Page 24 of Road Rash

“Phone?” I ask.

He rumples his face as if he’d forgotten I need to use it, but moves his whole body between me and his bike, his back to me as he reaches into his saddle bag. When he turns back around his face is firmly on the screen. He’s holding the phone up in the air and he turns slowly in a circle. “No signal,” he says glumly. “Sorry.”

“What?” I reach for the phone but he pockets it before I reach it.

“Let’s try in town. Probably a better chance of a signal. These truck stops were built before cell technology. Can’t always be counted on.”

We secure our helmets and I climb on behind him again. The problem is, rather than turning in the direction of town, he takes a road leading up the mountain. How is this going to get us closer to cell service?

“Where are we going?” I ask into the helmet mic.

Slim doesn’t answer for a while. Not until we’re well and good away from the truck stop, up the isolated mountain. Dark and isolated… I swallow hard. His answer is to pull off the road. We’re the only two people around for miles. I immediately jump off the back of the bike, ripping the helmet off my head. It’s too heavy.

“What are we doing here?” I ask this time.

“Sorry,” he says, stepping closer. Then he lunges. I’m hardly able to believe this is happening and it takes a second for my feet to connect with my brain in order to move. A second too long. I stumble backward as his hands close around my throat. It burns. Spots begin to pop in front of my open eyes as I struggle to push back the pain and take in air.

Why would Slim want to hurt me? “Why?” I manage to cry in no more than a whisper as I kick and fight to pry his fingers off me.

“I can’t have witnesses.” He squeezes harder. I’m gasping for breath. The burning intensifies. Finally, his words click. Slim. He’s the one. The one who knocked me out. Who killed the old timer. Who shot Drake and Brandi. Oh—god!

That’s why he wanted to visit them tonight. He wanted to get rid of them, too. Without proper breaths I begin to black out.No, Jonesie. You black out, you die.

Where am I? Where am I?The pain is unbelievable. “If… you don’t…” My chest burns too. I try to shake my head to keep me lucid. “Kill me… I’ll take you to… Brandi…” I finally manage to get out.

Surprisingly, it works. I didn’t actually expect it to work. His fingers loosen from around my neck and I suck in a full breath too fast. Pain shoots through my throat down into my lungs. Tears roll down in a steady stream over my cheeks.

“Better not be lying to me, bitch.”

“I’m not. You can’t kill me. I know where they are but I can’t tell you. I only know it by sight.”

“On the bike,” he orders and I comply as fast as is possible for me given the state of my neck at the moment. I hurt. I want Dane. We’re supposed to start our life together. The tears fall harder.

No. No. I’m going to survive and I can’t believe he’s stupid enough to believe I’d sell out my friends. The fuck if I’m going to take him to them. I’ve known Brandi and Drake long enough to know he has a hunting cabin outside Little River. He keeps his rifles there. We partied there for her bachelorette party and I’ve been there a few times for other celebrations over the years. I know I can get us there.

“We need to head toward Little River.” He types Little River into the GPS on his phone, which, I notice too late, has plenty of bars even here in the mountains. He has an expensive phone.

Drake keeps a sat phone at the cabin so Brandi can always get a hold of him. Cell service can be spotty up there where we’re headed.

It’s hard to hold on to him for so many reasons. My throbbing head. My throbbing throat. The dizziness from both. The fact that he wants to kill me. But I do it, I hold on with everything in me as he weaves through winding roads at too high of speeds for the time of night and the extreme level of winding. Leaning to one side or another so far, our knees glide mere inches above the pavement and eventually dirt.

Casually, when we bump over a rather large pothole in the road, I slip his phone from his pocket. I remember his code from when he looked up Little River. Then I dial Dane’s number. I don’t talk. I don’t make a noise. I simply slide the phone back in Slim’s pocket when we hit another pothole and hope that Dane hears the GPS’s vocalized directions.

Our surroundings grow darker as the hour to get us closer to Little River passes. This is either the best or worst idea I’ve ever had. Rounding one last bend, it’s a relatively straight shot from here. Even in the dark, I recognize the landmarks. Namely the reflective plates that Drake had nailed to the trees leading up to the property and I know…

This is it.

I’m either about to live…

Or I’m about to die.

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