Page 99 of Into the Dark, We Go
27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
September, 2020
Of course,it was a dead zone for cell service. Just to check, I tried dialing AAA, but all I got was the dreaded "network unavailable" tone. It was time to make a choice. I was about ten miles from the cabin and much farther from town, which left me with few options.
I forced myself to stay calm and wait, clinging to the hope that a passing vehicle might come to my rescue. But the road was deserted, hemmed in by dense forest. No power lines overhead, no lamp posts. Nothing. The isolation was debilitating. The kind that made you feel like the world had forgotten you. The possibility that I might be stranded here for hours, with no rescue in sight, was slowly taking shape in my mind.
The sun was already sinking, and darkness would soon fall. I had a flashlight in the car, but what good would that do if no one came? I was too far from anywhere. I wouldn’t even make it back to the cabin before nightfall. And after everything, the woods at night were the last place I wanted to be.
I was teetering on the edge when the air vibrated with the low pitch of an approaching vehicle. My heart leapt. The noise grew louder, and I raised my arm to flag down the car. But my arm froze midway as the vehicle came into view. The Sheriff’s cruiser was approaching me, fast.
For a brief moment, I considered hiding in the ditch, but he’d already seen me, and there was no running from him without raising suspicions. Besides, how far could I run with no cell service, no coat, and no direction to go? I stood there, unable to move or think, a statue of stupidity and bad luck.
The car slowed to a stop beside me, and the window rolled down.
"What are you doin’ here when I clearly told you and your friends to get gone?" the Sheriff asked.
His face was hard to read, but he didn’t look angry. If anything, it seemed like he was fighting back a grin, like a card player hiding a winning hand.
The words tangled in my throat, too heavy to leave my mouth. I motioned vaguely, my hands trembling, unsure how to respond—or if he even wanted an answer.
His gaze skimmed over my car and settled on the flat tire. He stepped lazily out of the cruiser and strolled to the front of mine, casually assessing the damage. He clicked his tongue in an exaggerated, almost theatrical way.
He repelled me with a nearly visceral force, and I instinctively took a small step back, quietly calculating whether I could outrun him if it came to that.
"Looks like you’ve run into a bit of bad luck," he drawled.
"Seems so." I clutched my useless phone a little tighter, stepping even further back.
"Or are you the kinda gal who’s just lookin’ for trouble?" He moved a little closer, hands resting on his belt, thumbs hooked inside.
I bristled at the condescension in his words, but said nothing. I was glad I’d changed out of those inappropriately short pajama shorts and that revealing top. The Sheriff was as greasy and repulsive as a slimy pat on the back, in the way he spoke and looked at me. But here, alone on a deserted road, in the middle of the woods, I was utterly at his mercy.
His grin stretched wider, unsettling in a way that sent a shiver down my spine. Maybe he, or someone working with him, had been near the cabin, waiting for a chance to slash my tire. Then they had followed me, just waiting for me to stop so they could make their move. That would explain how he showed up so fast.
If they wanted to kill me, this was the perfect setup. With no one around, the Sheriff could take me wherever he pleased, my car quietly towed and never seen again. Who would stop a Sheriff to check the trunk of his car? No one. The badge was the perfect cover. He could get away with murder. And maybe, just maybe, he already had.
My insides turned to ice as the thought crystallized, my breath catching. It had always been him. And now, there was no escape. I wanted to deny it, to hold on to the hope that it was all just a mistake, that I had just gotten spooked. But every instinct screamed at me to RUN!
He turned and headed back to his car, leaving the door open as an invitation. "You comin’?" he called over his shoulder.
I lingered, torn between the instinct to flee and the grim reality that I had no good options. He had a gun. If I bolted, he could shoot me in the back before I could reach the trees. And even if I managed to hide, what then? These woods stretched for miles. The odds of finding my way out were slim.
So my choices were a slow death—starvation, maybe dehydration if I couldn’t find water—or a bullet. And if I got into his car, where would he take me? What would happen then?Would I even get the chance to signal for help if we passed another vehicle? Or would he make sure no one ever saw me again?
He might not even bother driving far. Perhaps he’d knock me out and run me over, just like what happened to Nick’s mother.
"I-I’m not sure," I ventured, trying to sound nonchalant despite the rising panic. My voice came out shaky.
The Sheriff sneered. "Listen, missy, I ain’t got time for your troubles, but I can give you a lift to town so you can figure out your own business from there. I couldn’t care less about you, but you’re in my county now, and I’d rather not have to explain why some city slicker got themselves killed on my watch. So do us both a favor and get into the damn car."
The way he spoke made my bones rattle. He wasn’t asking, he was commanding. I looked around helplessly, unsure of what I was hoping for, but there was no one else around but us.
"I gotta call my friends," I said, pressing the phone to my chest, hoping to stall for time as my mind raced.
What should I do?
