“No, no, no. Come on, Cletus!”
What should I do? Should I try to turn around and make it back to Little Creek? Keep going and hope to crawl our way to the mechanic before Cletus completely peters out?
Whether it’s the right thing to do or not, I stop the van and pull out my cell phone. At least there’s one bar of reception, which I’m surprised but thankful for. If nothing else, I can call a tow truck and get a ride back home.
Cletus gives a loud cough, a shudder that I feel all the way down my spine, then dies with a puff of smoke curling from under the hood.
Tow truck it is.
A buzz not unlike an insistent bee right next to your ear fills the space around me with a physical tremble. Something isn’t right, but I can’t pinpoint what’s wrong exactly. The quiet hum becomes a distant rumble in the air, growing in volume until the vibrations are shaking my teeth together. An earthquake? I push open the van door and jump out of the driver’s seat. Outside, the noise is even louder.
And that’s when I spot the boulders tumbling down the mountainside behind me, dislodging more rubble and debris as they plummet to the ground. My hands shoot out to cover my gasping mouth, and in the back of my mind, I recognize the small voice wondering if this is what it was like for the Israelites watching Jericho’s walls crumble in front of them. I’m far enough away to not be in danger of being crushed or hit with a stray rock, but it’s hard to process what my eyes are witnessing.
As quickly as the whole thing started, the rockslide stops. The air is coated in a dusty haze that slowly dissipates on the gentle breeze. When the dust settles, a dam of boulders the size of cars and stacked as tall as a house lays across the section of road that I had just driven across. If Cletus had given up the ghost even thirty seconds earlier, I might have died right along with him.
4
I’d been right to judge Cletus by his appearance. All his outward makeover did was allow me to be catfished. Like books with gorgeous covers that make you want to read them immediately but the product inside doesn’t live up to the pretty packaging. Book catfishing is the worst.
My gaze travels over the broken-down bookmobile, smoke still curling in wisps from the seams of the hood. Okay, maybe there are worse things.
I look around at my surroundings, trying to find any landmarks that will jog my memory about how close I am to Turkey Grove. Maybe I can walk the rest of the way and see if the mechanic at the service station can get Cletus up and running again.
Although with the road blocked, getting him running again will solve only one of my current and dire problems. Until the Department of Transportation clears the boulders, there’s no way that I know of to make it back to Little Creek.
I glare at Cletus, then swing open the driver’s door with more force than is needed. Even though I know it’s futile, I turn the key in the ignition, driven by a mounting desperation and the ill-fitting feeling of irony.
Nothing happens. Not so much as a single click of the starter.
I twist the key again. “Come on,” I encourage through gritted teeth.
As expected, Cletus isn’t suddenly resurrecting from the grave like some kind of vehicular Lazarus.
I sigh and let my arm lower in defeat.
My brain swings around and slaps some sense into me, reminding me thathello,youhad cell reception just a few minutes ago,dummy. Youcan literally call for help.
Right. No need to jump into the deep end of the drama pool.
I pull my phone back out and check that, yes, there is still at least one bar. I tap open the maps app and note my location, zooming in and scrolling around to try and find Turkey Grove amid the green specks of trees and ridges of elevation gain. I don’t find the hollow quickly, which means walking is out of the question. I’m not worried about getting lost since I can follow the road, but the strappy sandals I’m wearing weren’t made for backcountry hikes, and a twisted ankle is so not what I need at the moment. But with the day I’m having, it’s exactly what luck would dole out.
I click out of the app and tap on the web browser icon, waiting for it to load. After what seems like forever but is likely less than a full minute, a fresh search page opens. I type intowing services near meand click allow when a window pops up asking my permission to use my current location.
Another stretch of waiting, then the page changes, showing a small portion of a map with red pins and a list of the nearest towing companies. Levi’s Service Center is at the top, with a pin on the map that makes me think it’s the mechanic in Turkey Grove.
I click on the number and call. The phone rings, and I suppress saying the mantra playing in my mind out loud.Pick up,pick up,pick up. On the fourth ring there’s a click on the line, and I feel a flood of relief.
“Hello?” I jump in, not even waiting for a greeting from theperson on the other end. “Hi, my name is Hayley Holt. I’m a librarian from Little Creek, and I drive the new bookmobile that was supposed to be there in Turkey Grove today.”
I pause out of politeness and because I realize I should at least give this person whom I’m assuming is Levi or Levi’s office employee a chance to respond, even though I want to sayI need helpandPleasecome and get meas fast as possible in caseI lose this single bar of cell reception.
There’s a noise that sounds sort of like a grunt. Maybe the guy on the other end has a few bolts or other mechanic-y things he’s holding between his lips because his hands are buried in an engine and he can’t talk at the moment. I don’t know. I don’t even know how to change my dash clock after Daylight Savings, but the scenario seems plausible to me just the same so I’m going with it.
“Anyway,” I plow on, “the bookmobile broke down, and a rockslide is blocking the road back to Little Creek, which means I’m completely stranded here. I’m so happy there’s reception or I’d really have found myself in a pickle. But thankfully I was able to call you. Sorry, I know I’m rambling, but now that you know the situation, do you think you can tow the bookmobile to your shop and possibly get it running again? I don’t know what the road I’m on is called, but it’s the one that leads to Turkey Grove from US-64.”
I’ve used all the breath in my lungs to push out that run-on bit of information, so I take a moment to breathe in and refill my chest with slightly acrid air due to Cletus’s own dying puffs of smoke. The silence stretches, and I open my mouth to ask if he’s still there before a deep, gravelly voice that doesn’t sound like it’s been used in hours, possibly even days, says, “Okay.”
That’s it. Just the one word. Two syllables. Like he’s charged by the letter and budgeting his allowance. NoOh,yes,I know where that is. NoNo problem,I’ll be there in a jiffy. NoA rockslide?Areyou all right,ma’am? Just a gruff, clipped“Okay.”
