The fog remains oppressive. My cold flesh is now numb. The hill will never end. One foot in front of the other. Every step dulls my senses until it feels as though the fog has taken over my brain along with the rest of the world.
With a blaze of light and the roar of an engine everything changes. I didn’t know it, but I’m almost at the peak of the mountain. Cresting the hill is a giant SUV going fast. I’m on the yellow line and way too close for comfort. Instinct takes over and I jump out of the way. The speeding SUV hits the brakes as it passes me. I take off my jacket and start waving it. The SUV keeps going, but at a slower pace.
I run toward the car. “Stop! Stop!”
It’s going to stop. I can tell it’s going to stop. Everything’s going to be okay.
But then the SUV picks up speed.
My run turns into a sprint, and I flap my jacket harder. “Stop! Please stop!”
The SUV pulls away from me and drives off into the night.
“Oh God.” Don’t cry. Don’t despair. “Oh God, why?” Stay positive. Stay positive. “Why are you doing this to me?” Think of the good things. That driver had doubts. I know that driver had doubts. They thought about stopping. They might be calling 911 right now. “What did I do to deserve this?” Stop crying. Now. “I wasn’t perfect; I know I wasn’t; I know all the bad things I’ve done. But I don’t deserve this. I don’t.” Get a hold of yourself.
Breathe.
I obey myself. I breathe. I breathe for a while.
Now think. Why isn’t this working?
These idiots are scared of me. That’s what it is. These idiots are scared. It baffles me how anybody could be scared of a teenage girl who probably weighs less than a hundred pounds at this point, but they are. I pause to consider myself.
I’m wearing a puffy camo trucker hat and a giant camo jacket. Underneath that is a filthy, man’s white T-shirt. On my legs are oversize socks tied with laces, making them look like saggy makeshift Roman sandals. Around my waist is a holster and a handgun. Not sure if the gun works after getting dunked in the river, but it’s there.
I need to change tactics.
Five Days Ago
IT IS FOUR IN THE morning when the man parks his truck behind a line of Bradford pears. The bushy trees, now a dusky autumnal red, shield the service entrance to the ranch from view, as well as his old truck. He believes she will arrive in an hour, but it’s important to account for variables. Leaving his vehicle behind, he stations himself behind the two tractors. From here he can see his own truck, the main drive, and the entrance to the barn. It’s perfect.
The weather has been up and down lately. It’s chilly now, but the man wears a thick flannel shirt, woolen cap, and leather gloves. The leather gloves are dual purpose.
Time slips by in peaceful fashion, as it does whenever he is in the zone. He checks his watch. It’s almost five.
Headlights come up the main drive.
She is punctual, he’ll give her that. It is still dark as night, and there isn’t a soul around. If he’d written a script, he couldn’t have created a better scenario.
She disappears into the barn. The faint glow of the tack room light flicks on.
It’s go time.
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE FOG HAS LIFTED SOME. The sky remains starless, but at least the trees are visible again. This is good. This is necessary. Necessary for my plan to work. It’s not without risk, but I’m done hoping. It’s time to force things to happen.
Time is never easy to measure alone in the wilderness, but it’s not too long before the deep rumble of an engine tells me to get ready. My heart is in my throat as I lie down in the middle of the road, across the yellow line.
I cover up the gun with the flap of my jacket. I don’t want to abandon it, but I don’t want anybody to see it either. The trick is to not move a muscle, to appear unconscious. An unconscious body is not scary at all. It is helpless and in need of help. I’m determined to hold on to stillness as long as I can.
There’s a chance the driver could be on their phone or -dozing off or messing with the radio. There’s a chance that I’ll have to scramble for safety, and I’ll run straight into the car. There’s a chance I’ll die. But I think there’s a better chance that a girl lying in the middle of the road will get the help she needs.
Seconds stretch into forever. Will the car see me? Will they stop? They might swerve to avoid me, go up on the shoulder and continue on into the night. They could be like everybody else who has come before them.
The squeal and squeak of brakes tell me the car is slowing, then stopping. I turn to see my rescuer, but the headlights blind me. The driver’s side door opens with a loud creak.
The headlights are big, round. High up off the ground. Funnily enough, it’s the headlights that tell me what I’ve done. They’re old-fashioned truck headlights, the kind you don’t see very often anymore.
When his frame steps in front of the light, it’s what I expect to see. The massive outline of Wolfman.