Gina turned south. The closest bridge off the island was a mile north. Eight miles south into the storm was the next bridge. “Why?” I tugged her sleeve. The stupid bitch! This was no time to go back for some trinket or her favorite pair of canvas shoes. Whatever she’d left behind could be replaced and I’d be happy to do it in triplicate if she’d just get us off the friggin’ island. Being from the north, she surely had no idea about falling trees and banks of sand that would grab your tires and not let go.
Both of her hands were welded onto the steering wheel. She hunched forward, up over the wheel, staring through the brief rabbit hole the wipers made into the driving rain and sand. Visibility was only about a car length and drifts of sand already spilled onto the road, slowing the car and throwing it sideways as we hit into them.
“Gina,” I screamed. “Turn around.”
She kept her eyes locked on her tiny view of the world over the dash.
“All right,” I screamed. “But hurry!” The clock said forty-four minutes after twelve. How long did we have before Myrna really hit? One hour? An hour and a half? Sure as hell not enough time for a leisurely drive.
At the south bridge I got another shock.
“Left! Turn left,” I screeched at her. I reached over and tried to pull the wheel towards the bridge. Gina yanked just as hard to the right and straight-legged the gas.
We shot past the turnoff, past safety. “Are you crazy?”
I surrendered the wheel and watched out the back window, seeing a safety net slipping away, and desperate to go back.
I swung back to Gina. “Let me out,” I demanded, my hand already on the door handle. She didn’t slow down. “Please, let me out.” Frantic, I tried to assess my chances. If I jumped I’d land in a jungle of underbrush or smash into a tree. Not a good idea.
She drove wildly, too fast for conditions, frantically. “Why?’ I yelled at her, tugging at her clothing.
She turned to look at me. Now it was her turn to plead. “Please.”
I could read that word on her lips but no more.
What? What did she want from me? Why had she kidnapped me? And where the hell were we going? It came down to this, I was trapped in a car with a mad woman and we were driving into a hurricane. For a brief moment I wondered if she was trying to commit suicide and taking her with me. A farfetched idea even for me but my friend Gina had well and truly lost it! That much was clear.
Now that we had passed the exit, Gina slowed to a crawl. She glanced over at me and I realized she was crying. “My god, you’re as scared as me, aren’t you?”