As I drive back down the main drag of Santa Teresa, rivers of muddy water cross the road, racing for the ocean even as the waves pound the shore, throwing themselves as far up the sand as they can, frothing at their limitations. Past the hotels and restaurants I take a road into the hills, headed for the airport.
The ruts in the dirt are filled with water washing down, so I’m driving up twin brown rivers. The mud spatters onto the hood, the windshield wipers smearing it into arches. Thick foliage sways and dances along the road’s edge. Another SUV comes around a bend and we both stop—they are bigger than me, but even if I was facing another Jimney there wouldn’t be enough room for the two of us.
We had passed a secondary road not that far back. It’s better for me to move out of the way than pass strangers with a duct-taped, blood-stained man leaning against the window. Blue growls. Over the loud drumming of rain, I hear movement in the back seat. I shift the Jimney into reverse and with my hand on the back of Blue’s headrest, I turn around.
Prisoner’s eyes meet mine before I focus on the road behind us. “I’ll be with you in a second,” I tell him as I release the brake and we start to roll back down the hill. “Try anything and Blue will take your balls.”
Prisoner doesn’t respond. To be fair, his mouth is duct-taped so he can’t say much. The Jimney slips as I turn it into the narrow side road but catches itself and we complete the turn. The blue SUV passes with a honk of thanks. I shift to park and focus on Prisoner. There is a nasty lump on his head from where I struck him with the pistol. Rain lashes the windows. “Morning, Sunshine,” I say. “Hold tight, we will be where we’re going in like fifteen minutes.”
He just breathes, the tape on his mouth suctioning in and out, dark eyes mapping my face. I turn forward again. “Watch him,” I say to Blue. He cocks his head at me, wondering why I felt the need to start playing Captain Obvious.
The car jerks forward as I shift into first—the clutch is the problem, not me, I swear. The momentum dies even though the engine continues to hum. The back wheels spin, the Jimney slides sideways. Oh fuck me. I tap the brakes, we keep sliding backward. I give it more gas but all that does is increase the pace at which we spin sideways. The Jimney starts to tip backwards. Shit, we’re going into a ditch. I release the gas and tap the brakes again. We slip right into the ditch as if it pulled us in for a hug.
I sigh dramatically. Prisoner moves and I glance back at him. He’s attempting to sit up. Man’s neck is probably hurting him. Not to mention the mangled forearm and knife punctures in his right flank.
His hands are bound in front of him. Ankles taped together. Tape over his mouth and circling his wounded forearm. I can’t see the big stripes holding the knife wounds closed because of his shirt, but I know they are there because I’m the one who taped them on. As he gets his feet down and pushes up, I spy blood stains on the seat where he lay. Damn, that’s one of the issues with prisoners. They bleed on stuff.
He gets his feet down into the seat well and his back against the seat. There is a new sheen of sweat on his forehead. Prisoner closes his eyes for a long moment, clearly tired from his wriggle worm impression. “I’ve got to go out and get us unstuck,” I say. He blinks at me. “Blue is staying here.” Prisoner’s eyes flick to Blue and his fingers clench into fists in his lap but there is no fear in his eyes. There is nothing there. I swallow the unease that tries to climb up my throat at his lack of expression.
“He’s got a taste for your blood and would love to get some more.” Blue growls, lifting his lip and showing off his big bad wolf teeth. Prisoner’s expression remains blank. Okay then. I pull the hand brake and climb out into the pounding rain. It’s like stepping into a cold shower.
My hair plasters to my head and I clench my jaw to keep it from chattering. The road is slick mud, and I hold onto the Jimney as I navigate around to the back. My canvas sneakers are not the best shoes for this journey. I keep my knees bent and movements slow. The back tires have slipped into a ditch on the side of the road. Brown water rushes around them, frothing at the chassis.
Good thing I’ve got that winch. Turning around, I start toward the front of the Jimney. Lightning cracks, turning the world pure white for a second and thunder shakes the earth. That was close. Very close.
A nightmarish image pops up in my mind like a Polaroid photograph—vague in the first instant but quickly taking form, filling in saturated colors. Monsters lurk in a copse of trees, black-scaled skin, fangs dripping with vile green saliva, their bodies humanoid with claw-tipped fingers and toes. Their eyes red and hungry for my flesh.
I swallow and blink, the image new yet not. Rain pounds against me and a disorienting sense of déjà vu envelops me, the sensation even stronger than the cold slap of the storm. The rain was like this before…
A movie plays in my mind’s eye. Running through shallow water, Blue by my side, his nose tapping my hip, a raging fire beast the size of a house chasing us, its tongue lashing the trees, making them explode into flames, the sparks filling the night with swirling embers that burn when they touch my skin. A taste of how the beast would consume me if it caught me.
I stumble forward, my hand slapping the hood of the Jimney to catch myself. I blink into the rain. The muddy road, the swaying palm trees, the thick underbrush, the drenching storm. My breath is stuttering. Spots dance in front of my eyes, black holes threatening to consume my vision. What the fuck is happening?
I take in a deep breath. The spots clear. Glancing into the car, I see Blue’s profile—he’s turned toward the back seat, keeping his attention on Prisoner. Just like I told him to. But his eyes flick to me. He blinks, then returns his attention to our captive.
Okay, time to get out of this ditch and back on the road. I can wander down weirdo memory lane later. Nightmares, hallucinations, whatever the fuck that was, it’s not what matters now. Now I need to get the winch attached to a tree and pull my Jimney back onto the road. Then I need to get this bound man onto my helicopter and get some answers.
I grab the winch’s hook and drag it across the road to a thick palm tree. Throwing the cord around the trunk, I hook it onto itself. The wind howls, sheets of rain turn the Jimney into an impressionist painting—choppy brushstrokes blurring the image to capture the fleeting nature of life. Of reality.
Pulling open the driver’s side door, I climb in. The rain hammers the roof, as if it’s pissed I escaped it. My clothing is totally soaked, my hair dripping. I meet Prisoner’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Just as empty as when I left.
I shift the Jimney into neutral. Open the winch control panel under the radio and turn the dial. It starts to contract. I shift into first and give it some gas. We start to move, sliding sideways, but straightening as we come out of the ditch.
Blue growls and stands. I glance in my rearview mirror to see Prisoner staying very still, his dead eyes on my dog. Refocusing on the task at hand, I turn off the winch and pull the parking brake. Then I twist to look back at Prisoner. “I want you to understand that Blue would gladly kill you.”
Prisoner nods. He knows it.
“So don’t try anything. If you try to escape, he will catch you. If you try to lock yourself in the Jimney with him, he will maul you.” My eyes flick down to his bound hands. They are still very much duct taped together. As are his ankles. “You’re not going anywhere I don’t want you to. Is that clear?”
He nods again.
“Excellent.”
I drive the Jimney forward a few inches to be sure we have traction and to put some slack in the winch line. Taking the keys out of the ignition, I pocket them before climbing out into the storm. The wind has died down and the rain seems to be less outraged than a minute ago. I follow the silver winch line back to the tree. Lightning flashes in the distance—a streak of light, not a flashbulb whiting out the world. Thunder doesn’t rumble until I’ve unhooked the line. The storm is moving on quickly. Good, I’m ready to do the same.