Page 16 of Wrong Turn

Pulling up beside Bridget, I roll my window down. “Need a lift?” I ask.

“Oh, now you want to help?”

“Not really, but I’m going to the gas station for smokes, and offering to take you as far as there.”

She huffs, “Fine.” Picking up her suitcase, she carelessly throws it into the bed of my truck, then opens the door and slides into the passenger seat.

Whatever sexual exchange I was going to try and get out of her for this trip isn’t worth it. We’ve been driving for less than ten minutes, and I’m already so far past annoyed, I’m ready to tuck and roll out of my own vehicle to be rid of her.

“I think we might have made a wrong turn,” Bridget says, looking around. “I don’t remember us coming this way when we first arrived.” Oh, really? Can you tell that from the pitch black expanse in front of us? Fuck sakes, I’m going to enjoy cutting out her tongue. Maybe I can nail it to the front door of the house next.

Glancing over at her with my best attempt at a warm smile, I soothingly say, “I know a shortcut back to the main road.” This stupid bitch should’ve just stayed with her friends if all she’s going to do is critique my driving. Actually, I’m the stupid fuckfor stopping to pick her up. It wouldn’t have ended any better for her if she stayed at the cabin, but then at least she wouldn’t be dying alone.

Ever so slyly, I shift the truck into neutral. It coasts down the road, losing power the farther we go. “Are we slowing down?” God. Does she always ask this many questions? I swear she hasn’t shut her trap since she buckled up. I pretend to pump the gas pedal as the truck slows to a snail’s pace.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, I should’ve checked over everything before I left. I’ve been having issues with this old thing lately, but my mechanic hasn’t been able to pinpoint what’s wrong. Just hang tight and let me see if I can get us going again.” The truck slows to a stop just as I pull over to the side of the road. I put it inPark, pop the hood, and hop out. Grabbing the tool bag from the truck bed before rounding to the front of the vehicle. Obviously there isn’t a single thing wrong with my truck, but she doesn’t need to know that.

After spending at least ten minutes pretending to tinker under the hood, I’m bored. “I don’t know what’s wrong with it,” I yell. “I’m going to call my guy and see if he can come for a tow.” Bridget doesn’t respond, just huffs, mumbling something under her breath that I don’t give two shits about hearing.

Pulling out my cell, I hold it to my ear while walking around, pretending to talk to Joe Mechanic about my pickup’s issues. I damn well deserve an Oscar for the performance I’m putting on, exaggerated hand gestures and all.

“You know anything about trucks, sweet thing?” I ask.

She perks up at my positive attention, but shakes her head no. “I work from home. I don’t even have a car,” she replies. Well, that’s convenient, isn’t it? She won’t know if I’m bullshitting her or not.

15

EW, BRIDGET

BRIDGET

"Can you come hold the flashlight for me?” Lukas calls from outside the truck. “Joey said he’s going to be a while, but told me some things to try to get it going again.”

“Sure,” I grumble, getting out of the truck, and going to stand next to him. Clicking on my phone flashlight, he looks at the phone in my hand and the dim light it’s emitting, shaking his head.

“That’s not going to help much, can you grab the maglite from behind the seats?”

“The what?”

“Maglite.” Clueless, I stare up at him, waiting for him to explain what the fuck I need to grab. “Big, black, heavy flashlight. Should be behind the seat.”

“Okay.” Moving back to the passenger side, I look for a lever or switch to flip the seat down like I've seen on other vehicles, but there’s nothing. “Is there a switch or something,” I holler.

“No, just pull on the head rest, the seat will fall forward.” That can’t be safe, having a seat that doesn’t lock into place. Searching through the mess of electrical cords, tools, and fast food garbage, my eyes snag on something. “Hey, Lukas?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?’

“What did you say you were going to the store for?”

“Smokes, why?”

“Just curious,” I reply. An unfamiliar feeling of impending doom takes root in my gut as I stare down at the full carton of cigarettes wedged behind the seat. He could’ve forgotten they were there…right? Maybe he didn’t see them amongst the mess of shit behind the seats. I thought Summer’s VW Beetle was bad, but this puts the mess in that to shame.

“I can’t find the flashlight, Lukas,” I yell.

His voice comes from right behind me, startling the fuck out of me, and ripping a scream from my throat. “That’s okay, I found it.” His words are soft and warm, drenched in thick, calming sweetness, wrapping around me, and soothing some of my panic.

I offer him a smile, the gesture more for me than it is for him as I try to assure myself nothing is wrong. He turns away, walking back to the front of the truck, assuming I will follow along.

---