Chapter 4

I got out of the car, the morning sun already feeling hot on my skin. The tire was completely shredded. Not just flat, but destroyed, long gashes running through the rubber as if it had been deliberately sliced. There was no way our little spare tire kit was going to fix this.

"This is just great," I muttered, kicking at the ruined tire in frustration. "Just perfect."

Emily got out and stood beside me, wrapping her arms around herself. Her face had lost all its earlier color, the fear creeping back into her eyes. Being stationary, vulnerable, out here in the open... it felt dangerous. Every shadow seemed to hold a threat.

"What do we do?" she asked, her voice small.

I scanned the horizon, my heart sinking. We were in the middle of nowhere. The road stretched out in both directions, empty and silent. I was about to pull out my phone to call for a tow, knowing full well we probably had no signal, when I saw it.

About a half-mile down the road, shimmering in the heat, was a building. A small, dilapidated structure with a faded sign I couldn't quite make out. It looked like an old, forgotten garage. It was our only option.

"Look," I said, pointing. "Maybe someone's there. Maybe they can help."

The walk to the garage felt impossibly long. The sun beat down on us, and the silence of the desert pressed in. With every step, I felt more exposed. I kept glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting to see that lanky figure loping toward us.

The garage was even more run-down up close. Rusting car parts littered the dusty yard. The windows were grimy, and the paint on the sign had peeled away to reveal rotting wood. The sign read "Gus's Garage - We Fix Anything."

A man emerged from the shadowy interior as we approached. He was thin and wiry, with greasy hair and a shifty look in his eyes. He wiped his dirty hands on an equally dirty rag, a slow, unpleasant smile spreading across his face. He looked us up and down, his gaze lingering a little too long.

"Morning, ladies," he said, his voice slick. "Car trouble?"

"We have a flat," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "A bad one. We need a new tire."

"A flat, huh?" he said, that greasy smile never leaving his face. "Out here? You're lucky you found me. Not much else for a hundred miles in either direction."

He followed us back to the car, his eyes darting around, taking in our out-of-state plates, the luggage visible in the back seat. He circled the car, whistling under his breath when he saw the shredded tire.

"Oof, that's a nasty one," he said, poking at it with the toe of his boot. "Looks like you ran over something sharp. Real sharp."

He named a price for a new tire and the labor that was so outrageously high it took my breath away. It was easily four times what it should have cost.

"That's insane," I said, my anger flaring. "You're trying to rob us."

The mechanic's smile vanished. His expression turned cold and hard. "Lady, I'm the only game in town. The price is the price. You want your car fixed, you pay it. Otherwise, you can start walking to Kingman. Your choice."

He gestured vaguely out at the empty, sun-baked landscape. He knew we were trapped, and he was enjoying it. The feeling of being prey, which had started with the creature, was back, only this time the predator was human.

I looked at Emily. Her face was a mask of fear and exhaustion. We couldn't stay out here. We had no other choice.

"Fine," I bit out, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. "Just fix it. And be quick about it."

The mechanic's smile returned, triumphant and ugly. "Sure thing. It'll take a while, though. Gotta find the right part. You two can wait inside my office. Got a TV in there."

We had no choice but to retreat to his dingy, sweltering office. It smelled of stale cigarettes and oil. We sat on a cracked vinyl couch, listening to the sound of him clanging around in the garage. The feeling of being cheated and powerless was infuriating, but it was overshadowed by a deeper, more urgent need: to get back on the road. To get away from this place. We were paying an exorbitant price, not just for a tire, but for the chance to continue our escape.