Will McIntosh - Hitchers

The Maserati leapt out of the parking space as soon as I touched the pedal. It occurred to me that Mick would look more natural in this sort of car than 1. I would have given it to him, if not for Lorena. There were yellow roses set on the dash. I wasn’t sure she could see them—I still wasn’t clear how closely things in the real world translated in Deadland—but I hoped she could.

From my new place it was only a ten-minute-drive to Summer’s apartment. The Maserati seemed even more absurd in her complex, surrounded by rusting Grand Marquises and trucks propped on blocks.

I rang the bell; inside I heard the pathetic buzzing thunk that reminded me the bell didn’t work. I rapped on the door.

Summer was wearing black jeans and a bright tie-dyed t-shirt sporting Elvis’s face.

“Hey,” she said, pushing the screen door open to let me in.

Suddenly I was nervous. Until now I’d always had a reason for calling.

She sat on the couch, propped one foot on the coffee table. “I’ve got to go to my new job in a half hour, but I’m glad you stopped by. I was going to call you. How are you?”

“I’m good. Mostly I’ve spent the past two days on the couch. Being lashed to a piling for four hours can be tiring.”

She shook her head, laughed.

“What?”

“I still can’t believe you did that. I wish I could have seen the look on Grampie’s face in that moment when he first came out.”

“Oh, he was pissed.”

“I imagine he’s still pissed.”

I laughed, but it came out as more of a pained grunt. I wasn’t sure I could ever go to Aunt Julia’s house again, knowing he was right there, probably on Julia’s couch, staring at the oil painting of Julia’s late, beloved Chihuahua Petey that hung on the opposite wall.

Summer sprung up, headed for the kitchen. “You want anything? I need some water. I’m nervous about this new job.”

“You’ll be great. Plus Mick will have told everyone about the role you played in saving him, so they’ll all love you from the start.”

“I guess. How’s the rescue effort going?”

“Okay.” I waggled my hand. “I thought I’d be spending most of my time trying to help people dump their hitchers, but a lot of the time they’ve got me coaching other volunteers. I don’t know how many we’ll be able to save. Time’s ticking.”

“I feel guilty that I haven’t stepped up to volunteer.”

“Nah. You put in your time with the dead. You’ve earned a little respite.” It was strange. Summer was acting like she hadn’t heard me tell Lorena that I was in love with her. I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting. A passionate embrace in the doorway? Summer and her daughter on my doorstep, suitcases in hand? To me it felt like my confession was a big, honking presence in the room. At the same time, as I sat there, I knew down to my bones that it was true, I was in love with her. I wanted to know if she felt the same, but didn’t know how to ask.

“So, Rebecca’s in school?”

“Yeah. It’s good to have her back.”

I nodded. “I bet.” I went on nodding, not sure what to say next.

Summer tilted her head, broke into a crooked smile. “You okay?”

I was tempted to just bring it up, but chickened out. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Even to me my voice sounded strained.

“Sooo,” Summer rolled her eyes to one side, made a popping sound with her lips. “There’s nothing you want to ask me?”

I looked into her eyes, searching for where she was going with this. She smiled, shrugged.

“Um, can you help me out here?” I asked. “There are a lot of things I want to ask you, but I’m having trouble figuring out how to dive in.”

Summer’s smile grew wider. “Well, I just thought you might have come over to ask me out. You know—dinner, or a movie. Maybe mini golf.”

I felt my chest loosen with relief. Yes, that was a fine place to start. “I did indeed come over for just that reason,” I said without missing a beat. I cleared my throat. “Would you go to dinner with me? With maybe a quick stop at the French Impressionist room at the High beforehand?”

Summer gave me a big, emphatic nod. “I’d love to. When?”

“Tonight, if that’s not too presumptuous?”

“Not at all. Tonight it is.” She put her finger to her lips. “No, wait, we’re going to Mick’s tonight, remember?”

“Right.” How could I have forgotten? Only asking Summer out for the first time could have blanked my mind like that. “Can I pick you up? We could go together.”

“Absolutely.”

She looked at her watch. “Ooh, I need to get going.” She held out her hand, soliciting a boost off the couch. “Walk me to my car?”

I took her hand, pulled her forward, holding my ground so we came face to face. I needed to get it out in the open, and this seemed like a good time. “What I said about you to Lorena? Normally I wouldn’t blurt out something like that before we’d even been on a date, you know? I feel a little weird.”

Summer took my other hand. “It’s okay, you don’t have to feel weird. I thought maybe you just said it to save me.” She shrugged, quickly added, “Which would be fine.”

“No, I pretty much meant it.”

She gave me a mock-questioning look. “Pretty much?”

“No.” I wrapped my arms around her waist. “Delete the ‘pretty much’ part. Leave the rest.”

This seemed like a good time to kiss her, so I did.

Will McIntosh is a Hugo Award winner and Nebula Award finalist whose debut novel, Soft Apocalypse, was published by Night Shade in 2011. His short fiction has appeared in Asimov’s (where his story “Bridesicle” won the 2010 Reader’s Award, as well as the 2010 Hugo Award for Best Short Story), Strange Horizons, Science Fiction and Fantasy: Best of the Year, and others. A New Yorker transplanted to the rural south, Will is a psychology professor at Georgia Southern University, where he studies Internet dating, and how people’s TV, music, and movie choices are affected by recession and terrorist threat. In 2008 he became the father of twins.

“A terrifying paranormal thriller with a romantic streak. Horrific and heart-warming at the same time, Hitchers raises the body-snatching tale to a new level. With intimate attention to his characters’ feelings, McIntosh sets a devastating dilemma with no possibility of a satisfying conclusion, and then—incredibly—delivers one.”

“In Hitchers , Will McIntosh unleashes a wholly original wave of terror against the backdrop of a surprisingly engaging tangle of personal histories. McIntosh’s prose moves fast and his story snags both the innocent and the odious in its ravenous maw.”

“This compelling story brings life and death to the surface and challenges you to question your role in it all. Will McIntosh’s Hitchers is an amazing journey that will remain with you long after you’ve put it down.”

“McIntosh’s vivid imagery of possession is not only disturbing, but a thrilling ride you won’t want to put down, and won’t forget.”

“What’s really enjoyable about Hitchers is the nice juxtaposition of something so sadly believable—a terrorist attack—and the utterly fantastic—the dead possessing the living. The main characters suffering from their afflictions are also admirable for their logical, almost scientific approach in investigating the parameters of their nightmare, coupled with a lot of eye rolling metaphysics.”