Next Services: 23 Miles
A prologue of sorts.
NEXT SERVICES: 23 MILES.
Needlelike pain lanced her ruined ankle as she limped along the shoulder of the two-lane highway, feverishly forcing one foot in front of the other. She swiped her swollen tongue along cracked lips, then swallowed hard against her rising desperation as she took in the neon green sign before her.
Moisture hung thick as a woolen curtain in the still night air, compressing her heaving lungs. Asphalt toyed with the earthy scent of the sagebrush steppe that stretched for hundreds of miles through the darkness. A crack of thunder clapped overhead, and it rattled her aching spine. Everything hurt. Her legs, her blistering feet, her shoulders still slumped from the imaginary weight of her missing pack.
Another bead of sweat dripped down her neck, tickling her ear, and she resisted the urge to mop it up with her sleeve. She had to conserve her energy. She couldn’t afford to waste a single drop on unnecessary movements.
Her mental fortitude began to splinter a mile back at the discovery of a lone gas station, decayed with disuse. Now, as she willed her failing body to keep going, staggering past the green road sign, she wanted to die.
Someone would come looking for her. They’d see her broken-down Subaru ten miles back, see the signs of struggle—a streak of blood on the driver’s side window, her right sneaker rolled somewhere underneath the front tire—and would call the Crook County Sheriff’s Office. Maybe they’d even find her stolen backpack discarded somewhere along the side of the road, wallet empty and credit cards gone, but ID mercifully still there.
These were the thoughts that kept her going.
Rain began to fall in sheets, pelting her sideways, further drenching her sweat soaked body. She wanted desperately to lay down, to press her cheek against the rough ground and let the storm wash her away. Instead, she wrapped her arms around herself and trudged on.
Then, a bright flash flooded her field of vision. Lightning, she thought at first in her dehydrated delusion. But the flash didn’t dissipate. It grew bigger, more focused, as it crept toward her down the highway. After a moment, the light split into two shocking orbs, illuminating the dusty sagebrush around her. The glowing spheres pierced through the slanting sheets of rain, and she shielded her eyes against the headlights.
The tow truck puffed a low burst of exhaust as it slowed to a halt a few yards away then shifted into Park. Through the inky rain, she could see it had a sedan chained to the flatbed, much newer in make than her old Subaru. The cab door swung open, and the backlit driver stepped out, boots crunching on the wet asphalt.
She took a deep breath and stumbled closer.
Thanks for reading! Think she should talk to the driver or get in the car? Let me know what you want to see happen next!