Page 19

The farther west I drive, the harder it rains until it’s hammering the car like tiny projectiles. Massive trucks whip past me doing more than eighty, and unless I keep hitting the dash every few minutes, I can’t see a damn thing. To make matters worse, the GPS on my phone lost signal before I remembered to plug in my next destination, so in the pitch-black of night, I have no idea where I am.

To top it all off, I officially hate the 8-track player. It’s been stuck on the same song for over four hours—no skipping the track, no ejecting the tape, and no lowering the volume. I swear on every one of Harry Styles’s tattoos, I’m going to lose my damn mind if I have to listen to “China Girl” one more time. If I didn’t need the crappy wipers to battle the downpour, I’d snap one off and use it to pry that sucker out.

At least the headlights on this hunk of junk still work. They’re the only things keeping me alive out here.

A massive eighteen-wheeler rolls up behind me, its high beams shining in the rearview completely blinding me. As it speeds past, a wall of water washes over the side of the Betty like a tsunami, and the road becomes a giant Slip ’N Slide. I should pull over, but the last sign I passed was for Bucksnort and Barren Hollow, so I’m pretty sure I’m literally in the middle of freaking nowhere. Jeanie’s threat of serial killers and rapists around every corner suddenly doesn’t seem so ridiculous. Even with David Bowie belting through the speakers, I can almost hear the rhythmic twang of dueling banjos playing in the distance.

I hit the autodial on Jeanie’s contact, hoping she’ll talk me off the ledge, but I don’t have service. “Damn it, Jeanie, why’d you let me do this?”

The first notes of “China Girl” play again, drawing my attention from the road for a split second as I vow revenge on that tape if I ever manage to evict it from the player.

I look up just in time to see a dark shape in the road ahead.

“What the hell is that!” My heart stops cold before racing to life again.

Staring straight at me from dead center in the lane ahead is what looks like a weaponized opossum, its armor glistening in the glow of the headlights.

“Holy shit!” A scream rips from my throat as the freaking battle ninja leaps into the air, connecting with the front of G-Lo’s car like a bag of wet cement.

Oh my God, I killed it! With no time to think, I slam both feet on the brakes. The Betty skids sideways, rising off the ground for the span of several heartbeats before slamming against the pavement with a horrible crunch. The tires squeal and my ears ring as the Cutlass does a full circle across both westbound lanes, finally coming to rest in the center divider, half in and half out of the ditch and facing oncoming traffic.

With my brain scrambled and my fingers locked in a death grip on the wheel, I peek over the dash and inspect the front of the car. The headlights look cross-eyed, casting shadows in the wrong direction, and an angry hiss of steam pours from under the hood. Never a good sign.

Now I’ve gone and done it. I killed the Betty, too!

After spending almost an hour in the ditch, polishing off the last of my Doritos and burning through my iPhone’s battery searching for a signal, I finally flag down a dairy truck. Or as Jeanie would likely insist, a refrigerated serial-killer-mobile. For all I know, the tank is filled with bodies, and I’m destined to be his next victim.

A bone-rattling shudder runs through me as I force the gruesome image from my brain and focus on the Betty’s mangled grill.

“I’ll be damned.” Ernie—according to the swirly script embroidered across the flap of his blue coveralls—scratches his gray-stubbled chin. “Ain’t never seen nothin’ like this a’fore.”

“What?” I peer around him into the wash of his flashlight, shivering in my ripped cutoffs and thoroughly drenched T-shirt.

Ernie taps a stiff back claw with a stubby finger. “Looks like it used to be an armor-diller, but it don’t belong in your radiator.”

Thanks, Ernie, now tell me something I don’t know.

“Can you, maybe . . .” I wince. “Pull it out?”

Ernie snickers like a twelve-year-old before wiping the grin from his chapped lips. I can almost hear him thinking, That’s what she said.

“I s’pose I could, but that won’t fix the radiator none.”

“Yeah, I was afraid you’d say that.” My spirit deflates. “I guess that means I’m stuck here for a while.”

“Looks like it.” He bobs his head, scratching under his hat. “I can radio for a tow, but at this hour, in this storm, I don’t s’pect it’ll get here none too soon.”

Just my luck.

“Or . . .” Ernie gives me a once-over before glancing toward his eighteen-wheeler. “I s’pose I could give ya a ride to town.”

“I don’t . . .” My gut clenches so hard my belly button hits my spine. The words oh, hell no clog my throat as a blinding flash of lightning zigzags above us, followed closely by a clap of thunder that practically cracks the sky in two. It would seem the cosmos—or maybe Mom—has other ideas. The storm that had all but passed us by rages back with a vengeance. “H-How far is town?”

“Fifteen . . . maybe twenty miles.”

“Okay.” Bottom lip clamped firmly between my teeth, I nod. “I guess I’ll be safer with you than out here alone. I, uh, need to grab my stuff.”

Ernie pulls off his hat and palms his bald head. “Ain’t got a lotta room in the cab.”