The forest rose on both sides of the narrow gravel road like it was swallowing them, Sam Moore thought.
“We’re lost,” she said.
“We’re not lost.” Kevin gripped the wheel of the pickup.
“We need to go back to the interstate.”
“We’re not going back, Samantha.”
She shot him a look. Sam didn’t like being called by her actual name. Kevin did it when he was angry, or to annoy her. Disheartened, she shook her head as stones popped against the truck’s undercarriage. Spruce and fir towered over them, dimming the sunlight.
Then, as if to underscore that they were traveling deeper into a remote section of the state, their GPS stopped working. Sam glanced at her phone and showed it to Kevin.
“Look, we can’t even get service out here. Go back.”
Kevin held up a small folded page with notations in his neat script.
“I’ve got Leo’s directions, and I sketched a map. This will take us to the Canadian border.”
“Why’re we going this way? I thought you were just taking a short detour, and that we’d get back on the interstate.”
“I told you. This way’s better.”
“Better? There are about a dozen other better ways to go. I don’t like this one. There are no signs of civilization, not since that creepy-looking gas station we passed a few miles back. We should’ve stopped for gas.”
“We’re good.”
She leaned over and looked at the dashboard.
“What’re you doing?” Kevin asked.
“Checking. When Leo loaned you his truck, he said the gas gauge sometimes didn’t work.”
The needle indicated the fuel tank was three-quarters full.
“See?” Kevin said. “So, take it easy. Enjoy the scenery.”
Sam turned to the window, biting her bottom lip.
They had been northbound on Interstate 91, and all was fine until Kevin mentioned something about a little-known scenic back road to the border. But Sam wasn’t paying attention. She had been half-asleep, trying to read a Margaret Atwood novel on her phone, when somewhere between West Glover and Orleans, Kevin exited the freeway.
They had headed west on Route 58. Sam saw few cars and only a sprinkling of buildings as the ribbon of paved highway took them into darkened forests. The route began to climb. Then, at a fork, it transformed into a gravel road, dotted with brooks and bogs. A hand-painted sign called one area Lucifer’s Notch.
Now they’d gone far enough on this back road for Sam’s liking.
“I want you to turn around and get back on the interstate.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Seriously, why are we going this way?”
Kevin glanced at her, hesitant to answer.
“Tell me. Why are we going this way?”
“All right. Leo dared me.”
“Leo dared you?”
“You know how he is with his conspiracy blogs and stuff. Well, he’d read online that this part of New England was supposedly haunted, cursed or something. And he wanted the video.” Kevin nodded to the dashcam.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I figured you’d think it was lame and not want to go.”
Sam stared at him.
“So, it’s because Leo dared you? Are you ten years old? I can’t believe it.”
“Look, the other reason is that Leo said if we went this way and got video for him, we wouldn’t have to pay him the five hundred for using his truck.”
Sam shook her head.
“Come on,” Kevin said. “This is just a little side route. Look around. This way’s pretty, and it’ll bring us to the border crossing into Canada at Richford, which isn’t busy, and we’ll save five hundred bucks.”
“I don’t care about that. I should’ve had my uncle and aunt move me. Instead, you pull this time-wasting, adolescent prank!”
“Would you just take a breath and calm down?”
“Don’t tell me to calm down. This is beyond stupid to pull this idiotic ghost crap for Leo. And given what you know I’m planning, and what I’m going through, frankly, it’s thoughtless and insulting, Kevin.”
Thoughtless and insulting.
The accusation hung in the air as if Kevin could see the words. His face reddened, and his grip tightened on the wheel. Seconds passed as he searched the horizon for his response.
“Sam, I’m sorry. I was wrong. I never meant to upset you. I thought I could surprise you with a way to save some money, but I messed up.”
She shook her head, watching the forest roll by her window.
“I get that this trip is an epic deal for you,” Kevin said. “It is for me, too.” He looked at her. “You were up all night packing; you haven’t slept. Why don’t you get some sleep? Look, we’ve gone too far on this road. To backtrack now would be pointless. We should keep going. Try and get some rest, okay?”
She allowed him to take her hand, signaling a truce, before she pulled it away.
“Whatever,” she said before grabbing her pillow and punching it into position against her door. She curled up in her seat and looked down at the floor. Swaddled in a towel was a bronze urn. Leaves and doves were engraved in a fine band around its middle.
She blinked away tears.
Kevin was right. She hadn’t slept, she was exhausted, and, yes, short-tempered, because she was at a turning point in her life. Samantha Victoria Moore was 20 years old and leaving her lifelong home in New York City for Canada to study medicine at the University of Toronto.
Sam was born an only child in Queens. Her father, a hospital equipment salesman, was killed when the taxi he was in crashed on the Major Deegan Expressway. Sam was not quite three at the time. When she thought of him, she struggled to see his face. No matter how many times she watched the videos her mom had recorded of her squealing with joy as her dad, laughing, tossed her over his head and caught her, she barely remembered him.
Sam’s mom, Elizabeth, a clerk who’d managed medical records, never remarried, and had raised Sam alone. Sam was in high school when her mom was diagnosed with cancer. It was on visits to see her in the hospital that Sam decided to become a doctor. She’d worked part-time jobs, and did well in school. She earned scholarships and was accepted at several universities.
But after Sam graduated from high school, her mom’s condition worsened. She delayed going to college to comfort her in her final days. When her mother passed, Sam had no family, except for an aunt and uncle in Toronto, where Sam’s mother was born.
The estate lawyer helped settle the insurance money, the sale of their small house in Corona, and debts. With some of the funds, Sam enrolled at the University of Toronto. The school had a stellar international reputation for cancer research, Sam’s desired field, and tuition was a fraction of what it was at U.S. colleges. Sam was drawn to Toronto because of her mom’s connection to the city.
It was her way to honor her mother while dedicating her life to fighting cancer, a killer that we must kill, was how Sam saw it.
Preparing for her move, Sam got all the paperwork completed to live as a foreign student in Canada, even the documentation for transporting her mother’s remains across the border—repatriation, they called it. Sam’s aunt and uncle had helped her find an apartment downtown near the campus. They had wanted to come to New York and help her, but Kevin had insisted that he would handle Sam’s move. In her heart, Sam wanted to make the move alone with Kevin.
Sam and Kevin Tatum were high school sweethearts, even though he was a few years older. Her mom had loved him. “He’s a good-hearted boy, a keeper, Sam,” her mother had said. And it was true. Kevin had been Sam’s rock throughout all her pain with her mother’s sickness. And he was a pretty smart guy, studying business admin at Queens College in Flushing, majoring in finance, while working part-time at a brokerage firm on data analysis and spreadsheet modeling.
So, the day before she turned in the keys to the house, Kevin and his friend, Leo Barzi, helped her load Leo’s pickup truck with her belongings. She remembered Leo telling them about the documents he’d put in the glove compartment with the vehicle registration, in case there were questions about ownership at the border. He reminded them to keep an eye on the gas gauge and keep the portable gas can full. Then he checked the dashcam, hugged them, and wished them a safe trip before his brother picked him up.
Looking at all her stuff tied down under a tarp, Sam had told Kevin, “I feel like a latter-day member of the Joad family.” The next morning, they’d set out to drive to Canada through New England, planning to visit a school friend in Montreal before heading for Toronto.
But so far, not once during the entire drive had either of them raised the underlying, unspoken fear that they each held. With Sam living in Toronto and Kevin staying in New York, would they survive a long-distance relationship?
The future terrified Sam.
Because you never know what’s waiting for you, she thought as they traveled deeper into the darkening forests and she fell into much-needed sleep.
***
The pickup’s engine sputtered for an instant, then resumed.
Alarmed, Kevin scanned the instrument-panel lights and the fuel gauge.
What the —?
The gas needle had plunged and was now resting below the Empty level. The engine stalled and died. Out of gas, the pickup rolled to a silent stop.
No, no, no!
Kevin swallowed hard, telling himself to relax and think.
He turned to Sam, who was snoring softly. Out cold.
His mind raced. That gas station they’d passed couldn’t be more than three or four miles back. Or was it more? He wasn’t sure.
Then another thought stabbed him. I forgot to fill the emergency gas can in the back the last time we stopped! Dammit!
He was struck by another fact—they hadn’t encountered a single vehicle the entire time they’d been on this road.
Kevin noticed the AAA decal on the lower corner of the windshield. Leo, or his dad, whoever, was a member. He reached for his phone to call the number for emergency roadside assistance.
His heart sank. His display told him he was in a no-service area.
He cursed again, then looked at Sam.
She’s going to kill me.
He put his phone in his pocket and dragged his hands over his face.
Okay, the solution is simple. Walk to the gas station. It couldn’t take more than an hour. Maybe I’ll get lucky and get a ride.
He looked at Sam, still sound asleep.
She needed sleep.
If he woke her to their situation, she’d freak out. She’d walk with him, but she’d be upset about leaving her stuff—her mother’s ashes. She’d carry the urn and likely scream at him all the way. He was already in hot water with her for coming this way.
This is shaping up to be a disaster. I’m screwed no matter what I do.
Okay, he had no choice. He’d walk to the gas station alone. If he left now and got a ride he could—if all went well—be back before she woke.
Who am I kidding? She’ll wake before I get back.
He’d leave her a note.
Searching around, he found a pad and pen with logos from a comic book store in the driver’s door storage compartment. When he’d finished writing, he folded the note so it protruded from one of the air vents in front of Sam. He was grateful that she always traveled with her door locked. Then as quietly as possible, he slipped from the driver’s seat, locked his door, and closed it without making a sound.
He got the empty gas can from the bed of the truck and walked fast.
It was well into the afternoon, still light, but the dense woods made everything darker. The air was heavy with a sharp, sweet, piney smell. A series of loud caws echoed from the treetops as a crow patrolled overhead. Kevin crested a hill and turned for one last glance of the distant pickup.
Is this the right thing to do?
He stared at the truck. A wisp of guilt coiled in his conscience as he turned away from the pickup and continued walking to the gas station. For a fleeting moment, he imagined Sam pleading, Don’t leave me alone here. Please don’t leave me.