you fuck with any of us—”

“I won’t,” King said quickly. “I can’t. I literally can’t.”

Another interesting choice of words. Rocket filed that away for later investigation.

As the group began to disperse toward bedrooms to claim spaces, Rocket caught Cactusflower’s arm gently.

“Come on,” she said. “Let me show you where everything is.”

She led Cactusflower down the hallway, past the other bedrooms where she could hear the sounds of unpacking and settling in. The bathroom was at the end of the hall, spacious and clean, with more of those blackout curtains covering a small window.

“Bathroom,” Rocket announced, flipping on the light. “Hot water works, which is basically luxury at this point.”

She rummaged through one of the shopping bags King had left on the counter, pulling out toiletries—toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, soap, a few other basics. “Here. Get cleaned up, take your time. There are towels in the cabinet.”

Cactusflower accepted the items with something that looked like wonder. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For all of this. I don’t know why you—”

“Because someone did it for me once,” Rocket said simply. “And because you don’t have to be alone anymore.”

She paused in the doorway. “My room’s the second door on the left when you’re done. Just come find me, okay? We’ll figure out sleeping arrangements and all that.”

As she walked back toward the living room, Rocket could hear the sound of running water starting behind her. Such a simple thing—a hot shower, clean towels, somewhere safe to wash off the road dust and truck stop fluorescence. But she remembered what it felt like to have those things again after going without.

She’s going to be okay. We’re all going to be okay. This place… this could actually work.

The house on Waverly Street was beginning to feel like home.