Page 4 of Dark Roads
He met my eyes. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
We watched the dock for a few moments. He tapped out a cigarette from a pack, squeezed it between his lips as he searched his pockets for a lighter. I frowned.
He shrugged. “It’s my last pack.”
I looked hard at the side of his face. He sighed, plucked the cigarette from his mouth, and jammed it into the sand. I took the pack from him, poured the rest of my beer over it.
“Jesus, Hailey. I just bought those.”
“Dumbass.”
“That’s my middle name.” He spread his arms wide until I forced a smile. If I didn’t react, he’d keep putting himself down. I hated that as much as he hated when I was sad.
“I have to get back before Vaughn comes home.”
“I still can’t believe you live with the Iceman.”
“Tell me about it.” My knees wobbled when I stood and swung my bag over my shoulder. Two beers. Enough to give me a buzz, but not so much that Lana might notice.
“You taking the logging road? No moon tonight.”
“I have my flashlight.”
Jonny squinted at me. “Maybe you should get a ride with someone.” I glanced at where they were putting tents up, rolling out sleeping bags. Most of them planned to spend the night, and there wasn’t anyone I wanted to be stuck with all the way back into town.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, text later.” He thumped my calf muscle with a soft fist.
My mountain bike tires were quiet on the dirt road as I passed groups of campers sitting by their fires and propane lanterns, playing cards at a picnic table. No one noticed me. The road was pitch-black as it led out of the campground, the music fading. I leaned forward and flicked on my flashlight strapped to the handlebars. When I reached the highway, I stopped and looked both ways. No headlights. I shifted my backpack straps higher on my shoulder. I had to bike a few miles to the old logging road on the other side—a shortcut back to town. It would still take thirty minutes.
My pace was easy for the first mile, but when I reached theyellow billboard, I stood up and pumped harder, my breath coming out in huffs. I didn’t like riding by the sign during the day, and it was even creepier at night, the way the women’s faces and names shimmered, the words glowing white. WOMEN—DON’T HITCHHIKE.DANGEROUS HIGHWAY!“Missing” posters for some of the women were still attached to stakes around the billboard like gravestones. Even the air seemed colder out here and chilled me to the bone underneath my hoodie.
When the sign was behind me, I slowed my pedaling and coasted for a bit. With one hand, I grabbed my cell out of my front pocket and checked the battery. Five percent. I turned it off to save the last bit of juice. A car came over the crest, but I saw it in time, its headlights lighting up the sky. I dropped the bike in the ditch, tires still spinning, and hid behind a bush.
The car passed. I got back on my bike. The highway began to slope up, a gradual hill, then it flattened out to a long bridge, with cement barriers on each side to stop vehicles from rolling into the ravine and the creek below. I was traveling faster now, wheels humming, backpack bouncing against my shoulders. It felt better to be in my body instead of my head, the exertion familiar—breathe deeply, flex my leg muscles, work against the pain. Then, halfway up the hill, a new noise. The rumble of a large vehicle. Coming fast. Headlights flooded the road in front of me. Damn—no way I could get out of sight.
The pitch of the engine changed. It was slowing.
Someone who knew me? One of the guys from the campground? Probably on a beer run. I glanced over my shoulder. The headlights were high and blinding. Definitely a truck, but I didn’t recognize the grille, and I couldn’t make out the driver.
I turned around and kept pedaling. The truck was almost at a crawl. If it was one of the guys, they would have stuck their head out the window and said something. Unless they were trying to freak me out—in which case I was going to kick theirass. I pressed down hard with my legs and kept my gaze focused where the cement barrier ended a few yards ahead.
Tires close beside me. The heat of the rubber. The scrape of the window being rolled down.
I dared a glance, nearly losing control as my front tire hit a pothole. A white Chevy truck. Stripes of blue, yellow, and red down the side. Light bar on the roof. Not a creep. Just a cop patrolling the highway. My relief ended as soon as I heard the voice.
“Hailey? What the hell?”
I let the bike slow to a stop and looked through the open window. Vaughn’s face was barely lit from the dash, but I recognized the blond hair cut so short you could see his scalp, the pale blue hooded eyes, and the frown that made my stomach tighten.
“Were you at the lake?”
What was the point in answering? He already knew. There was no other reason to be out here, and the ends of my hair were damp. We locked eyes. Vaughn’s frown deepened.
“Put your bike in the back.”
