Joan:

I glanced at Buckee (I so dubbed him since we met at a truck stop) out of the corner of my eye every so often. His expression was incredibly sullen, but I would bet that his face usually looked like that, even without the knowledge of being pursued by combatants looming over. I felt satisfied that he thought me naïve about the situation. Good, I prefer to be the one holding most of the cards. I knew exactly why Big Dic Energy was after me. I'd been expecting retaliation for some time. The managerial staff may be clueless about anything outside of bureaucratic procedures but they have an abundance of resources and a tendency to hold grudges. I've known all of this and prepared accordingly. If I hadn’t, I might’ve been more hesitant to get in a stranger’s care. But Buckee had no idea there was a gun in my backpack. I’d already made a preliminary search of the backseat to see if he was obviously packing. When we stop I planned to do a more thorough check as well as open the glove box. Instinctually I sensed that I wouldn’t find anything. Buckee struck me as the kind of person to keep a weapon close to him or not at all. My stomach churned suddenly, a combination of hunger and reading in a moving vehicle for too long. I closed my book and reached for headphones. I closed my book and reached for headphones. Crap, I really had to pee. I loosened the seatbelt and typed a grocery list into my phone. Two waters, granola bars, jerky, candy, double-A batteries, pocketknife, and (after careful consideration) a roll of toilet paper. Better to plan ahead in case things turn dire enough for me to hit the woods or hitchhike. I hit play on my classic rock playlist and glanced at the clock. Approximately forty-three minutes until we stop. Next, on AC/Dc’s greatest hits, Shoot to Thrill…

Approximately three and a half hours later

Only another forty minutes until we hit the motel 8. I’d forgotten how exhausting road trips were. The gas station had been a godsend and I managed to find everything on my list and then some, except toilet paper. It would be easy enough to steal it from the motel. The had been a portable first aid kit for sale, as well as some road flares, money well spent. I didn’t have time to check the glove box so I kept Buckee in my peripherals and stayed alert in case he made a sudden move to open it. The advice for all drivers held at gunpoint is to crash the car. It wouldn’t be necessary; Buckee just glumly stared straight ahead and quickly dozed off. Part of me was glad to have achieved that level of trust in a stranger. Another part of me was insulted by the assumption. Was my demeanor and appearance that lulling? Did he stupidly interpret my curt silence as schoolgirl shyness? I mean, come on. This aggravated me to the point that I seriously contemplated stealing his car just to teach him a lesson. I sighed and drummed my fingers.

“Now, now,” I told myself, “ no use thinking like that.” My logical inner voice was right of course. The notoriety of committing theft alone was enough to discourage me. Not to mention the fact that I still needed whatever intel this ignoramus had on Big Energy. I stretched my back and looked at the clock, twenty minutes left. Guess it was time to wake Buckee. I shuddered inwardly; something about the exercise of sleep was just too intimate to experience with a stranger. Maybe because it was such an exposed and vulnerable activity. I tried to think of acceptable ways to jolt him that didn’t involve touching him. Throwing something or honking was out, I’d settle for clearing my throat. He stirred on the third try, lucky for him, as I had been about to start shouting profanities.

He took a moment to regain his bearings, “are we there yet?”

I glanced at the map on my phone, “ten more minutes,” I answered shortly.