Page 40 of Kill Your Darlings

The state highway dwindled to a serpentine, deeply shadowed two lanes.Guardrails were random, and the long gaps between revealed sudden, sheer drops to jagged rocks where waves crashed violently, sending plumes of silver spray skyward.

I was a competent driver, but I didn’t drive a lot anymore—I especially didn’t drive a lot of narrow coastal roads—and my night vision wasn’t great.

The lane dipped and twisted, coiled and uncoiled, the rental’s headlights swinging through the darkness of each blind curve, and I found myself tensing each time a car approached, headlights flaring blindingly before whipping past and vanishing into the void.

I couldn’t help watching the rearview mirror, waiting for the next car more familiar with the road to speed up behind me, lights flashing for me to move over.

There were not a lot of turnoffs.

Eventually, I did spot a pair of headlights far behind me, but the driver didn’t seem to be in a hurry, maybe also unfamiliar with the road, and I was able to relax a little.

It was dark and the moon was rising when the highway finally veered away from the ocean, unrolling into a shady, forested stretch.

I flicked on my high beams, and now and again white light illuminated a pair of glowing eyes in the underbrush or the outline of a deer standing motionless by the side of the road.

It was a relief to have trees and solid ground on either side as opposed to a sheer cliff and open sky.I accelerated a bit, the car lunged forward and we raced on as the trees closed in, redwoods blotting out the stars.

And then—bang.I sucked in a breath as the sedan jerked, shuddered, and the steering wheel yanked right.

Was that a gunshot?

I hung onto the wheel, let off the gas as the car began to jog.Slowly, slowly I straightened out the wheel.I could hear a loud and alarming hiss coming from beneath the vehicle.

My heart thundered as the car thudded over something solid—with the way my luck was going, I’d probably hit a boulder—or a stray hiker—followed by the heavy and heart-sinking unmistakableflop-flop-flop.

The sound of ablown tire slapping against the wheel well.

A blow out.

I began to swear quietly and bitterly.

No.Not great.But better than a gunshot.Right?

Why had I leaped to the idea of a gunshot?

My nerves really were in pieces.

I bumped the car onto a dirt turnout, gravel and sand crunching beneath the tires as I rolled to a stop and turned off the engine.

It was very dark.Very quiet.In fact, the only sound in all the universe was the final oozy trickle of air from the blown tire.

After a shaken second or two, I gathered myself, and opened the driver door, stepping out into the pine-scented night.The air felt chilly and damp against my perspiring skin.I flicked on my cellphone flashlight, the bright beam cutting through the gloom.

The good news was this hadn’t happened on a blind curve or on the cliffs overlooking the ocean.The bad news was I was miles from help.The road here was bordered by thick stands of ferns and towering redwoods.No street lamps.No call boxes.Not a lot of traffic.Probably no cell phone service.

Not a lot of anything but trees and shadows

It was the sort of place where a scream for help might echo for miles without ever reaching another human ear.

Oh-kay.

Now was not the time to be thinking like an overwrought mystery author.

Although, actually, the moon, the trees, the lonely winding road—it would make a terrific image for key art in a thriller cover composition.

Yeah, also not the time to be thinking like a frazzled workaholic mystery editor.

Did this car have a spare?Emergency flares?Did I remember how to change a tire?

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