Page 138 of Evil Bones
Looking around, I spotted a thin strip of gravel off to my left. Guessed it was another trail and that I was in a park of some sort. With no other option, I followed it, running as fast as I dared.
For what seemed forever, I pounded blindly through the dark, breath burning in my chest, feet splashing through invisible puddles dotting the path. Ignoring the drops pummeling my face and the twigs and vegetation clawing my limbs.
When I could run no farther, I dropped back to a panting jog, lungs in spasm and muscles burning, then to a limping walk.
Eventually, I came upon benches. All empty.
Of course they were empty. A fingernail moon peeking fitfully through the bloated clouds suggested an hour hovering around midnight.
A brief panting break, then I resumed running.
Within minutes I spotted, and heard, a couple coming toward me on the path. Arm-draping each other and belting out “Margaritaville,” the pair appeared to be in their twenties. And quite drunk.
I waved and shouted, adrenaline still charging like a locomotive through my body.
“Yo! Yo!”
“Ohmygod!” Startled, the woman grabbed the man’s arm.
“What the fuck, bro?” The man drew his girlfriend close.
“Don’t be alarmed,” I said, in the least alarming voice I could muster.
“I’m warning you! Stay back!”
Suspecting the guy was packing—isn’t everyone in America?— I stopped and raised both hands high above my head.
“I had an accident. I’ve lost my phone.”
“That isn’t our problem, lady.”
“Of course not. But it would be helpful if I could use your phone to make one quick call.”
“Right. I lend you my cell and you haul ass.”
“It’s not a scam. I need help.”
“How do I know you won’t bolt with it?”
“Fair enough.” I tried another tactic. “Will you place a call for me? Tell my friends where I am?”
“Why the fu—”
“Do it,” the woman said, her face invisible beneath the raised hood of her Windbreaker.
“Seriously?”
“My gut says she’s on the level, Arty.”
“Your gut. That’s—”
“Don’t be a dick.”
Muttering words not meant to reassure a stranger, Arty asked me, “What’s the number?”
I told him that and my first name.
After punching digits, he brusquely informed the person on the other end of the line where they could collect me.
