The trooper did not drop his stare, though his lips twitched briefly. “Your license and registration, please.”
As Wiley reached for his wallet, he realized that the registration card lay in the glove compartment, probably just under the barrel of the pistol. He imagined the scenario: beat this hick cop to the draw, hold the gun on him while Erica tied him up. They'd leave him in the woods bound and gagged till someone noticed he hadn't come in from his shift. Be long gone before they found him. If the son of a bitch went for his gun, he'd have to shoot first. Get off a round, their only chance. The trooper sprawling across the road, blood leaking from the hole near his heart. After handing over his driver's license, he stepped around to the passenger side and pretended that the door was jammed.
Her hello broke the stillness. The men turned their heads as she strode through the high grass below them. Erica brushed twigs and leaves from the seat of her jeans, then waved to the men, and the young policeman took one step in her direction, hand instinctively cocked to his hol-stered sidearm. When he saw her struggling to find a foothold on the grassy bank, he moved to her, one arm outstretched like a lifeline, and as she took his hand, Erica watched Wiley go for the glove compartment. A vision of the gun flashed in her mind. Instead, she saw him grin triumphantly and flash the registration card. She grabbed the policeman's other arm at the top of the incline and hoisted herself to the road, holding on a moment longer than necessary and thanking him. Above his shoulder, high in the cloudless sky, a turkey vulture rode the thermals, circling and inspecting the landscape.
“I found it.” Wiley walked over to them, carrying the card like it was made of glass. “My brother's car, like I said. Just driving our baby sister back to college.”
The trooper took the card, bent his head, and strained to read it, unable to concentrate.
“Hollis,” she said, remembering a girl from their hometown who had gone there.
“Hollins? Y'all are a far piece off target. Your sister you say?”
Wiley edged closer. “Came down from Pennsylvania.”
“Can see that,” the policeman said. “Liberty Bell tags. How'd you all wind up over here if you was going to Hollins? You already missed it.”
She touched her fingertips to her cheekbone, and his eyes followed the motion. “We got directions from a friend.”
“Either y'all went too far south, or he ain't much of a friend. You lost. Don't want to be lost in these parts. I come up on your car, thought something bad happened to you when they's nobody inside. These some untraveled roads, miss.”
Wiley tried to establish a position in the conversation. “We decided on the scenic byways.”
“Scenic, all right.” The three of them surveyed the horizon. Oak trees showed a touch of brown among the fading green leaves, and the maples burned yellow and red. Framed against the cold blue sky, the colors hinted at the splendor a week or two away. The vulture traced a lazy course, graceful as a kite sailing amid the clouds. Erica looked away to study the two men, and when she returned her gaze to the sky, the bird had vanished, swiftly ascended to the heavens. “Lonesome here,” she said.
The trooper nodded. “Lonesome, yeah. When you're out by yourself in the middle of nowhere, only soul in the world, just wind and sky. You never gonna meet another body ever again, or you get that heartsick feeling that nobody knows you like you understand yourself, and never will. Lonesome is right, and lost, like you all.” He put on his hat, tamping the crown till it fit snugly.
“We sure are glad it was you,” Wiley said, “and not someone else coming along to tell us we were lost.”
“You never know what's coming down the road, which's coming out these hills. Folk here might be called hippie hunters, and take one look at that long hair a-yours, and could be trouble. Down these parts, we got a respect—”
“Maybe I should get a haircut,” Wiley offered. “War's over, after all.”
Twisting his mouth to spit, the policeman did not answer at first, but seemed to resurrect a story from the depths of his mind. “On this selfsame road another car stopped ‘cause it was lonesome and private. Two kids, hippie kids, but they was just high school sweethearts, not brother and sister like you. Neckin’ in the car out in the woods there when something unholy come up on them. The boy was mutilated like a catamount caught him, though some say it was the devil hisself You all are in college and don't have much truck with the devil, do you?”
Erica caught bits of the forest floor in the comb of her fingers. Taking a step toward Wiley, she longed to reach out and take his hand, but sensing her intent, he inched away, a wild uncertainty in his eyes.