Five Total Strangers

by Natalie D. Richards

  “Which means a major road,” Brecken replies. “All of these back roads are going to be slow going. Like ten miles an hour slow going.”

  “He’s right,” Josh says calmly. “We need to double back. Route 53 is probably our best chance at something plowed.”

  Brecken’s phone buzzes a five percent battery warning.

  “I don’t know,” Harper says, but she’s staring out at the road and I think it’s because she wants me to go along with it. “We’re not doing it until we’re all in agreement.”

  I nod, and try to think it through. Brecken isn’t wrong about the road. There is one set of tire tracks we’re following. They’re the only ones other than the tracks we’re leaving behind. If the tracks we’re following turn off at any point, the game is up. We won’t be able to see a thing.

  “Harper.”

  It’s Brecken, and he’s twisted around in his seat, his voice soft. This message isn’t for the rest of us. Just her. I feel that invisible tether again, winding between them. “I know this is scary, but we’ve got to get you home.”

  Harper looks at Brecken and her eyes fill up and spill over with fresh tears. Her chin trembles when she opens her mouth to respond. “Nothing else can go wrong.”

  “Then we go,” he says, and he looks at me. I nod without even thinking about it. What choice do we have? None of our options are great here.

  Brecken starts rolling forward again. No one asks for a vote. No one argues. At Josh’s next instruction, we take a right, and then another right. The roads grow gradually less clogged as we head closer to Route 53.

  A few houses dot the mountains now. Not many, just little blips of color here and there, some festooned with Christmas lights. Some only bearing the faint glow of a lit window.

  I should feel relief that we’re closer to civilization. We can drive faster and make some actual progress. But I can’t think about any of that. All I can think of is the book in Brecken’s bag. My missing phone. And Harper’s soft confession to Brecken, her words highlighting a fear I can’t even name.

  Nothing else can go wrong.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The road winds and twists, and the going is beyond slow. Somehow, we hit Route 53 a few miles east of the gas station, but it’s pitch-dark by the time we get there. We have no choice but to drive back past it on our way west. Worse still, we’ve downed our water and both Harper and I need to find a restroom.

  Naturally, this means we don’t find an open gas station. Actually, we don’t find an open anything, but to be honest, there isn’t much to be open. It’s mostly tree-covered mountains and steep valleys veering into darkness. Here and there, we’ll see signs of human life. We pass a closed Dollar General, a handful of houses and—in a tiny, no-name town—a white, steepled church. There’s a tree festooned with lights next to a sad-looking elementary school, but nothing looks open or inviting, and certainly nothing looks likely to provide restroom facilities.

  “I hate to say it, but I’m going to need to stop, too,” Josh says.

  “You can pee in a bottle if shit gets desperate,” Brecken says.

  “That doesn’t exactly work for all of us,” I grumble.

  Brecken thumps the steering wheel. “Can we not make this another feminist argument.”

  “What are you talking about?” Harper asks.

  “Women make everything about gender, and it’s bullshit.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Funny coming from the guy who told me I couldn’t help push the car.”

  “Also funny coming from the girl who’s currently at my mercy.”

  It’s a joke. It has to be. But cold runs through my veins in a rush all the same. I close my mouth, but Harper opens hers: “Actually, Brecken, it’s my car. My name, right?” She winks at me and her voice lilts—an effort to lighten the mood. “I think you’re all at my mercy.”

  Kayla snorts. I turn to look and notice her smirking, even though she keeps her eyes closed. I wonder how long she’s been awake. How long she’s been listening. For that matter, is she always listening? Has she been asleep at all?

  I turn forward, staring out at the snowy road, feeling a million miles away from everything familiar and safe.

  Something isn’t right with these people. With all of them.

  The thought comes fast and unexpected. I inhale deeply, reminding myself that’s paranoid talk. The kind of thing my mom started thinking after Phoebe died. But I’m not like that. I’m not paranoid.

  But I’m not obtuse, either. I’ve learned to pay attention when the hair at the back of my neck prickles—when a carnal, bone-deep instinct tells me something is wrong. And that’s what my instincts are saying now.

  Something is wrong in this car. With these people. Dad told me to trust that instinct. Hell, he didn’t need to teach me. I know to pay attention and to stay calm. That’s why I’m good with my mom. It’s damn hard to fall apart when you’re busy being steady for somebody else.

  “A park!”

  Harper’s sudden cry jerks me out of my own head. I spot it off the side of the road, a sad little picnic area nestled in a cluster of snow-covered trees. There are a few tables and freestanding grills lost under a thick canopy of snow. Two lonely swing sets and an old-school climbing gym sit to the right of a small squat building with two entrances.

  Restrooms.

  My bladder reminds me of the large bottle of water I downed. Brecken pulls in and we all stumble out without a word. Harper races for the back of the car, rifling through her bag. Whatever she’s after, she finds it quickly and makes a beeline for the restroom. Kayla trails after her, her steps wobbly and slow.

  When I get out, Brecken is at the trunk again, unpacking, unzipping. Moving things. Maybe he thinks if he rearranges things enough times and in enough ways, all of our missing items will appear.

  I head to the bathroom, looking back to make sure Josh is okay getting out. He’s crouched awkwardly, his braced leg stretched out to the side, by the open driver’s door, reaching just under the car.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Now I dropped my damn wallet.”

  “Do you want help?” I ask.

  He waves me off. “I’m fine.”

  I nod and follow Harper and Kayla up the snowy sidewalk. I take a deep breath of cold air, feeling that same, terrible prickling. An indescribable unease that someone is watching me.

  But they aren’t. Brecken is in the back. Josh is leaned against the car, looking at his wallet. Harper and Kayla are both inside the restroom. I’m alone, but I feel wrong.

  You trust your gut, okay?

  My dad’s words thrum just beneath my skin. Because if my gut is to be trusted, I need to get away from here. Away from this car, these people. Every sense I have is heightened and aware—warning me to run.

  But how? Where would I go?

  Even if there is something dangerous about these people, I can’t stay here. This isn’t a gas station where I can call my parents and stay safe and warm until someone arrives. This is a poorly lit park in the middle of nowhere. No electricity, no heated building, and no phone to call for help.

  Gut instinct or not, logic is going to prevail. No one in this car has done or said anything threatening. Yes, I’m riding with a burnout and a thief. But that’s not a scary enough reason to risk hypothermia in the Pennsylvania wilderness.

  Well, not quite a wilderness.

  There’s nothing but trees on either side of the restroom building and a mountain sloping up steeply behind it as far as the eye can see. Across the highway, however, there are more signs of civilization—a snowy field and—across that—a single row of well-spaced houses.

  I squint at them, feeling a wave of homesickness roll over me. In the darkness, the houses look warm and bright. One bears an evergreen tree wrapped in glittering white lights. Another has tiny glimmers illum
inating each window. Electric candles, if I had to guess.

  Someone is in those houses tonight. I might be able to get there, running across the field. I could hide in the trees behind the restrooms. Wait for the others to leave and then sprint across the field. Knock on doors until one opens. And then hope that someone has mercy on the strange, bedraggled girl showing up at their house after dark on Christmas Eve.

  I shake myself. I am not pounding on a stranger’s door over a case of the heebie-jeebies.

  I head for the building and use the bathroom quickly, surprised that both Harper and Kayla are still in their stalls when I’m at the sink washing my hands. I move fast, rinsing off the pink soap with water so cold it burns my fingers. With the water off, there is nothing but the buzz of the yellow-tinged light over the sink. My breath steams in front of my face.

  Footsteps shuffle in one of the stalls. Someone sniffs.

  Crying?

  Maybe I should ask, but I don’t. Something in me keeps me from saying a word.

  Outside the restroom, a wide, flannel-covered chest looms into view. I stop short with a gasp, thinking instantly of the man in the baseball cap. But it’s Josh. Just Josh.

  He leans on one crutch, his jaw tense. Almost angry.

  “Sorry,” I say. “You scared me.”

  He doesn’t answer and he won’t look at me. He looks lost in his own mind. Or maybe like he’s working out a tough math problem. Maybe we’re all getting a little nerved out.

  The bathroom door bangs behind me, and I turn to see Harper walking toward us. It seems to startle Josh into moving, too. He shuffles toward the bathroom with his squeaky, stilted guy-on-crutches gait—clink, thump, clink, thump.

  Harper’s eyes stay on the sidewalk, her hands balled into fists at her sides.

  Everyone is acting weird. And maybe this isn’t just the heebie-jeebies. Maybe I need to pay attention. My eyes dart to the houses again, the yellow lights flickering in rectangle windows.

  It’s not that far.

  The thought twists thin roots into my mind. The field isn’t that large. I could run through the snow. The only one here is Harper, and my gut tells me she wouldn’t chase me. Not in that skirt. She’d call after me and wait for the others. I walk faster without really deciding to do so, and then I’m at the end of the sidewalk. In the parking lot. At the SUV. And walking right past it.

  “Where are you going?” Harper asks when I’m near the rear bumper.

  “I…”

  I don’t finish, because what can I tell her? I’m leaving. I’d rather run through that field and bang on the door of a perfect stranger than get back in this car. I’d rather be anywhere else in the world than here with all of you. The panicky flutter in my chest provides no words to make sense of the things I’m considering.

  Headlights cut down the road and hope fills my chest like a balloon. Someone’s coming. Please let it be the police. Or someone—anyone—who can set my mind at ease and get us help. Please let it be someone I can leave with. Someone who will take me home.

  I cup my hand over my eyes to shield myself from the glare of those headlights. I can’t see anything else, but whoever it is, they’re slowing down.

  They’re slowing down!

  I bounce up on the balls of my feet as the vehicle turns into the park’s entrance. I’m ready to run to them when I realize it isn’t a police officer. Or a car.

  It’s a truck. Dread pours through my veins before I even see. My body knows before I recognize the red paint and broken left mirror. But then my mind joins the race.

  This is the gas station owner’s truck.

  Adrenaline fires liquid heat from the center of my chest to the tips of my fingers. My stomach rolls as the truck pulls closer, my feet stumbling backward. I should have gone when I had the chance. My gut was telling me something was wrong, that something bad was coming.

  And now it’s too late to run.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The truck pulls into the space next to ours, and I hold my breath. I think of the tobacco, dark and wet in the pocket of the father’s cheek. The gruff apathy of his voice telling me they’d be closing soon. Here and now, the deep idle of the truck’s exhaust sends the hair on my arms upright.

  My gut whispers a new truth, and I trust it: Corey’s father did not stop his truck for a chat. He has not stopped looking for us. He’s not here for money anymore, maybe hasn’t been after money since Brecken pulled out of the parking lot.

  This man is here for revenge.

  The engine cuts off and the quiet is awful. The breath I’d been holding comes out in a rush, and then I can’t stop breathing—shaky, off-rhythm pants that steam in the air and leave me dizzy. The cabin of the truck is completely dark. I can’t make out who’s driving, but it doesn’t matter. I know who’s inside.

  “Get in the car,” Brecken says roughly.

  I don’t hesitate. Harper’s fingers twist in my sleeve and I look for Josh. He’s still in the bathroom. I grab Kayla instead, who’s appeared like a ghost between us. We shuffle-squirm into the car like a chain of paper dolls. We go to the back, maybe because it’s the closest door. I wind up in the middle seat again, Harper’s fingers digging into my arm and Kayla’s eyes sharply focused on the spectacle outside.

  The truck doors open—both driver and passenger sides—and two men step out. I was wrong. He did stop looking for us—just long enough to bring Corey along.

  Behind the counter, he’d looked reedy and pale. Weak. But here in the darkness of this parking lot, it’s different. Corey’s heavy canvas coat could be hiding anything.

  Both men have thin mouths and small, mean eyes, and I am afraid of them. Because I am sure they mean us harm.

  They approach Brecken, who’s standing at the driver’s door, his shoulders back like he’ll take on both of them if he has to. Brecken isn’t small, but I have zero confidence in his abilities against these men. There’s something about the way they watch him. Like hunting people down on Christmas Eve isn’t all that out of the ordinary in their world.

  Brecken moves for the driver’s-side door, but Corey steps in front of his path.

  “Where the hell you think you’re going?” he asks.

  “Home for Christmas,” Brecken says, and I cringe, because smart-ass is not the card I’d play here.

  The father moves closer. “You haven’t paid for the gas to get you there, boy.”

  “Look, if you haven’t noticed, the highway is closed, and you aren’t really chock-full of ATMs around this county, so I can’t get your money.”

  “Bet one of you little rich kids has some cash. Sure the hell don’t have any respect, do you? You think you can just walk—”

  The wind kicks up, snatching the rest of his words from the air. Harper’s fingers are cold and hard on my wrist. She holds me so tightly my skin pinches against my bones. I hiss, but she won’t release me. She keeps her wide eyes on the window and leans her head closer to me.

  “What are they saying?” I ask softly.

  “I don’t know. Lock the doors,” she whispers.

  “We can’t. Josh isn’t back,” Kayla says, the sudden clarity of her voice a shock in the quiet cabin. She is fully alert.

  Brecken isn’t in the car, either, but I don’t say that. I don’t need to. Outside the men are muttering, but I can only pick up snatches of words, my brain matching voices to men.

  The father shouts, “—little fucking thief!”

  Corey interjects, “You don’t—”

  “—told you I’ll send you—” Brecken pleads.

  The father interrupts, “Watch your mouth—”

  Brecken argues over him: “—forty damn dollars!”

  I hear the distant rhythm of Josh approaching from the bathrooms. My heart skips a beat and skids into a new, faster rhythm. Corey and his dad turn. They see Josh,
too. They advance, and Josh holds up a hand, saying something I can’t hear over the wind.

  Harper starts to cry, and the men move toward Josh with an air of intent that squeezes my throat. Leaning so heavily on his crutches, Josh looks vulnerable. I reach over Kayla and grab the door handle, ready to yank it open and go after him, but then everything happens at once.

  Brecken pulls open the driver’s door, slamming the palm of his hand into the horn. It blares—a loud shock that makes both Corey and his father jump.

  “Get his door!” Brecken says. Kayla lurches forward, pushing the front passenger door open for Josh.

  “Josh! Haul ass!” she screams.

  “He needs help,” I yell, trying to clamber over her. She pushes me back with a single fierce look.

  “No!”

  I try again, but Harper tugs at my arm. “You’re not going out there.”

  “Lock the doors!” Brecken says, and I don’t know what’s happening up front. There’s a flurry of activity. Josh has finally hobbled over to the door. A crutch clatters to the snow-covered pavement and he wobbles. Corey is right there to grab the other crutch. Josh yelps.

  “You think you’re smarter than me, you little shit.” He shakes Josh and Josh half-trips, half-lunges into the seat.

  “Don’t touch me,” Josh snarls, kicking his good foot at Corey.

  Corey dodges with a cruel laugh. “Mind your manners or I’ll do more than touch you.”

  Someone cries out. It’s Brecken. His nose is streaming blood. I didn’t even hear the punch, but it happened. And now the father has his leg and is pulling, trying to rip him out of the car. Harper grabs Brecken’s arm and I lunge over her, reaching for Josh. He’s red-faced and breathing hard and we’re all tangled up, my body draped over Harper’s arms.

  “Get the hell off me!” Brecken screams, his legs pistoning at his attacker.

  There’s a soft thump and a strangled oof. The father crumples, clutching his stomach.

  “Dad!”

  Corey releases Josh and his second crutch like they’re of zero interest and scrambles around the back of the car. Josh turns to his side, grabbing his crutches off the ground outside his door. Soft cries come out with every breath. I hear Corey’s hands slapping at the back of the car. Then he’s at the door beside us, his sneer against our window.