It was true. As soon as the sun had given even a hint of morning light the tractors were in the fields. Not Casey’s field of residence, so she wasn’t afraid of getting run over, but the harvesters were close enough she had no hope of getting back to sleep. But she wasn’t blaming the farmers. “You’re the one who woke me up a million times during the night.”
Death nodded. “Every two hours. That’s what they say about concussions.”
“Or what? I’ll die? Certainly wouldn’t want that to happen.” It was, in fact, what Casey had wanted ever since Death had taken her husband and baby, almost a year before. Death, however, had other ideas.
Death chucked Casey under the chin. “And who says you’re not a morning person?”
Casey swished Death’s hand away and stomped along the road, back into town. She made a breakfast of the hospital food as she walked, and while it wasn’t exactly her normal fare, it at least got her stomach to stop cramping. She ran her fingers through her hair, re-tied it into a ponytail, and hoped she didn’t look too much like she’d spent the night in a cornfield.
“You know,” Death said, “you’ve looked better.”
Casey, giving in to her baser nature, held up her middle finger.
Death kept quiet after that.
But really, where was she even going? Casey stopped suddenly, taking a deep breath. If she went back to town the most likely thing to happen would be that someone would notice her, the cops would find her, and she’d end up in jail for what had happened in Clymer. She should turn around. She should get as far as she could from this town, from the truck accident, and from anyone who could connect her with it.
But Evan’s last request, his last breath, was to plead with her not to let them get it. Whatever it was. And whoever they were. Could she turn her back on a dying man’s plea? A man who could no longer act for himself?
She stood at the side of the road, her thoughts in turmoil.
“So what’s it going to be?” Death asked. “You know what they teach in schooclass="underline" Safety First.”
Casey laughed without humor. “I am so, so far beyond safety. And I’m not sure I could…”
“What?”
“I don’t think I could live with myself if I let them win.”
“But you don’t even know who them is.”
“No. But Evan did. And he begged me to help.”
Death turned and continued walking toward town.
“Where are you going?”
“Where you’re headed. To find out who killed Evan, and to keep them from getting what they wanted.”
Death knew her too well.
Blue Lake Gas and Go was open this time, and three men in dark blue coveralls stood in one of the bays, laughing. They stopped abruptly when Casey walked in, their expressions ranging from boredom to curiosity to shock.
Death chuckled. “Well, aren’t they just the sweetest things?”
Casey took a step away from Death, who stood so close Casey could feel the dropping temperature. “They should know where the cops took the truck.”
“They should.”
“Um, can we help you?” the bored mechanic asked.
“I hope so. Where would a damaged semi be taken?”
He blinked, and took so long answering she thought she should repeat the question. Finally, he spoke. “I’d say Wainwrights’ Scrap Metal. Sound right to you guys?”
The curious mechanic nodded. “I guess. How bad was it?” He looked at Casey’s blood-splattered clothes.
“The truck wasn’t running anymore. Cab wasn’t even…wasn’t even in one piece.”
“Oh. That wreck out on the highway? Guy died?”
“That was the one.”
“Yeah, I’d say Wainwrights’, then. Metal recycling and junk yard. You think?” He looked at the shocked mechanic, who still stood with his mouth hanging open. He closed his mouth, swallowed, and nodded, only to return to his dope-like state.
“Okay.” Casey gestured toward the road. “How do I get there?”
The bored man scratched his chin. “Few miles from here. Town doesn’t have public transportation. At least not to speak of.”
“I’ll take her.” Mr. Curious. “That is, if you guys can spare me.”
Bored Guy rolled his eyes. “Take the rest of the day, if you want. Then I don’t have to pay you.”
“Hey, now. I’ll be back soon. Don’t want you trying to run this place on your own.”
The bored guy showed some emotion at that, snapping the other with a greasy rag.
“Okay, um, Wendell.” Casey could just read the name on the patch sewed onto the curious man’s coveralls. “You ready?”
Wendell dodged away from the rag and grabbed a ring of keys off the wall. “Come on. I’ll take you in my truck.”
Like Casey wanted to get in another truck. The pick-up he indicated might not have been a semi, but it was enough to cause her to shudder. She hesitated by the passenger door while Wendell got in his side.
“Second thoughts?” Death sat on the hood, twanging that awful rubber band. Casey hoped it would break, and snap Death’s fingers.
“Of course I have second thoughts.”
“You know, someday you’re going to have to get over it.”
Casey inhaled deeply through her nostrils, telling herself it would do no good, trying to beat up Death. “In case you’ve forgotten, I was in another fatal accident yesterday.”
“Of course I haven’t forgotten. I just know how to compartmentalize my feelings.”
Casey gritted her teeth and climbed into the truck. Death stayed on the hood.
“So, you leave something in the semi?” Wendell turned the key, and the truck roared to life.
“Yes.”
“Figured you were in it when it got wrecked.” He turned out of the lot and made a point of looking at her clothes. “You must be the one who got away. News said you walked out of the ER.”
Casey jerked backward, her hand going to the door handle.
“Don’t worry,” Wendell said. “I figure you got your reasons for skipping out. I hate hospitals, myself. But are you sure you’re okay?”
Casey looked at the man, trying to figure out whether he was driving her to the junk yard, or making a bee-line to the police station. “I’m fine. This isn’t my blood.”
“The driver’s?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “Poor guy. You know him?”
“Just a little.” She pulled Evan’s family photo from her pocket and held it out so Wendell could see. “That’s him and his ‘girls,’ as he called them.”
Wendell glanced at the picture. “They got a bad visit last night.”
Casey nodded, her throat tight, and studied the photo a bit more before sliding it back into her pocket. A rush of anger welled up in her chest and she glared at Death, who now lay sideways across the hood of the truck, whistling, as if ushering someone to the other side had no more meaning than assisting them across the street. If only Casey had been able to help Evan, or even been at his side when he died, instead of getting wrenched away by those men who had pulled her out of the cab.
Casey thought back to that moment. Who were those men at the crash site? They obviously weren’t cops, as they had disappeared as soon as the real law had arrived, and cops wouldn’t manhandle her the way that guy had when he’d frisked her. The men were looking for something. Something Evan had.
“You know,” Wendell said. “The police don’t know why those construction vehicles were on the road like that.”
“I’d assumed they weren’t supposed to be.”
“Yeah. They’ve been doing some work out on that stretch of highway, but the machines had been parked way to the side, since Sunday’s a day off. Somebody moved them. Don’t know why someone else hadn’t seen ’em or crashed into ’em before you folks. That may be a quiet road, but it’s not that quiet.”
So they’d been watching. They’d known where Evan was traveling and had picked a place to waylay him. From the first man’s attitude—Goddammit, Evan, don’t you dare die on me—they hadn’t wanted him to die. At least, not until they’d gotten their information, whatever it was. It just so happened it was raining, and a semi plus a slippery road didn’t make for good stopping.