“Help! Help!” Bennie hurried to the white pickup truck that was pulling over to the side of the road. The door on the driver’s side opened, and a man stepped out, a shadowy figure behind a tiny flashlight beam, jittery as a lightning bug.
“Somebody there?” he called out, and as he got closer, she could see that he was a small, older man in a mesh John Deere cap and a white T-shirt. She stutter-stepped to him, her knees finally buckling, and he caught her, dropping the flashlight. “Good Lord, lady! What in the hell?”
“I’m sorry, I’m so tired.” Bennie sagged against him, and he almost fell over.
“You stink to high heaven! Is that blood? What happened here?”
“My twin buried me in a box and there was a wolf. I almost died and-”
“Buried you? With a wolf? Are you crazy, lady?” The old man struggled to support her, and Bennie tried to rally, straightening up.
“I need to get to the police and tell them about Alice.”
“Hold on now. Put an arm around me. You’re a sight! Cover yourself, I’ll get you to a hospital, sure enough.”
“No, please, let’s call the police. Do you have a cell phone?”
“Lady, I can’t hold ya. Put your arm ’round my neck. You need a doctor.” The old man took her upper arm and wrenched it around his shoulder.
“We have to call the police, do you have a cell phone?”
“My wife does. Lady, please. Walk to my truck, would ya?” The old man half-lifted and half-steered her to the pickup, and Bennie couldn’t seem to stop talking, the words spilling like a torrent.
“We can use your wife’s phone and call, then the cops will come and find Alice, she won’t get away.”
“Here we go.” The old man led her to the truck, opened the door with difficulty, then helped her inside. Her foot grazed a chainsaw that sat on the floor, filling the cab with a gasoline odor. She practically fell into the seat, and he closed the door. “Now stay here. I’m goin’ back for my flashlight.”
Bennie slumped in the filthy truck, wondering where his wife was with her cell phone. Clothes sat mounded next to old newspapers, coiled rope, empty bags of Doritos. There was a can of orange soda in the cupholder, and she upended it, but it was empty. She searched for another can, tossing aside some newspapers and receipts, but couldn’t find anything to drink.
“Got it,” the old man said, returning to the truck. He opened the door and sat inside, with a grunt.
“I’m so thirsty. There’s nothing to drink, do you have any more?”
“Drink?” The old man twisted on the ignition, setting a large key ring jangling. “Some pop in the holder.”
“It’s gone, and I’m so thirsty, I haven’t had a drink in so long.” Bennie tried to think. “What day is it? I last had a drink on Friday.”
“Oh, so that’s the deal here.” The old man chuckled, and the truck took off. “You like to drink?”
“What day is it, is it Saturday night?”
“No, it’s Sunday night. So, you need a drink? Sounds to me like you had enough. Lord, what a stink, if you don’t mind my sayin’.”
“I need a cell phone, where’s your wife?”
“At home.” The old man pointed to the pile of clothes on the seat. “I got some shirts there. You wanna put one on? Cover your unmentionables?”
“Oh, yes.” Bennie looked down, and her bra was exposed. She sorted through the clothes in the dark. “I’m just so tired, and I can’t see, where is the cell?”
“Take the blue one on the top.” The old man steered with one hand and handed her a work shirt with the other. “So you been drinkin’, that it? I didn’t see no car aroun’. Somebody drop you off ’n leave you there?”
Bennie struggled into the shirt, willing her brain to function. “I’d really love a drink.”
“Hang on.” The old man rummaged in his door pocket while the truck cruised down the dark road. “I bet you and your boyfriend were on a bender, then he dropped you off? Or are you a workin’ girl?”
“What, no, I work in Philly and I need something to drink-”
“I never met a girl like you and I never been to Philly, neither. Now calm down, I know what you need.” The old man produced a flask from inside the door, twisted off the cap, and passed it over. “Wet your whistle. Don’t think the doc will mind. You’re already lit up like the Fourth of July.”
“What is it?” Bennie asked, but it smelled like whiskey. She held the flask with difficulty but was so thirsty she took a big gulp, then coughed. The truck turned onto the highway, and by then she had taken a second swig and a third, sucking on the bottle. She knew she’d get drunk but she suddenly didn’t care. “Do you have any more?”
“You got a wooden leg, lady?” The old man chuckled. “We’re almost there. Be patient now.”
“I will, do you have any more?” Bennie felt groggy and it was hard to think. “We need to get Alice.”
But the old man just laughed and slid the flask from her bloodied hands.