Briar
The hissing sound was loud enough to hear over the falling rain as the remaining air gushed out of the confines of the rubber. The tire deflated so much that the rim came to a rest against the wet asphalt and gravel. Squatting next to the rental car parked on the side of the country highway, Briar glared at the offending tire. Fat raindrops beat down against her head and shoulders, reminding her that the early fall storm was only supposed to get worse.
Yay, fall in the Pacific Northwest. Yay, a flat tire. Yay, a cellular dead zone.
A creepy, wispy fog had begun to drift across the fields on either side of the road. The crops around Rexville had been harvested months ago, and all that remained now were empty rows and husky stalks of whatever had been planted there, broken and askew. Briar wasn’t prone to dramatics, but even she could half-imagine zombie children creeping out from the remains of the harvest.
“I cannot fucking believe this,” Briar muttered as she shivered and stood back up.
Her fingers were stiff and cold through the supposed weatherproof gloves she wore, and several raindrops had managed to creep down the back of her neck. Deep breaths, take deep breaths, Briar reminded herself. This wasn’t the middle of nowhere, this was her hometown, or close to it. Five miles down the road, she remembered, there was a gas station and, hopefully, someone who would help her with the tire.
Rexville wasn’t a ghost town, just economically challenged. Nineteen years ago, there had been a tavern and a diner, even a library built by Andrew Carnegie—although in her opinion, not nearly enough people in town had made use of it. She doubted those things were gone. Once she got to town, her day would improve, right?
Currently, however, and for the past forty minutes, the road to Rexville was empty of vehicles, people—even stray dogs—in both directions. Sane motorists were not driving in the torrential rainstorms that were only expected to get worse as the day grew older. Sane motorists were already cozied up next to warm fires and drinking hot cocoa or, better yet, hot buttered rum.
She could do with a hot drink. If the Tainted Crown was still in business, she’d be heading there. It would be a first-time experience since she’d been underage when she left town. The zing of excitement she felt at the prospect of sitting at the bar was ridiculous.
Her shoulder ached as well, reminding Briar why it wouldn’t be her changing the damn tire. Chasing a perp and tackling him to the ground was worth the shoulder injury and she’d do it again if given the chance. But she’d only been cleared to drive last week, and there was no way risking reinjury by muscling the flat off and the spare on.
Tugging her phone out of her pocket again, she hunched over the screen, trying to protect it from the damp while she checked the signal for the fifth time. All she did was reconfirm that the flat had happened in a dead zone. She would have better luck starting a fire with the ruined tire and sending up smoke signals than getting cell service where she was stranded—except, she snickered, she didn’t have a lighter. The bars indicating service had not budged, and no matter how many times Briar tried, she still got the searching for service message when she turned the phone off and back on.
“Damn, damn, damn.”
The only choices were to get back in the car and wait until someone came along or to walk to Rexville. Briar was not good at waiting.
Waiting had never gotten her anywhere.
She was beginning to regret her choice to walk instead of staying in her relatively warm car when she thought she heard the rumble of an engine above the wind and rain. Reflexively checking for her weapon tucked into her shoulder holster, Briar stepped further away from the roadway and almost ended up in the ditch full of rainwater runoff.
“Crikey, get a grip,” she muttered, righting herself again and moving forward.
At first, she couldn’t tell where the sound of the car was coming from, but soon enough a black SUV emerged out of the now thick fog from the direction of Rexville. Briar waved her arms wildly, just in case the driver wasn’t paying attention. Whoever it was slowed to a stop on the other side of the road and opened his window.
“It’s dangerous to be walking out here,” said the driver. His hat partially obscured his face and Briar didn’t like it.
“I know that,” she snapped, already irritated with Mr. Man Splainer. Did this guy think she wanted to be out on a dark, rainy road? “I wouldn’t be walking if I could be driving. My car has a flat.”
“A woman should always know how to change a tire. It’s basic safety.”
Briar felt her nostrils flare and bit back the retort that she didn’t need his advice at this exact moment.
“Yes, thank you very much, I am aware of that. I also believe that everyone should know how to change a tire. Do you think you could call a tow truck for me?” She wasn’t explaining her shoulder injury to this backcountry jackwagon.
The driver peered out the window at her and a sense of familiarity crept up Briar’s spine. She couldn’t place him, but there was something about the line of his jaw. The grubby baseball hat sported a logo that said Tainted Crown and covered his hair and part of his face, and that made her wary.But on the other hand, now she knew the old pub was probably still in business.
“I could give you a ride into town.” The way he spoke, he knew she would refuse his offer.
“No, thanks. I’d rather walk in this lovely weather you’re having today.” She gave him a little finger wave. Right. Good job, Briar. Always smart to piss off the one person who could help you. Some lessons were harder to learn than others. But she’d rather piss him off than become a murder victim.
Mr. Man Splainer was quiet for a moment and the idling engine changed cadence, offering the promise of warmth if she just took up his offer to drive her where she needed to go, but Briar wasn’t changing her mind.
“The gas station is on the right, just as you get into town,” he said. “Jordan will be there.”
Something about how he said that indicated that maybe this Jordan guy wasn’t there now, but he would be. What was that about? Briar would cross that bridge when she came to it. If she had to.
Smiling with her teeth and repressing another shiver while she ignored her cold wet feet entirely, she offered up a, “Thank you, I appreciate it.”
The SUV roared off toward the interstate and Briar started her trek to Rexville again. The driver had seemed familiar, but that in itself wasn’t odd. Briar had spent the first seventeen years of her life in Rexville, she was bound to run into people she’d known back then and they were bound to have changed just like she had.