Page 6 of Wrong Turn

Lei could hear them behind her: panting breath, crunching brush, the occasional curse. She focused on the ground directly ahead of her, thankful that she’d worn her usual outfit of athletic shorts, tank shirt, and a pair of running shoes, in spite of Kelly’s teasing to get into a cuter outfit.

The sounds of pursuit grew fainter. She was leaving them behind, and it was a good thing too, because she was reaching the limits of her endurance. She hurtled up the long swell of a brush-covered sand dune, breath tearing through overworked lungs.

She reached the top and turned, slowing her steps. Her shoes sank in loose, deep sand as she paused, leaning over to rest her hands on her knees and look back.

The two men were already returning to the car, and a moment later, Fernando looked right at Lei in her place on the dune as he opened the door of the truck. He reached in and pulled Kelly up by her hair. Looking right at Lei, he flourished his huge Buck knife against her friend’s neck. Lei gasped, covering her mouth with her hands.

He was trying to make her return, by holding Kelly hostage.

But if Lei went back, he’d just have two girls to torture—and if Lei found help, one of them at least might survive.

Was she justifying leaving Kelly there to suffer alone? Lei’s mouth was chalky with the horror of her dilemma.

She took too long to decide.

Slower on his feet, Joao finally reached the vehicle. She saw the men exchange angry words, and Joao got in. Fernando waved the knife toward Lei again, and then unceremoniously shoved Kelly into the middle of the seat between the men and climbed in, too, slamming the door. The truck fired up and drove away, churning dust over the red Mustang still fishtailing in its wake.

“Oh no.” Leis knees buckled, and she sat abruptly. “Poor Kelly. I have to help her.”

But how? She was in the middle of nowhere, in the desert, without water or a cell phone. She hung her head for a moment, getting her breath and her bearings, shaking with delayed shock. She stood up and hiked the few more feet to the top of the dune.

From that vantage point, Lei could see back to the road, an empty line through the desert that led toward the mountains. Those hills were arid and shadowed with shades of mauve, blue and dusty green as afternoon waned. In the other direction, the ocean gleamed in the distance, cool and taunting, behind a bank of dunes.

Might as well head that way. Where there was a beach, there was the possibility of people, and she was afraid to return to that rough, empty road.

Lei slid and sank down the loose sand on the front of the dune and labored over two more before she saw an unexpected sight: another sandy road, and a large, battered sign advertisingTACOS DELICIOSO.

“Tacos,” Lei murmured. “And water.” The thought of biting into a tasty taco washed down with cool water got her moving again. Where there were tacos, there were people.

Lei was hot, sticky, and thirsty past the point of discomfort when she stumbled into an empty parking area in front of a low cement block home. A couple of lonely picnic tables painted the same blue as the sign marked this isolated spot as the taco place. The ocean glittered off in the distance beyond yet another dune. A rusty RV, the kind built on the back of a truck, was parked to one side, tires half-buried in drifting sand.

No one appeared to be around.

Lei’s mouth was too dry even to call out for help as she collapsed at one of the picnic tables. She lowered her head to her crossed arms. She’d just rest a minute before she looked for a way to communicate.

A deep growl raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

Lei turned very slowly. She faced a large German shepherd dog. A handsome buff and black, his intelligent brown eyes gazed at Lei unblinking, as a black lip drew up to reveal gleaming white teeth. Lei could feel the rumble of the dog’s growl through the wood of the table.

“Good boy.” Lei pitched her voice low, which wasn’t hard given her dehydrated state. “You’re just surprised I’m here. Come get scratches.” She extended her hand slowly in a fist, fingers down.

The shepherd approached, the growl dimming, his ruff settling. He sniffed her hand, then sat and bumped his head under her fist. Obediently, she scratched behind his ears.

“You look all bad, but you’re just a big sweetheart.” This dog was just her type: large and protective, but with a sweet side.

“He doesn’t usually like strangers.” A young woman stepped down from the back of the RV; she was long-legged and brown, with a tumble of black hair past her shoulders. Lei paused, and the dog butted her hand until she scratched him again. His coat looked rough, but felt soft as lamb’s wool under her hand.

“I approached on foot. I’m sure that’s unusual.” She was being assessed, and she gazed right back as the woman approached, moving with the springy grace of an athlete. “Is he your dog?”

“Yes. His name is Kona.” The woman wore an outfit similar to Lei’s—athletic shorts and a tank top. No shoes. Deeply tanned skin hinted at an ethnic heritage and made the woman’s light brown eyes stand out dramatically, framed by that wild black hair falling over shoulders tight with muscle. “My name’s Harry. Harriet Vierra.”

“My name’s Lei—and I need help.” Lei’s voice cracked with strain, and her hand tightened in the dog’s fur. “I ran here through the desert. My friend and I were attacked by some asshole rapists. They stole the car and they have my friend. Do you have a phone to call the police?”

A long moment passed as Harry stared at Lei, then she made a gesture with her head. “Come into my RV. I’ll give you something to drink, and you can tell me what happened.” Lei got up and followed her inside the battered vehicle. Just to be out of the sun was a relief as Lei stepped up into the trailer—she could feel the freckles that had come out on her nose burning, even in the shade.

The space inside was cramped, but perfectly tidy and in much better shape than the exterior. The woman opened a tiny refrigerator and took out a jug of what looked like lemonade, splashing a plastic cup full of the cool liquid. The drink tasted like heaven going down. Lei felt the warm burn of alcohol on her throat—she was drinking a homemade margarita, and it was ambrosia. She tipped the cup and finished it to the last drop.

Harry sipped her drink, eying Lei over the edge of the cup. “Lei—that name sounds Hawaiian.”

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