David Wisehart - Blood Alley

Trevor didn’t feel lucky. “What’s the damage to my pocketbook?”

“Six-fifty for the timing belt. Another three-fifty for the water pump.”

“Water pump?”

“You need to get those replaced together. I got all the parts in the yard out back. Lucky thing about that. A car just like yours came in off the road last year. Totaled, of course, but the guts are good.”

“Anything else?”

“That’ll get you to where you’re going.”

“Cedarview.”

The mechanic punched some numbers into an ancient adding machine that spat out paper from a roll. “With tax we’re talking…twelve hundred, or near as makes no difference.”

Trevor nodded stoically. The cost was more than he was hoping for, but less than he feared. At least the car was fixable. The mechanic was quoting him high—Trevor was sure of that—but they were out in the middle of nowhere. Towing the Hummer back to Palmdale would take additional time and money, even if he could get a cheaper quote from a mechanic in town, which was by no means a sure thing.

Better to suck it up and get the job done now .

He could put the bill on his credit card and talk to his dad about it when they got to the hotel. The important thing was to get back on the road.

“How long?” he asked.

“Four, five hours. We’ll get you out of here today.”

The hours passed slowly.

There was little to do on this concrete oasis but hang out in the diner. They all had lunch, burgers and fries and a boxed salad for Claire.

Afterwards, Dakota and Ethan bought plastic water guns from the gift corner and ran around the gas station shooting each other.

Claire stayed inside and read some chick-lit novel she found on the paperback rack. On the cover of the book was a pink handbag. That was more than Trevor needed to know.

He spent most of his time with the mechanic, Darryl, who spun war stories of Iraq as he worked steadily on the car. When Darryl excused himself to go to the john, Trevor wandered out back to the auto graveyard.

The sun hovered on the horizon, casting long shadows. Trevor walked among the hundreds of wrecked cars. The strong wind whistled through twisted metal. He found a wrecked Deuce Coupe. Its frame was crushed and blackened by fire.

Peeking inside he saw a charred woman’s shoe with a broken heel.

He strolled around the front half of a school bus that had been ripped in two. The shell of the bus was rusted, but he could make out faint lettering on the side. It said PALMDALE.

That was Trevor’s high school. He had ridden in buses like this, on the road to away games and swimming competitions.

Trevor climbed onto the wreckage to watch the sunset. He stood atop the ruined hulk of the school bus, his back to the approaching darkness.

He heard the garage door open.

Turning, he saw Darryl step outside and glance around.

“Over here,” Trevor said.

The mechanic spotted him. “Whatcha doing up there?”

“Admiring the view. Quite a collection.”

Darryl nodded and looked at the colors in the sky.

Wind coiled around the wrecked cars in swirls and eddies. A dust devil formed, spiraled up over the graveyard, and was blown apart.

The mechanic said, “Gonna be a bad one tonight.”

“Yeah?”

“This devil wind. Screaming down the mountain. I’ve seen it knock a big rig clean off the ridge. Bang two trucks together like toys. Wicked weather.” He leaned against a demolished semi truck. “I kinda like it.”

“Blood Alley,” Trevor said.

Darryl laughed. “You been talking to Joshua.”

“The old trucker.”

“This is his route. Only he won’t drive it tonight, on account of the moon.”

“He already left, a while ago.” Trevor hopped down from the bus. “You don’t believe in the Highwayman?”

Darryl laughed again and shook his head. He picked up a rock and chucked it across the highway. “A ghost that appears during a lunar eclipse? Listen, it’s a narrow two-lane road. People get a little reckless. Come up fast on a slow car. Take a chance. Try to pass. Bam! Another metal carcass for my collection. I don’t need any Highwayman to stir up business.”

He tossed Trevor the car keys.

They went inside and settled the bill. Trevor eased the Hummer out of the garage, honked three times to hurry the others, and gassed up for the rest of the trip. The next station was in Cedarview.

As the tank swallowed gas, Trevor leaned against his car on the leeward side. With the sun setting and the temperature dropping fast, the wind seemed even stronger than before.

The highway sign across the street shook violently. Something snapped. The gale ripped the sign off the post. The thin, lettered metal sliced through the air, hit the roof of the diner, and skittered into distance.

Trevor heard an unearthly screeching as the chained-up ghost bike rattled and railed against the bent metal post, which was now angled nearly forty-five degrees. The front wheel of the bike rose up, spinning. The painted-white bicycle frame, shoved by the wind, slid up the post and over.

Briefly it flew, then crashed down on the blacktop.

Bounced and flipped.

For a moment the ghost bike found its bearings and pedaled free on two wheels, as if ridden by a phantom. But the wind shifted and smacked it hard from the highway, crashing the ghost bike into a Joshua tree. The rear wheel spun for a while, then died.

Trevor returned the gas nozzle to the pump and got into the driver’s seat. He leaned on the horn. Ethan stepped out of the diner first, followed by Claire. Together they dashed across the parking lot to the Hummer and hopped inside. Claire rode shotgun.

Ethan climbed into the back. “Holy shit! Did you see that?”

Trevor said, “Where’s Dakota?”

“Bathroom.”

“Figures.”

Trevor started the car, drove the short distance back to the diner, and idled in the handicap spot.

He honked again, then said to Claire, “Will you go get her, please?”

Claire unbuckled. “She’s freaking out a little.”

“She can freak out in the car. We have to get moving.”

Trevor saw the glass door open. Dakota came out and went straight to his window. He rolled it down.

“Let’s go back,” Dakota said, tense and teary.

Oh, god, he thought. “Get in.”

“We could leave in the morning—”

“Get in,” Claire echoed.

“But the Highwayman—”

Trevor, Claire, and Ethan shouted in unison: “ Get in! ”

Dakota got in.

Trevor backed the car out. “Buckle up.”

They hit the road at sundown.

From the passenger seat, Claire watched in the mirror as the lights of the diner receded into the distance.

The sky was deep blue, fading to black, giving the stars a chance to assert themselves. In the vast open space between the road and the far-off hills, Joshua trees swept by in parallax.

Trevor drove silently, while Ethan and Dakota squirmed in the back.

“Stop it,” Dakota said.

“ We could leave in the morning, ” Ethan teased.

“I’m not scared.”

Ethan mimicked the old trucker’s deep voice. “ One night, when the dark is quiet and the moon is full, and your sins lay heavy upon your soul… ”

Already the first sliver of Earth’s shadow crawled across the lunar surface, giving the moon’s pale face a blush.

She saw the reflection of Dakota and Ethan in the window glass. Dakota jumped and squealed. Ethan laughed, as if pleased with his own naughtiness.

Trevor put a hand on Claire’s thigh. “I’m sorry for dragging you along.”

“I wanted to come,” she reminded him.