MY SLEEP WAS DEEP, enveloping, an almost choking fog of fatigue. I came out of it slowly, struggling to recall where I was. The truck. The grinding of the engine and the clunking of gears as the driver slowed. I sat up and rubbed my face, panic prickling up my legs and into my stomach.
“What is it? Why are we stopping?”
“Dunno,” the driver said, shrugging. “Accident, maybe.”
I looked out the windows. Two rows of cars slowly creeping forward toward blue and red flashing lights. Patrol cars. A roadblock. Across the highway, the opposite lanes were halted as well, two officers wandering from car to car, flashing torches in on the occupants.
“Oh, shit.” I scrambled up in my seat. “Oh, shit!”
“What?”
“This isn’t good.” I searched the roadside. Nothing but rock walls on either side of us, a section of the highway cut into a hill. “I’ve got to get out of here.” I had thought I was well out of the search zone, but the roadblocks seemed to have been extended farther than I’d guessed.
“What’s the matter? It’s just an accident or somethin’.”
“It’s not an accident; it’s a fucking roadblock.” I tried to soften my tone. “I…It’s for me.”
“The police are looking for you?” He examined me, squinting. “Why the hell would they be doin’ that?”
“My husband is a local cop,” I stammered. “The chief of police. We’ve been having problems. It’s been getting worse. He hit me a couple of times. Choked me once. I…I got scared. I ran. He said he was going to kill me.”
The truck driver looked out the windows at the headlights on the highway, the patrol cars flashing. The gap between us and the car in front had widened. A car horn sounded from behind as the queue failed to move. There were only three cars ahead of us. A cop in a rain jacket waving. While the truck driver weighed my story, I glimpsed the name embroidered on his fluorescent shirt.
“Stan,” I pleaded, “don’t send me back to him. Please. I just need some time to get to my mother’s place in Narooma. From there I’ll reassess things. Maybe try to get him some counseling.”
“Jesus.” Stan took off his cap, ran a hand over his bald head. “This ain’t right.”
“Please help me,” I begged. “Just…Just…”
Stan watched a big officer in a peaked cap wandering between the cars, heading toward us. My fictional abusive husband, the chief? I watched Stan struggle with his loyalties. He sighed and gave in.
“Get back there.” He turned and pointed. “They’ll probably search the cabin, but there’s a panel in the floor. I don’t know if you’ll even fit.”
I leaped over the seat and ripped up the carpet where he pointed, spying a stainless-steel hatch. Beneath the hatch was a low shelf where a person could lean while they toyed with the engine parts. The noise of the engine was deafening from here. I squeezed into the space on my knees and doubled over, pulling my head down with my hands. The panel slid over me, and I waited in the noise and heat.
The truck clunked as the passenger door above me was opened. I breathed into the gap between my knees, squeezed my eyes shut. It seemed an eternity before the truck seemed to be moving again, asphalt whizzing by. I pushed up with my back and slipped awkwardly out of the compartment, shoving away the stiff carpet flap and breathing the warm air of the cabin. It looked like the cops had indeed searched the sleeping cabin. The tiny closet door was open, and the camp-bed cover had been tossed over.
“Thank you.” I crawled into my seat. “Thank you so much, Stan. I can’t—”
“Cut the thank-yous,” Stan snapped. “I’m not in the business of hiding runaways from the cops. I don’t care who your husband is or what he’s done—I need this job.”
“I understand.” I nodded.
“I’ll drop you at the next exit. From there, you’re on your own, lady.”
“I got it.” I grabbed my bag. “No problem.”
I settled deep into my seat, hugging the bag to my chest. My limbs were throbbing. I tried to tell myself I had overcome the riskiest part of my journey. I’d had a run of bad luck, but the real danger would come when I found Regan. It would be smooth sailing for a while, surely, if I just kept my head down and carried on.
I was wrong.