When I turn, his face is lit up as he sprints toward me at full speed like the athlete he is. But I already know, there isn’t enough time for him to do anything but die with me. And so I close my eyes and face the oncoming lights. And I pray that I am right. That I am everything Quentin said. And that if I am not, that this is at least not how Jasper dies.
The insides of my eyelids glow. So bright for a second I wonder if I might not already be dead. But then comes a deafening screech. The smell, too, rubber burning against asphalt. When I open my eyes, there’s Jasper at my side, his face turned away, shoulders up, bracing himself for impact. I close my eyes once more. Until finally there is only silence.
When I look, the truck has rolled past us and come to a stop, almost in the woods on the opposite side of the road. I blink down at my hands. They are still there. I am still in one piece. We are still alive. I swallow down a mouthful of air as Jasper and I stare at each other, wide-eyed.
“For fuck’s sake!” the driver shouts as he comes around the front of his truck. He’s a big man with a bushy black beard, wearing a blue flannel shirt and a John Deere baseball cap. He rests one hand on the grille of his truck, the other on his heart. “What the hell are you kids doing in the middle of the goddamn road?! I almost killed you.” Then he looks down at himself as if to make sure he’s not injured. “I could’ve been killed myself. Not to mention my truck.” He steps back to inspect it. “I’m a foot away from that goddamn tree.”
“We need help, please.” I sound too frantic. Like someone who’s going to cause trouble, somebody already in too much. Someone on meth, maybe. If he knows this area, that is what he’ll think. “We just need to use your phone.”
“Fuck no!” He’s already headed back around to the front of the driver’s side. “Now, get the hell out of the road or I swear to Christ I’ll roll over you.”
He’s pissed. But he’s nervous too—him, not me. Even though a day ago I would have mistaken it for my own nerves, I actually think they are his feelings. He’s worried about getting in trouble himself. Nothing too bad, not a dead body in his truck. But something he’s not supposed to be doing: driving on that road, cheating on his wife, working past shift to make up time. Whatever it is, he’s lying to somebody about something.
“Let us use your phone now, or we’ll call your company later and tell them we saw you here.” I step back and make a show of looking at the company name on the side of the cab door, and then his license plate. Neither of which I will remember. “This size of truck on this size of a road. There’s no way you’re supposed to be here.”
“Oh, yeah?” he says angrily. “Fuck if I care what you do.” Except it’s obvious that he does care, a whole lot. “There’s no damn signal here anyway. Even if I gave you my phone, it wouldn’t do shit for you.”
But he hasn’t gotten back in his truck. He’s worried enough that he doesn’t want to leave with my threat hanging in the air.
“Then give us a ride. Just to the nearest gas station. We’ll use someone else’s phone when we get there.”
“No fucking way I’m going to—”
“Or we’ll make that call,” I say. “And everyone will know what you’ve been doing.”
And I know I’m on seriously thin ice here. But the driver grinds his jaw down and narrows his eyes some more, like he is actually buying my stab in the dark.
“Fine,” he says. “But your asses are riding in the trailer.”
Jasper and I sit in silence inside the dark, freezing-cold trailer. Backs against the wall, feet jammed against a tall stack of plastic pallets filled with boxes of crackers and pretzels, we can hear them creak right and then left every time we hit a bump. We drive for longer than I expect. Much, much longer than would seem necessary. An hour maybe. With the dark and cold and the rocking crackers, eventually, I start to wonder if he’s taking us to a gas station at all. And who’s to say this truck driver isn’t some friend of Quentin’s, the way that Officer Kendall was? Or if what he has to hide is so much worse than I thought? Something worth getting rid of us for. I still don’t feel like my thoughts are much more than guesses.
And even if I’m right that he’s doing something he’s not supposed to be, it’s one thing to know enough to threaten someone, it’s another thing to know what will happen after you do. I’m not breathing much by the time the truck finally jerks to a stop, and Jasper reaches over and takes my hand.
“We’re going to make it,” he says when he squeezes my fingers. His voice is quiet and calm, but it’s too dark to see his face. “And your dad’s going to be okay. We’ll warn him in time. I know we will.”