Night Skyy

by Rich Bullock

  Ember caught on quickly, deftly fielding comments about how to stay safe on first meets, seeking up or down votes from friends, and reading warning signs. Some listeners wanted to know how to handle guys who wouldn’t get a job or commit, but that was a bigger topic Skyy, via Ember, promised for a future show. Ember brought the discussion back on track, recommending using a cell phone to record tense situations, if legal in their state. And always having an escape plan.

  “All right,” Ember said as the show clock counted down toward zero. “It’s been great hearing from you all tonight. Skyy D will be back for Friday’s show—we hope—so tune in. Same time, same place, right here on Black Owl Radio. And, as always, be sure to send in music requests and topics you’d like to hear on future shows.

  “You’ve been listening to Night Thoughts. This is Ember saying good night for Skyy D. Stay safe out there.”

  The off-air notice popped up from Big Jerry. Ember clicked the mute button to be safe.

  “Great job!” Skyy typed on the screen. “You’re a natural.”

  “Thanks,” Ember said, grinning. “That was fun!”

  As Ember bounced in post-show high, Skyy’s last threads of energy drained away like the flick of a switch. “Oh, man,” she wheezed, sagging forward.

  “Skyy? Are you all right?”

  “Sleep,” she breathed, scooting down into her sleeping bag. She didn’t care about closing down the equipment or stowing it away. Her throat—largely forgotten while concentrating the past hour—reasserted its raw presence.

  One of the overhead lights went out, and she was vaguely aware of Ember exiting the trailer. If she came back, Skyy didn’t know.

  Chapter 13

  Wednesday slowly ground by in an alternating cycle of shivering and sweating as rain and occasional hail pelted Skyy’s metal home. Someone had reamed her throat with a toilet brush during the night, and swallowing the tiny sips of water Ember brought her was like drinking acid.

  In the afternoon, she forced on her shoes and coat and headed across the campground toward the bathroom building. If she thought the air inside the teardrop was cold, it was nothing compared to the frigid blasts bending the pine trees and propelling their needles through the air like green daggers.

  The temperature inside the campground bathroom wasn’t any warmer. Numerous vents mounted at the top of the walls—which were perfect for bleeding away the heat of summer—poured in outside air, chilling tile countertops, floors, and toilet seats. Warmth from the single wall heater in the corner dissipated as quickly as it came out. She ran her hands under the sink’s hot water before braving the refrigerated stall.

  Several torturous minutes later, she crawled back inside the trailer, kicked off her shoes, and slithered deep into her sleeping bag. She wasn’t sure if curling into a ball helped, but she tucked her knees to her chest. One Christmas when she was little, a kind neighbor gave her and Vance down comforters. They were too hot to use on any but the coldest nights, and she learned why ducks did fine in freezing water. Her parents donated the comforters to Goodwill when they moved south a year later. Skyy wished for one now.

  If this followed the typical path of a virus, coughing would start soon. That and the persistent shivers might finish her off for good.

  Ember opened the trailer door every couple of hours to check on her, bringing with her a swirling mist of freezing air. She had moved her sleeping bag to the car after the radio show, saying they couldn’t both get sick. Skyy didn’t have the energy to ask what the girl was doing to pass the time, what she was eating. If she was eating. Amelia Oso would not be pleased.

  Their plan from before the show yesterday was to leave the camp this morning and drive somewhere warmer. San Diego was less than an hour away. Paradise, even in winter. Everyone wore shorts—she’d seen the pictures. Pristine beaches, sailboats on Mission Bay, swaying palm trees, the signature red tile roofs of Hotel del Coronado. What she wouldn’t give to feel the sun on her face.

  Instead, she slid the electric heater closer and closed her eyes. The warm air was a soft breeze, gently buffeting her eyelashes. She dreamed of San Diego on a summer day.

  “Wake up, Skyy. We’re getting out of here.” Ember poked Skyy’s shoulder, but she didn’t stir.

  “Here, let me.”

  Ember held the trailer door as the camp host reached in and dragged Skyy’s sleeping bag across the floor with her in it. The man was older, but wiry and stronger than he looked. Working together, he and Ember carried Skyy to the Jeep. Ember stretched the shoulder belt across the sleeping bag and latched it.

  “Thanks,” she said to the man. “And for your help hitching up too.”

  “No problem. You got the directions to the clinic?” When Ember held up the paper he’d given her, he gave a little wave, then ducked his head into the wind and headed for the warmth of his big trailer.

  After one last walk around making sure they hadn’t left anything, Ember climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “You can do this.” She dried her palms on her jeans, then started the engine. She’d been watching the routine as Skyy started and stopped, applied and released the emergency brake, and shifted the automatic transmission. Skyy had let Ember move the car forward a few feet after unhitching, and once she’d backed it up to the trailer as Skyy guided her.

  How hard could it be?

  “Just like Xbox,” she mumbled, shifting into drive and releasing the brake.

  The Cherokee rolled forward, off the level parking pad and onto the road circling the camp. She straightened the wheel, then pressed the gas pedal. The car surged ahead.

  “Whoa,” she said, lifting her right foot. The Jeep slowed a little. She tried again, this time applying lighter pressure to the gas pedal.

  For the next fifteen minutes, she drove around the camp loops, then ventured onto the access roads. Before braving the Interstate, she pulled into the parking lot of a closed restaurant and practiced making turns, getting a feel for how the trailer followed and how much force to use on the brake pedal.

  Driving around two side streets had her palms sweating again. The parked cars were so close! But at least they weren’t moving. It would be even harder when out on the highway with cars and trucks passing her.

  Fortunately, the clinic was only twelve miles down the Interstate. Of course, that meant dealing with traffic, stoplights, turn lanes, and maybe cops.

  But her plan was simple: Get Skyy to a doctor and get some meds so she could get better.

  After that, Ember needed help.

  And she knew who to call.

  Chapter 14

  Canon rose late Thursday morning, his body protesting the very thought of moving toward the side of the bed and getting up. The coffee maker had finished its cycle over an hour ago, permeating the cold air with its enticing aroma.

  “Time to get moving, Truax.” He gritted his teeth and swung his feet to the floor. His shoulder—actually, his whole upper body—had stiffened during sleep, and it took a while to pull on some sweats.

  He’d been a fool to make the drive so soon after surgery, and the intermittent heavy rain didn’t help. At the halfway point he even considered stopping overnight, something he’d never done. But the overwhelming pull of the cabin kept him going mile after mile until he reached the turnoff to Storm Lake.

  He shook a dead cricket out of a pair of fleece-lined booties Mart gave him last year and stuffed his feet into them.

  In the kitchen, he downed half of a pain pill with a sip of coffee. Although overheated while he slept, it was still vastly superior to the brew at headquarters. He added some milk and sugar, as much for the calories as to mellow the taste.

  Outside the front window, thin cirrus clouds dimmed the morning sun as they scuttled east, and the choppy, steel-gray lake surface warned away all but three or four brave boaters. This was the reprieve forecasters promised before the bigger storm late tonight.

  It was stupid, but he checked his phone again. The ringer volume wa
s set at high, so he would have heard any incoming message. The only one was an apology from Mart that he pulled an extra shift due to one of his buddies going on the disabled roster. Mart couldn’t come until Saturday, and even that was iffy. That wasn’t a worry. Canon had enough wood split and stacked to last until summer. It wasn’t Mart he wanted to hear from.

  A month ago, he found a website where he could schedule recordings of Night Thoughts, and he was able to play back Tuesday’s show as he drove. The fill-in girl, Ember, sounded young, but she had a good radio voice and an easy-going presence. Although Canon missed Skyy’s sexy alto, knowing she was in the studio with Ember made it better.

  Wind whistled around the cabin’s exterior and whipped the tall pines out front. Would the storm impact Skyy? He had no idea if she was nearby or far away. He’d posted a message yesterday in the middle of the afternoon, complimenting Ember and asking Skyy how she was doing. No response.

  His stomach rumbled, reminding him his last meal had been on the road yesterday. It was either canned chili for brunch or drive to Peg’s Waffle House in Deer Cove. With rain on the way, he needed to stock up on groceries so he could hunker down for a few days. He slipped his good arm into his jacket and pulled it around his right shoulder, leaving his right arm and sling against his chest. The coat wasn’t zipped, but this way he could use his fingers.

  “Oh, man,” he said, breathing deeply when he stepped outside. The crisp air smelled of fresh water, pine, and woodsmoke. It was hard to believe he’d been sweating and lugging bundles of marijuana on the southern border just a few days ago. The fragrant lake aromas cleansed the past and promised adventure. Perhaps a little risk. Despite his aching shoulder, he couldn’t help but savor nature’s constant renewal.

  The truck upholstery, stiff and brittle from the night’s cold, creaked as he slid in. He could relate.

  He drove one-handed toward Deer Cove. Midmorning now, the parking lot in front of Bibs’ Beauty Barn was full when he passed, and he smiled at memories of playing in the corner while his mom got her hair done. Bibs and her sister, Irene, were characters of the first order, arguing with each other about everything from customers’ hair styles to which one would die first. Bibs propelled them around the lake in a 70s-era Buick, which commanded the first parking slot by the big barn.

  In town, Peg’s, as always, had people milling out the door. He drove past and parked. If he was lucky, he could score a single stool at the counter.

  As he opened the truck door and stepped out, his cell phone chimed. He was expecting another text from Mart, but this alert tone was different. It was the one he set for messages from Black Owl Radio. He clicked the message.

  Canon Truax. This is Ember, Skyy’s friend. She needs you. Can you help? - Ember

  Ember flexed her fingers one hand at a time, working them until the white disappeared from her hurting knuckles. Who knew driving was so stressful? Especially pulling a trailer.

  Traffic around San Diego and L.A. had been insane, and she had only skirted the edges. Now that she was out of it, she vowed to never go near Southern California again.

  But Skyy had needed a doctor, and there wasn’t one up on the mountain in Pine Valley. After begging some sample meds from the urgent care clinic doctor—and receiving in turn a stern admonition for Ember to keep her friend hydrated—the nurse helped them back into the car. Skyy was asleep in the passenger seat before Ember climbed behind the wheel.

  That had been hours ago—hours of tense driving that set her shoulders and neck on fire. She rolled her head, which helped for two seconds.

  She glanced over where her friend slept curled against the passenger door. The headlights of an oncoming car lit Skyy’s face, and Ember hoped her pale complexion was a trick of the stark light and not her actual pallor.

  The approaching vehicle grew larger and larger, its lights high off the ground. A big rig. Ember slowed and edged right, tightening her grip and holding the wheel straight as the truck and huge trailer flew past. Its wake pushed the Cherokee and trailer toward the shoulder of the two-lane road, but she eased it back into the center of the lane, not making the same mistake as earlier when she over corrected and swerved all over. She blew out a breath and flipped on the high beams. Her knuckles ached and were even whiter than before.

  After the clinic visit, she thought about finding another place to camp. But according to the radio, a big storm was barreling onto the coast of California, and the thought of setting up camp in the rain was way unappealing. So instead, she’d used Skyy’s phone and sent a message through Black Owl Radio to the cop hottie. She included Skyy’s cell number so they could text directly. Truax sent back his own number.

  As they came to a highway intersection, Ember pulled off onto the gravel shoulder to review the directions in Truax’s last text. A low murmur escaped Skyy’s chapped lips, and Ember touched the back of her hand to Skyy’s forehead. It felt warm, but not burning up. Maybe the medicine was working.

  It seemed like they had been traveling on back roads for hours, dodging trucks and squished skunks, always on the lookout for the Highway Patrol. Why did Truax have to live in the middle of nowhere?

  “This lake better be worth it,” she said, as fat raindrops began spattering the windshield. In seconds it rose to a drumming that drowned out the idling car engine. The storm had arrived. “Great.”

  Ember played with the windshield wiper control until they were on high speed, checked the side mirror, and turned toward Storm Lake.

  “Okay,” she muttered as she drove into the downpour, “you can do this.”

  The headlights pierced all of twenty feet, and the center line disappeared on shiny pavement. The cop hottie said it was about twenty-five miles from this turn. Limited by the rain and dark, it would take her another hour.

  She took a deep breath and exhaled. “The lake and you both better be worth it, Truax.”

  Of course, Skyy would kill her once she woke up—at least boot her to the side of the road. But how bad could this go? Even if this guy wasn’t dating material, he was a cop, not a creeper. He seemed like a nice guy. And those abs…

  She thought of the Night Thoughts show when Truax called in. One phone call and a few traded messages. It wasn’t much to work with in judging a person’s character.

  Surely police departments did background checks before they hired cops.

  Chapter 15

  Canon paced the small living room, then opened the front door and walked out on the covered porch for the fifth time. His breath came out in misty clouds, quickly dispersed by the twisting wet air. Rain had been falling from the roof edge in a solid wall for over two hours, dropping onto the bed of river rocks he and Mart had wheelbarrowed into place two summers ago. They could have installed a rain gutter, but thought the sound of water hitting the rocks would be a cool effect, especially when sitting under the sheltered porch around the chiminea. Usually it worked that way.

  But this storm was a beast, dumping more rain than any in years. Water splashed all over the skirt of the house, onto the deck, and occasionally right up to the front door.

  The house faced southeast, giving a grand view the length of Storm Lake when the weather was clear. He walked to the right end of the porch and looked up the driveway to the road above and behind the house. No sign of headlights, though he wouldn’t have much warning in this storm.

  According to his watch, it was 1:17 a.m. They should be here by now, but he knew anything could have happened: a downed tree, mudslide or rocks on the road, or accidents. That last had him checking road websites on his phone.

  A gust disrupted the cascade, shoving it onto the deck and soaking his pants and boots before he could hop back against the wall. Maybe a gutter wouldn’t be a bad idea. A big gutter.

  He was about to go back inside when dim headlights appeared at the top of the driveway, then halted there, shining down the graded path that must look like a river to the driver. Canon pulled up his hood, switched on his brightest flashli
ght, and stepped into the torrent.

  If not for the bill of his ball cap, the rain would have blinded him. Some drops stung his cheeks, and he knew it might begin hailing any second. He hurried up the slippery driveway, flashing the light ahead so the driver would see him coming. When he reached the SUV, the driver window lowered an inch.

  “Canon Truax?” the female driver asked.

  His flashlight glared off the wet glass, but the small opening gave a hint of bloodshot eyes and sagging shoulders. And maybe a touch of fear. He couldn’t blame her…meeting a stranger at night in a raging storm.

  Another person—Skyy, he assumed—was a dark bundle in the passenger seat, her face turned away.

  “You must be Ember,” he said to the driver who looked like she belonged in middle school, not towing a trailer through a downpour. He couldn’t help wondering if she was sitting on a phone book. She nodded as she peeled her grip off the steering wheel and flexed trembling fingers. Deep creases in her forehead broadcast her total exhaustion, and he was afraid she’d crash right there if he didn’t get her inside. “Are you okay to drive down?”

  She closed her eyes for a few seconds, then nodded again.

  “There’s a pull-through carport along the rear of the house.” He directed the flashlight toward it, but the beam was lost before ever reaching the house. He could barely see the light by the back door, and he knew where to look. “You’ll see it when you get closer. I’ll lead you with my flashlight.”

  Rivulets of mud tumbled egg-sized rocks over his boots as Canon slipped and slid ahead of the car. The seventy-five-foot driveway wasn’t that steep, but the ground had exceeded its saturation point and everything now was runoff. The hill on the opposite side of the main road was giving up anything not firmly rooted. He made a mental note to talk with Mart about a way to divert the natural flow from coming right down their driveway.