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At long last, Bubba let out a guttural cry, which seemed to be Carol Ann’s cue to fake her own orgasm, with wails and moans so loud the poor possum was likely traumatized.
The noise finally trailed off to hard breathing and “Oh, baby, that was so good” from both. I dared a peek out again in time to see Bubba stuffing an utterly enormous wang back in his jeans. Big Bubba indeed.
For her part, Carol Ann didn’t seem to care about her underwear and simply tugged her miniskirt down to its previous barely decent length. Yet my hopes that they’d leave crashed and burned as Bubba climbed onto the hood and stretched out beside Carol Ann. When he lit a joint and passed it to her, I had to choke down a shriek of frustration.
The two lay back and traded the joint back and forth, looking at who the hell knew what since the streetlight was too bright to see any stars. I couldn’t even try and search inside the trunk while I waited for them to finish their post-fuck pot. It was too dark, and if they heard me fumbling around, not only would I be busted, but I’d have a much harder time escaping. Thank god the stay-awake mod kept me from drifting off out of sheer boredom.
Finally, the two stumbled off the Camaro and to Bubba’s truck. I waited until the sound of the engine faded into the distance before climbing stiffly out of the damn trunk. Ugh. Bubba’s little tryst had killed nearly an hour.
I resumed my search, ripping carpet out, and even pawing through the first aid kit. Still nothing. I was coming to the reluctant conclusion that Sorsha and Ben hadn’t found anything because there wasn’t anything to find.
Shit.
Dejected, I sat in the slashed driver’s seat. Maybe I was going about this all wrong. What if nothing was hidden in super-secret places, because there’d been no time for that? Ben said that Reno might have ditched something small before the road block. Which meant it was a move of desperation. But what if there’d been something else not as easily ditchable? If there was, he’d have hidden it within easy reach of the driver’s seat.
Pretending to be Reno, I scooched forward to where I could reach the gas pedal. Then, keeping one hand on the wheel, I tested to see how far I could reach, adding a couple of inches to make up for my shorter arms.
My hand brushed the CD player, and my pulse quickened. My less than stellar background meant I’d been witness to a car stereo theft or three. Though I was nowhere near as speedy as the hooligans I’d once hung around, I wasn’t worried about reselling this particular stereo, so the big flathead screwdriver and a little brutality helped remove it in right under a minute.
I pried open the CD tray, making a little noise of delight at the sight of a small white card within. A punch card with no punches. Double Dime Diner—buy ten sundaes, get one free.
I flipped it over and found a series of letter and numbers. The tingle in my fingers told me this was important, but what the heck was it? Not a zip code or phone number. Address? Website? Order confirmation number? Whatever it was, it was a clue. Reno had stuffed it into the CD player since it was too light to throw far. Too much chance it would fall onto the road and be found by the pursuit.
I took a picture of both front and back of the card then pocketed it and my phone.
Headlights flickered through the trees as someone turned off the highway and pulled up to the outer gate.
Nuh-uh. No way in hell was I getting trapped for another front row seat to the Bubba and BigBoy show. I bailed out of the car and sprinted toward the Kia by the fence. In a mighty, zombie-speed leap, I planted one foot on the hood, sprang to the roof, then launched myself high on the fence to cling like a spider on a web.
The heavy clatter of a diesel engine told me the newcomer wasn’t Bubba unless he’d changed vehicles, but I had no intention of waiting around to find out for sure. I clambered to the top of the fence, threw my leg over, then thought better of jumping the twelve feet. Instead, I maneuvered to hang by my hands to make the actual drop a more reasonable five feet or so. Easy peasy. I pushed off from the fence with my feet and let go.
The ground gave w
ay under my right foot with an awful screech of metal. Fiery pain raked up my calf. I flailed to stay upright but crashed sideways.
Crrraaaack. I might have screamed. I definitely fainted.
Muffled country rock music thumped. I opened my eyes to a cold, grey world. Dull pain throbbed in my right leg. I was lying on my side, lower leg wedged at an unnatural angle through a slab of rusted metal covered in weeds. Car door maybe. I shoved up onto one elbow, squinted for a better look. White bone poked out of an ugly gash mid-calf.
Shiiiiiiiiit. It’s okay it’s okay. Parasite slowed the bleeding. Dulled the pain. Dulled the brain. Brains. Need brains.
The scent of a fresh brain wafted over me. I inhaled deeply, zeroed in on it. Movement in the impound lot. I peered through the fence, between the Kia and LTD, to where a man unhooked a minivan from his tow truck. A low growl rose in my throat.
No no no no no no no no no. With numb fingers, I fumbled in my pocket for the packet of brains. Found it. Ripped off the top with my teeth. Squeezed the brains into my mouth. Squeezed some more. Sucked it dry.
A tinge of color returned to the cars, to the grass, to the man. The desire to crack a skull eased. A bit. I needed more brains. Had to make it to my car. Not that far.
How? Brain hunger made it hard to think. Brain fog from brain hunger. One step at a time. Focus, Angel. Focus.
The man was occupied with his business and would never hear me move over his music. My foot and half of my lower leg had gone straight through the metal scrap, getting gouged along the way then wedged in. The hard fall to the side had snapped both bones. Tib . . . tibia and fibula. Yes. Focus. And it was a compound fracture. Two jagged ends sticking out meant compound. Compound was bad.
Clenching my jaw, I grabbed with both hands below the break and twist-tugged. Then again. On the third pull, my foot came free. Bone grated on bone, and a wave of sickening pain cut through the brain-hunger numbness. I breathed like a pregnant lady in labor until it receded.
Woof. A heavy bark from inside the impound lot. Woof.
The possum scurried along between the fence and cars, passing right by me to hole up in an old tire a dozen feet away. A hulking brute of a rottweiler slid to a stop in the gap between the Kia and LTD. Locked eyes on me. Forgot the possum. Woof woof WOOF.
“Shh shh shh . . . nice doggie.”
