Chapter Forty-Seven Ashley
FORTY-SEVEN ASHLEY
Ashley grabbed her purse, followed Malcolm out to his old Chevy, jumped up into the passenger seat.
Malcolm turned the key.
Nothing happened, just a barely audible clicking sound.
The eye of the crudely painted horse on the door of Room 1 watched them through the truck’s windshield.
“What the hell?” Mal said.
He tried once more, then leapt out of the cab and popped the hood.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!” he yelled.
Ashley got out and joined him, looking into the engine.
“They took the battery,” he said, dark eyes blazing with anger.
“Okay.” Ashley took in a breath, trying to slow the waves of panic she felt closing in on her. She tried to think. To make a plan.
“Okay,” she said again. “The office is closed and locked, so we can’t use the phone there.
So we walk to town. It’s not far. We go to that garage and see if they’ve got a battery.
They must, right? I mean, it’s a garage.
And if they don’t have a battery for us, we just use their phone and call AAA.
And no matter what, we call the state police. ”
Malcolm nodded grimly.
They locked the truck and started walking briskly toward town along the side of the road.
No cars passed them.
Side by side, they turned left on Main Street and went over the bridge. The men had all gone back inside the factory. They could hear the faint hum and whine of the machinery inside.
Clothespin-doll men making clothespins.
The streets were deserted, everyone either at work or school or tucked safely into their houses.
“Where the fuck is everyone?” Mal asked.
Ash glanced around, sure she saw the curtains moving in windows, shadows shifting inside the houses. “Do you feel like… we’re being watched?” she asked finally.
“I would say you were overreacting,” Malcolm said, “but honestly, at this point, I’m not too sure.”
Tim’s Gas and Repair was across the street from the general store. The door to the garage was pulled closed, the lights in the office out. A big CLOSED sign hung in the window.
Malcolm looked at his watch. “Shit, it’s not even five.”
“Let’s go to Josephine’s. We can use her phone.”
“Okay,” Mal said, clearly striving to keep his voice calm and steady. “Yeah, good idea.”
They continued down Main Street, passing houses with the shades drawn, doors shut tight, no sign of life.
As they approached Josephine’s, the front door creaked open and Josephine stepped out onto the porch. She peered down the street both ways, then stepped back, holding the door open. She beckoned for them to come in.
“Someone broke into our motel room, and now my truck—” Malcolm started.
“Not now, just get inside,” Josephine ordered. “Hurry, we don’t have much time.”