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No way I’m pressing my ass against what I know would be the worst restroom in the mid northwest. I can hold on. It’s only nine hours.
I’ll fix the damned light and I’ll keep moving. Not gonna go inside… No need…
It’s what I tell myself as I stow the gun and slipping into my leather jacket, I brace myself for what I know is gonna be a wet and dirty business. But I’d rather change a two-inch bulb than a hundred-fifty-pound tire in this weather. The rain’s got a real attitude, whipping itself into my eyes as the howling wind flicks up grit and grease. But I should be on my way in five minutes.
Should be…
The thin aluminum flashlight bobs in my mouth and I’m halfway through replacing the blown globe when despite all the foul weather, I get the distinct feeling of something behind me.
Something big.
It’s a reflex to jerk my head around. The screwdriver in my hand suddenly a weapon if need be. But there’s only more wind and rain. The feeling lingers though, mixing with the growing dread I’ve had about tonight long before I climbed into my rig for this ‘last run’. My eyes focus through the shitty night. The wide square windows of the roadhouse diner like giant screens. Broadcasting empty booths, a magazine rack and the shifting shapes of the few brave or dumb enough to be out on a night like this.
I finish up on the light, taking the time to check it’s working before double-checking the rest of the rig and trailer. The bright yellow plastic of the security seal on the trailer reminding me I’m already jumping up and down on very thin ice.
Keep moving… Don’t stop for anything… Or anyone-
The sound of a young female voice carries through the storm. Driven to my ears like a gunshot as the door to the diner flaps open with a bang. The wind like an unseen hand, opening the door with a violent gust so I can hear what’s going on.
The rain even easing suddenly so I can see. Showing me.
And I see her.
Fuck, It's like seeing a ghost, but I know it's not her… It can't be. That girl was dead… I saw the crime scene photos…
She’s blond. Of course. Waitress minding the fort on her own by the looks. And from what I can make out, way too pretty to be left on her own for five minutes let alone in a seedy roadhouse with a sign flashing ‘Fuckstop’ for the world to see right over her pretty little head.
I click my tongue. Furious that I’m joining the dots to my uneasiness too late. Knowing somehow that this girl, whoever she is, is gonna be the one thing that changes everything tonight somehow.
“I- I’ll call the cops!” I hear her stammer unconvincingly. Moving towards the door once she spots my rig. Ready to make a run for it. But it’s the nervous talk of a girl in the kind of trouble that just seems to follow me around.
The two dark figures inside moving menacingly towards her as she freezes on the spot. Her burst of bravery already spent.
A stormy night in the middle of fucking nowhere. A girl who obviously needs more than just a little assistance. And me with a secret cargo that’s worth more than my life if I don't get to moving again.
Don’t stop for anything. Remember?
Dammit!
2
PETRA
“Are yousure?” Floyd asks, giving me a concerned sidelong glance as he considers folding his greasy apron before tossing it onto the bench.
“I’m a big girl.” I reply confidently, already regretting my offer to stay and mind things when he gets the call from his wife that a part of their roof at home just blew off in the storm.
He’s the cook and sometimes manager of the ‘Fuckstop’ as the locals still refer to it. Floyd refusing to have the sign fixed once it was clear it’s the only thing going for the place.
“I’ll be fine.” I lie, gulping down my growing uneasiness when he gives me another look, “…I can always get a ride home with one of the regulars. Plus Bernice is in at five…” I chirp with effort, already helping him into his waterproofs by the kitchen door.
“Bolt it behind me.” Floyd says with that look again. “I- I’ll be back as soon as I can-” He groans, eying the worsening weather.
But I’m already closing the door. If only to stop the blast of rain and grimy soot being blown in.
His last words drowned out by a booming roll of thunder and the lights flickering, making me swallow hard as I find myself doing the one thing I promised I’d never do after the other night.
Be on my own.
