No Rest

Author's Note and Story-2

“I’m meeting friends,” Riley said.

“That’s nice. I hope you—”

The piercing signal of an emergency broadcast burst from the radio, cutting into Dee’s response. “Oh, that storm,” she drawled in annoyance. But the announcement wasn’t about the storm.

Authorities in Georgia are searching for an escaped convict from Arrendale State Pri—

“Look out!” Dee shouted, pointing ahead with frantic jabbing motions, the passing headlights from an oncoming car highlighting her face like an x-ray lamp, turning it skeletal.

Riley pumped the brake and stared out the windshield, alert for danger signs and seeing none. “What was it?”

“You didn’t see the deer?” Dee asked, incredulous. “Running alongside the road. It almost sprang out in front of you.”

“No, I missed it.”

“And thank heaven for that. If you’d hit the damn thing it would have put a real kink in your plans.”

“Mmmm,” Riley agreed. “Did you hear that radio announcement?”

“About the prison break? Some of it. The usual—consider inmate armed and dangerous, exercise caution, don’t pick up hitchhikers or stop in rest areas.”

She paused, and Riley glanced over. Instead of meeting her gaze, Dee looked out the window and said, “Guess I’m lucky you stopped for a pee before hearing that. I might’ve been setting up camp for the night and freezing my buns off.”

“Yes, it’s your lucky night,” Riley said, working to keep her voice calm. Inside, she was a zinging mass of nerves. She’d missed parts of the radio alert, but Dee hadn’t mentioned the one thing that stood out in Riley’s mind. Police believed the escaped convict to be heading south, toward the Florida Keys. That would bring him—or her—right through this corridor.

Prison breaks don’t happen often, but in every instance Riley could remember, the fleeing inmates had been male. No reason a woman couldn’t do it, though. It was an equal opportunity crime. Did Dee’s jacket hang so crookedly on her frame because it was ripped?

Or because one of its pockets held a weapon?

Riley swallowed and realized she was gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles stood out like luminescent pearls in the dim glow of the car’s interior. She forced herself to relax, to breathe in deep, honing in on the last hint of peppermint lingering in the air, drawing comfort from it.

Outside the windshield, fat white flakes began to fall.

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Gusts of snow-flurried wind shook the car and moaned past the door panels, pushing the little rental around like a playground bully. Dee pulled her knees up and huddled in the passenger seat, face hidden in shadow, while air from the heating vents battled against the invading cold, and lost.

Given a chance to do it over again, Riley would have chosen the airport Marriot and been snuggled under a fluffy duvet in front of a good movie by now. Instead, she gritted her teeth and steered carefully along the highway, hoping the rental car had a reliable braking system for icy pavement. Road conditions and visibility had turned treacherous in record time, and living in the Seattle area, Riley didn’t have a lot of experience driving in such a setting. But if there’s one thing her late husband, Jim, had hammered into her on the subject, it was to keep the gas tank above the halfway mark.

There wasn’t much to choose from along this rural stretch of road. Houses and business concerns lay scattered along its edge like beads on a very sparse necklace, but Riley pulled over when she saw a little two-pump gas station. As she rolled to a stop and cut the engine, Dee stretched, letting out an enormous yawn, and opened the door.

“I got to powder my nose.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Riley watched the woman start toward the shop entrance while she swiped her credit card and triggered the pump. She thought about what to do. She could drive off now, leaving Dee behind, and that might be the smart thing. But she had no actual reason to believe the woman was a danger to her, and if her story about the abusive boyfriend was true, Dee needed kindness and a helping hand. Abandonment was already an issue for her, and Riley didn’t want to pile on.

A bracing wind buffeted her, sending icy fingers down her back, and snow fell in a silent, steady onslaught as she finished filling the tank and screwed on the cap. The lighted sign above the shop door flickered out and darkness descended like a curtain, leaving only the dim illumination of residual lighting. A man in a red lumberjack parka exited and turned to lock up, his keys tinkling like sleigh bells across the snowy asphalt.

“I’m closing up and heading home before this gets worse,” he shouted. “You should, too!”

Riley ran across to meet him. “What about the woman who went inside?”

His brow furrowed. “There’s no one inside, Miss. Hasn’t been a soul come in all evening.”

He pulled the cord on his hood, tightening it around his face, and flapped a hand in farewell. The tires of his truck sent up a rooster tail of feathery flakes as he turned onto the highway and disappeared into the gloom.

Riley ran back to the car and ducked inside, starting up the engine.

…If anyone sees Jackson, do not approach or contact her. Instead call 911 to report her location. If anyone has information on her possible whereabouts, call the dispatch non-emergency number...

The rest of the radio announcement faded into oblivion for Riley as she focused on one salient fact. The escapee was a woman. Whether or not Dee was the armed and dangerous fugitive, it was time to contact the police. Riley scooped the cell phone from her purse and dialed 911. It rang for a long time, and Riley realized the system was likely overtaxed between the snowstorm and the prison break. At last, someone picked up her call.

“911. What is your emergency?”

“I’m at a gas station on Highway—”

“I’m sorry, please hold.”

Riley bit her lip and looked out at the crust of snow forming on her windshield. As she activated the wipers to brush it away, a sharp double tap vibrated the window beside her, startling a scream from her throat and cranking her pulse into the heart attack range. She turned to see a figure holding a flashlight and wearing a badge. The police.

Shaking with relief, Riley lowered the window. A woman officer in uniform blues and a heavy coat, hair pulled back beneath a dark, knit cap, switched off the flashlight and tucked it into a pocket. Before the glass was even half down, the officer spoke, her tone commanding.

“We’ve got an emergency, ma’am, and I’m requesting a ride into the station. My patrol car went off the road, and I’m unable to reach dispatch.”

Before Riley could utter a single word, the cop circled the car and stood at the passenger door. She stooped and looked in at Riley.

“Please unlock the door, ma’am.” she shouted through the glass.

Riley did.

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Snowflakes fluttered across the windshield, matching the flurry of butterflies in Riley’s stomach and making the world outside look like a snow globe in the hands of a two-year old. Riley made no move to shift out of neutral.

“Not supposed to snow like this in Georgia,” said the cop. “We’re spitting distance from Florida. Go figure.” She made an impatient gesture. “Let’s roll.”

The police woman’s coat gaped open, and Riley saw the butt end of a gun. It gave her an uneasy feeling, making her feel trapped in the confined space with an instrument that could kill by the tiny motion of one finger.

Reading the name patch stitched above the uniform breast pocket—Pylican—Riley said, “When I pull out onto that road, Officer Pylican, I’ll need all my concentration to navigate the mess out there, so I want to tell you this now. I think I may have seen the escaped prisoner.”

“You spotted Kim Jackson?” Her voice rang sharp in the stillness of the car. “Did you call it in?”

“I tried, but 911 put me on hold.”

The muscles in the cop’s jaw bunched as she gave a curt nod. “Everyone’s understaffed tonight. Where’d you see Jackson?”

“Right here. If the woman I saw was the prisoner. I can’t say for sure, but some of her behavior struck me as suspicious. She told me she was going to the restroom and then she just vanished.”

“All the more reason to get to the station and pass on that info.” The cop slapped her palm against the dashboard. “Let’s go.”

Riley felt a mix of relief and regret. She’d passed on what she knew, and the ball was out of her court. But she was savvy enough to realize she wouldn’t make it far past the police station tonight. When she delivered Officer Pylican, she’d be asked to fill out a report, make a statement, or whatever procedure applied. She watched her chances of reaching the training facility on time dwindle down to dregs.

Resigned, she shifted into drive and pulled carefully forward, testing the icy surface. As she turned the tires toward the road, her headlights swept across the snowy terrain, picking out a moving shape in the storm. The figure’s head jerked up, staring right into the glare, holding up one arm to screen her face. It was Dee.

And she was dragging a body.

“What the hell?” Officer Pylican leaned forward, squinting through the windshield. Riley pressed the brakes, and the car skidded to a halt just short of a ditch. The cop leaped out, gun drawn, and leveled the barrel in Dee’s direction. “Drop the body and keep your hands out to the side where I can see them,” she shouted.

Riley didn’t know if the body acted as a burden or a shield for Dee, but she dropped it as instructed, and that’s where her compliance ended. She turned and ran, disappearing amid the swirling snow as Officer Pylican fired into the night.

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Without thinking, Riley switched off the engine and left the headlights burning to illuminate the scene. She ran to the abandoned body and knelt to examine the man, her hands shaking. He’d been stripped to his underwear and stabbed in several places, but shallow, ragged breaths still came and went between his blue-tinged lips.

“The prisoner must have attacked him and taken his clothes,” the cop said.

Before Riley could respond, the officer turned back toward the car. “Put pressure on those wounds,” she called. “I’ll try again to reach someone.”

She ran to the car, leaving Riley to tend the wounded man. She unwound the scarf from her neck and fastened it tightly around the man’s trunk, pressing against a gash in his side. Through it all, he was unresponsive.

“Still nothing,” Pylican shouted. “Stay with him!”

Riley watched as the officer took off in Dee’s direction, her figure quickly swallowed by snow and darkness. Something about the situation tugged at the edge of her consciousness, something that didn’t fit, but she couldn’t bring it to the surface. Very little had happened during the evening to fit any expected pattern, so picking out a single anomaly seemed unlikely to help.

She shrugged out of her long, quilted coat. The wind chilled her in an instant, sapping warmth and energy from her body. Spreading the coat on a blanket of snow, Riley rolled the man onto it, kneeling to tuck his arms into the sleeves. She noticed he had several tattoos—a small dragon, a multi-colored geometric design, and a goofy-looking bird with a big bill. At least the authorities would have something by which to identify the body.

If he didn’t make it.

Determined to do what she could to avoid that outcome, Riley zipped the coat shut, pricking her finger once more on the raw barb of broken metal. She hardly noticed as she grabbed hold of the fabric and started sliding the bundle across the snow toward the car. She paused to access her suitcase in the trunk, pulling on a sweater and a hooded sweatshirt, feeling a small degree of relief from the bitter cold.