“Like one, that on a lonesome road  Doth walk in fear ...

She meant to haul herself up and open the door, to show the driver she was cool about trucks, but by the time the truck had rumbled to a shuddering stop, she was a spastic mass of nerves with jelly knees, her heart banging against her chest. He got out, came around, and fixed a flashlight beam on her. “You almost got yourself killed, little girl,” he growled. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

“Trying to get you to stop,” she said. Her voice no more than a whisper. “Running away.”

“Who you running from?” Curiosity and suspicion mingled in the few loud words.

She tried to see his face to gauge who she was talking to but the light shining into her face was blinding. She had an impression of middle-aged, pleasant-faced, and huge. The hand holding the flashlight nearly swallowed it up. The motor of the truck looming above her rumbled like a snoring giant. Beyond the cone of light cast by the headlamps, the night seemed vast and evil. Any minute, she expected cops to swarm out of the woods or come roaring down the street. “Let me get in the truck and I’ll tell you.”

She died a thousand deaths waiting for his response, swiveling her head to check the woods for lights and the road for cars. If he didn’t take her in, she didn’t know what to do. She’d already lost precious minutes. They were bound to come soon and she didn’t have the stamina to run.

He expelled an exasperated silvery cloud of breath and offered a grudging capitulation. “All right. Get in. But this better be good. I got no patience with liars and damned fools.”

He watched as she hauled herself into the cab, making no move to help, then went around and got in on his side. “Well?” It was as much a grunt as a question as he settled back into his seat.

She cradled her aching wrist against her chest, shaking uncontrollably in her wet, clothes, too scared to think up a story. “I’ve got a bunch of New York state cops looking for me, but I swear I didn’t do anything wrong. I know it sounds preposterous, but if you don’t help, I’m afraid someone’s going to kill me.” Her chattering teeth made it hard to talk. “Look, can we please go? Please?”

“There a good story behind this?” he asked. He was about the biggest man she’d ever seen. An easy 6’ 5” and bulky, with forearms like hams, a swooping mustache and graying curly hair, layer-cut, cascading to his shoulders with one long tail down the back. There were tattoos on the arm she could see below the sleeve of his black Harley T-shirt.

“Yes.” People were trying to kill her and he wanted a good story? She stared at the road, squirming with impatience. The truck didn’t move. Please go or it will be too late, she thought. Her entire body felt breathless. Another few seconds and she’d have to jump out and start running.

He dropped a hand on the gearshift, then hesitated. “You sure you ain’t a hooker?”

The sound that burst out was between a laugh and a sob. “You’re kidding, right? You get a lot of hookers running out of the woods in the middle of the night, soaked and freezing and covered with mud, flagging down your truck?”

He made a noise in his throat. “Nope. Get women who’re pretty creative about tryin’ to get in my truck, though.”

“That wasn’t creative, that was desperate,” she said. “And no, I’m not a hooker. I’ve slept with one guy in my life. Thought I was going to marry him until Friday night, when I found him in bed with my best friend. Now can we please go?”

Any second now, she’d explode with frustration and this suspicious, laconic stranger’d have to scrape her off his truck.

The truck stayed put. “That why you’re running around in the woods like a crazy woman?”

“Never mind,” she said, opening the door. “I don’t have time for this. I’m sorry I bothered you, but someone really is trying to kill me and if you won’t help, I haven’t got time for a game of twenty questions. Too bad you didn’t just run over me.” Blinded by frustrated tears, she swung sideways, feeling with her foot for the step.

He made another noise between a growl and a hiss—the sort a person who spends a lot of time alone might get in the habit of making—then grabbed her arm and hauled her back. “Make sure that door’s shut and put on your seatbelt,” he said.

He put the behemoth in gear and moved off down the road. “My name’s Jerry. With a J.”

It felt like she’d been holding her breath the whole time she was in the truck. Now she sucked in air the way a thirsty person drinks. Shivering so hard her bones hurt. He seemed to be waiting for her to introduce herself but she was temporarily beyond speech. She meant to say, “Nice to meet you, Jerry. I’m Jenny.” What came out, from a dry mouth, through chattering teeth, was a small, strangled, “Jenny.”

“Ginny?”

“Jennifer. Jenny.”

“Oh. You want some more heat, Jenny?”

She made a noise she hoped sounded affirmative, watching in awe as he worked through the gears. Truck drivers always amazed her. When she was little, she’d beg rides from Andy’s big brothers, and they’d take her down to the ice cream store in the cab once it was detached from those huge trailers. Jenny would perch on the front seat feeling like Alice in Wonderland at her smallest, her feet not coming near the floor, high above the street and the rest of the traffic. It was scary and wonderful and felt a little bit like playing God.

Now that she could breathe, now that they were moving, she felt a little of her terror slip away. Just enough so her throat relaxed. Maybe she could use her voice. “Where you from?” she asked.

He took so long to answer she wondered if it was an impermissible question. Finally he said, “No place you’ve ever heard of. Warren, Maine.”

“I’m from Hallowell,” she said. “You know any of the Masons? Hugh, Tom or Andy?”

“I know Tom and Anday.”

When he said ‘Anday,’ she heard the Maine in his voice. Maybe before her ears had been too scared. Or she’d been afraid to trust it. After the last few days, she was reluctant to trust anything. “Adele Mason’s my next door neighbor,” she said. “I just wrecked Dandy… Andy’s car two days ago.”

“That part of the story?”

“Oh, no!” She stared into the darkness, every muscle tensed, as a police car with flashing lights came toward them and went shrieking past. When it was past, she realized he was still waiting for an answer. “Yes. Dandy’s car is part of the story.” Her teeth were chattering. From cold, from fear. From the unbearable tension of the last few days. She didn’t want to talk. She wanted to curl up in a tight little ball, close her eyes, and whimper. But he was waiting for her story.

“You think that cop’s looking for you?”

“Probably.”

“You kill someone? Your boyfriend maybe, or that girl he was in bed with?”

The thought astonished her. “What? You think I could?”

“Honey, I don’t know you from Adam.” The massive shoulders rose and fell. “It happens. Don’t you read the papers? Watch TV?”

“I don’t believe in killing, Jerry.”

He sighed. “So why you runnin’? You musta done something to get all these cops after you.”

“Watch out!” she interrupted. “There’s a deer up there on the right.”

He avoided the deer that plunged into the road in front of them, moving down through his gears and back up in a deft mechanical ballet. “Good spotting. I didn’t even see it.”

Jenny knew just how the deer felt. Not long ago, she’d been chased out into the path of the truck. “Guess I’m lucky you saw me,” she said, adding, “My daddy taught me.”

“Your daddy’s a hunter?”

She made an affirmative noise—this noise making was contagious—and thought about the word “daddy.” She felt an actual pain using it, like she’d been stabbed. Bud Cates had always been her daddy. Still was. But there was the ugly “fact” that someone else was her daddy. Someone who might be trying to kill her. They rode in silence for a while, Jenny waiting nervously for him to demand her story again. She was terribly thirsty and she needed a bathroom but she didn’t want to ask any more favors.

When he did speak, he said, “That your teeth chattering?”

“Yes.”

“Hungry?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s a blanket back there if you want it. I’ve gotta make a pit stop soon. Get you some food and coffee, you’ll feel better.”

She got the blanket. “Jerry, I can’t go where anyone can see me.”

“Mosta these guys, they’re so tired and hungry, they wouldn’t notice if Godzilla walked through the room, ’less it had tits and low-cut top. All they notice is whether they got the two scoops of mashed potatoes they asked for.”

“I’d better tell you what’s going on.”

“That might be a good idea.”

She kept it short and sweet. She told him about finding her mother, about Uncle Billy, about how her mother told her to run. About the woman at the motel. She did embellish that part enough to include disabling the cars. She thought he’d like that, and she was right.

His noise was a genuine chuckle. “Guess they underestimated you,” he said. “I can see why. You look like a kid.”

“I feel old as Methuselah.”

“Oh, shit!” he said. “Pardon my French.” He flipped on his signal and began moving slowly off the road. “Looks like we’ve got company. There’s a nice little space back there under the bunk. Think you can squeeze yourself into it, quick as a bunny?”

Despite the urgency of the situation and the chill that went through her, when her brain said “jump,” nothing happened. He put out a hand, scooped her up, and shoved her in, blanket and all. A tight fit, barely room to turn her head. He stuck a hand in and felt around. “Maybe you wanna move a little farther back?””

She did wanna. She wiggled as far back as she could and lay there, waiting. What did you do over spring break, Jen? I took an Outward Bound survival course. How had Anne Frank and her family ever stood it? Because the alternatives were worse. Considering what other people had gone through put it in perspective, but this was America. A democracy. She was a free citizen being terrorized by two presidential candidates. It was ludicrous. It was happening.

She heard him brush dirt and debris off the seat, muttering string of obscenities uncomplimentary to the constabulary. Otherwise laconic, here his vocabulary was rich. She heard the window open, felt the inrush of cool air, smelled exhaust. “Evenin’, Officer.”

“Where you coming from?”

“Corning.”

“We’re looking for a girl. Small, dark-haired, early twenties, maybe looks younger. Wearing dark clothes. Motorist reported seeing her standing by a stopped truck.”

Mesmerized by his lights, she’d never seen the car. Jenny thought her heart had stopped. She could feel the skip, the hesitation, dizziness rolling over her. When she finally had to breathe, it sounded like the roaring of a wind-tunnel. She couldn’t get her arm up to muffle it. She hoped this wouldn’t take long. She could feel the bed above and the floor below closing in on her, like in one of those nightmares where the walls are moving.

“What’d she do, this girl?”

“Breaking and entering. Theft. Malicious destruction of property. Resisting arrest.” She had to strain to hear over the roar of her own fear. “You seen her?”

There was silence, then Jerry said, in his slow, careful way. “I don’t pick people up when I’m drivin’ my truck.”

“Why’s the seat over there wet, then?” the cop asked.

“Put my foot up to tie my shoe.”

“Only been raining about half an hour. How’d your foot get wet?”

“Thought I hit a deer,” Jerry said. “Got out to see. Look all the hell over the place. Didn’t see nothin’.”

“You always stop when you think you’ve hit something?”

“Something big,” Jerry said. “Don’t you?”

His interrogator ignored the question. “Mind if we take a look inside your truck?”

Jerry grunted. “Do me any good if I did? ’Course, we could go all around Robin Hood’s barn ’bout whether you got a warrant, but then you could keep me here all night while you got one, and I ain’t got all night.” She heard the grind of the door handle. “Watch yourself,” he said. The springs creaked and groaned as he swung the door open and moved his bulk out of the seat.

They’d done a heck of a job drumming up charges against her. She couldn’t figure out where they’d gotten any of them, except malicious destruction of property. She’d happily done that. But not in New York. Resisting arrest? By what, running away? Theft? And what had she broken and entered? She closed her eyes and waited to be spotted, seized, dragged out. And then what? If she survived this, her nervous system would never be the same.

The cab seemed full, with two men talking, moving around, and shining their lights everywhere. She’d turned her head so her face was away from them, and tucked her hand under her body so that she’d be nothing but darkness to someone peering in, pressed herself against the wall, trying to become smaller. A hand, feeling around under the bunk, grazed her shoulder. She willed herself still. Waited for it to travel away from the rough blanket that might feel like carpet and find her hair. Waited for the shout of triumph and hands grabbing her and dragging her out. Panic was building. This was impossible. Insane. Something was tickling her nose, making her want to sneeze. She pressed her face against the wall.

One of the policemen swore and snapped off his light. Jenny thought she could feel the weight of their shadows lift as they backed out of the cab. The air felt lighter, freer, more mobile. There was a brief mumble of voices, then she heard Jerry climb into his seat and slam the door. With a hiss and a roar, the truck lurched into motion as he muttered, “Blow it out your asses, fuck heads.”

Jenny stayed put, waiting for word that it was safe to emerge. In her tight little space, she felt like she was a part of the engine.

She sneezed and Jerry murmured, “Bless you.” Eons later he said through the roar, “Guess it’s safe to come out now.” Slowly she levered her way out and climbed over the seat, collapsing against the door. “Scare you?” he asked.

“Took twenty years off my life,” she said.

“I had it to do over, I don’t guess I’d stop.”

“I don’t blame you, but I’m glad you did.”

He made a growling noise followed by a hiss of frustration. “I dunno. Soon as we’re outta New York, I’m finding a motel and leaving you there. Every minute you’re in the truck, I can feel those cops got their eyes on me. Messes up my concentration. So you’re outta here, see.”

She stared at the ribbon of gray highway rushing at them. They were in the middle of nowhere. No houses, no billboards, no lights through the trees. “You can drop me here if you like, Jerry. I never wanted to give you any trouble. I’m just scared. All that stuff they said about what I’ve done? It’s bullshit.”

“Some folks might call a knife in the tire malicious destruction,” he said.

Her temper flared. “What about the malicious destruction of my whole life?”

A snort of laughter. “You got a point there.” He waved a hand toward the bunk. “Got a ways to go, yet, you wanna get some sleep. I ain’t leaving you by the roadside. It ever got back to Adele Mason I did something like that…” He didn’t need to say more. Even a tough giant like Jerry wasn’t about to cross Adele Mason.

“I’ll just keep the blanket.” She wrapped it tighter, curled up against the door, and fell asleep.