To the Rescue
*
Be the hero.
As I frantically searched for locksmiths in the middle of nowhere, Wyoming, from the comfort of my dining room table, I wanted to be angry.
How the hell could Robert lock his keys in the trunk?
And how the hell did he not have the spare?
I leaned back in the chair, letting my head hit the wall. A set of keys. The room was quiet except for the buzz of the fridge. That’s when a glint of silver caught my eye, sitting on the island. I stared at the keychain—his mistake was mine, too.
The spare key was on my key ring, tied to a cute chibi version of a video game character I loved.
I groaned as I got yet another answering machine.
Tapping my foot frantically against the floor, I scrolled through my dwindling list of options.
Three locksmiths. One couldn’t come until Monday. One refused to drive that far. The third? Voicemail.
At that moment, I made a decision.
I would be bold.
I’d leave tonight and drive to Wyoming.
I’d save my man.
I stared at the blinking cursor on my screen, thinking something would change my mind. Then I muttered, “Fuck it,” and walked to the bedroom.
I overpacked like I was fleeing a war zone, not rescuing a stranded husband. I bolted toward the door, grabbing my purse and keys—hands shaking, heart thrumming—before I could talk myself out of it.
Wyoming wasn’t just a drive but an overnight trek through absolute nothingness. I wasn’t just going to rescue Robert. I was proving to myself I didn’t have to wait around to be saved.
So, as I talked to Robert, I was climbing into the car, and he panicked.
“Babe, you’ve never driven through the night.”
I grunted, pushing my pillows and backpack—stuffed with my laptop, books, sketchbook, and camera—onto the backseat.
“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”
“Bree…”
“Rob. I want to get laid in a hotel room in Denver. That won’t be possible if you’re trapped in Wyoming.”
Silence.
I pressed on. “I have the spare key, four energy drinks, and I can sleep at a rest stop when I get tired.”
“I can’t believe I’m enabling this.”
I snorted. “Psh, you enabling me? Sir, this is the most on-brand moment of my life.”
I climbed into the driver’s seat, put the car in reverse, and held the phone between my ear and shoulder.
Robert exhaled loudly. “You really don’t have to—okay, you’re already driving, aren’t you?”
“Yep.”
Robert sighed dramatically. “Please be safe and don’t speed.”
I smirked. “Sure.”
Two hours into driving across Kansas, I regretted everything.
As a kid, I barely left Kansas City. The only road trips we took were to South Carolina whenever my parents bought into the latest multi-level marketing scheme promising to make them millionaires.
Driving south was much more scenic than driving across Kansas during the day or night.
Listen. It’s called the Plains for a reason. It’s just miles of flat land, with the occasional hill so unique it gets a name—the Flint Hills.
I liked the Flint Hills. Sometimes, you could see buffalo roaming as part of a conservation program. But not at midnight. Not out here, where there were zero lights.
I could do this: twelve hours, one night, no big deal. People drove through the night all the time, so this was nothing.
I cracked open my first energy drink.
One hand on the wheel, I grabbed a stick of organic elk jerky—a health-conscious choice I’d picked up from the organic food store.
If I was going to eat meat, it’d better be healthy.
Forcing myself to focus, I let the steady drone of my audiobook pull me in, setting the car to cruise control.
“Kira shouted—‘Daan, get out of the way!’”
The car started to shake, the familiar “thump, thump” of the rumble strip snapping me back to reality. My hands jerked the wheel, my heart slamming against my ribs.
How long had I been out?
The road was empty—thank God. No semi barreling up behind me, no deer darting out. Just me, adrenaline, and the sound of my audiobook still playing like nothing happened.
Kira had either been about to kill Daan or kiss him—I had no idea.
I exhaled sharply, gripping the wheel tighter.
Okay. No more of that.
The first light of dawn crept into the sky behind me. I scanned the road for signs and saw I was on the outskirts of Lincoln, Kansas. Spotting a rest stop, I pulled in and glanced around.
I’d lived in Kansas my entire life. I had never heard of Lincoln. I was officially in the middle of nowhere, Fucksville, USA.
Sighing, I curled up in the backseat, cracking the window slightly. Pulling my hood over my head, I grabbed my pillow and wedged it against the door.
How did I ever do this as a kid?
But just like I’d drifted off to the narrative journey of June P. Beaumont, while driving, I was asleep again in no time.
The sun was in full force as I blinked my eyes open. I moved, looking up toward the window. I leaned back to look out the window above my head, where a grizzled trucker was looking in.
“Ah!” I screamed, sitting up fast. The trucker staggered back, hand over his chest.
“Jesus Christ, girly! You scared the shit outta me—we find bodies in cars out here more than you’d think.”
I raised a brow, refusing to roll down the window. “Me? What were you doing looking into strangers’ cars?”
The man looked nearly my father’s age, with a white beard and warm brown skin. “I thought you were a dead druggie,” he muttered, still clutching his chest.
I touched my chest, attempting to regulate my breath. I then said with a frown, “Well, I’m not using drugs, nor am I dead.”
“All right, I hear you. Do you know where you’re going?”
I nodded. I had watched enough true crime never to trust random men in the middle of nowhere when driving alone across multiple states.
He snorted and shook his head. “Well, be safe.”
I waited until he returned to his truck before climbing awkwardly back into the front seat. Then, I decided to get cleaned up and use the toilet at the next rest stop.
The sun was up, Kansas was behind me, and I still had no idea what I was doing. But for the first time, I wasn’t waiting for anyone to save me.