Ghost Road Blues (Pine Deep 1)

He jerked the passenger door handle, shoved the door open, and eased himself out of the car, listening to his body for signs of damage and finding nothing but a few blossoming bruises. He stood by the side of the car for a moment and then grabbed it as the cornfield swirled sickeningly around him. Closing his eyes, he fought for balance. It came reluctantly and slowly. He opened his eyes and looked around. The cornfield was still swaying, but now it was because of the wind. He wondered if he had a concussion. The last time he’d had one, it had felt like being buzzed on really good sour mash; a very nice feeling.

“Is the car okay?” Boyd asked as he popped open his door and crawled out.

Ruger studied it, lips pursed. “Nope. ”

Boyd came unsteadily around the car and stood by Ruger. They looked down at the right front wheel, which lay almost flat under the weight of the car. The tire was intact, but the ball joint connecting the wheel to the axle had snapped and the whole wheel had just folded under the car.

“Well, shit,” Boyd said again.

“Yeah. ”

“Never gonna fix that. ”

“No kidding. ”

“What’re we gonna do?”

Ruger barely glanced at him. “Your legs work, don’t they?”

Boyd gave him an incredulous stare and then flapped his good arm. “Oh, shit. Man, this is just the fucking top. Walk? Yeah, Ruger, that’s just great. Walk where? Back to Philly? Walk to New Hope? Maybe you want to take a country stroll to Lambertville, I hear they have a good brunch at the inn. ” He shook his head. “Where the hell we gonna walk to?”

“Anywhere but here. ”

“Yeah? Well, we’re in the middle of East Bumfuck, Pennsylvania. There ain’t nowhere around here to walk to!”

“Sure there is, Boyd,” Ruger said. “There’s always somewhere. ”

“What are you, a freaking tour guide? Do you know where we’re gonna go? There ain’t nothing around here, man!”

“Hey, shit for brains…you think this corn planted itself? If there’s corn, there’s a farmhouse. Farmers own cars, even in East Bumfuck. Maybe if we ask real nice they’ll let us borrow one. ” He grinned.

“Your mouth is bleeding. ”

Ruger licked his teeth. “I know,” he said softly, smiling.

Boyd opened his mouth to speak and then snapped it shut again. He turned, bent, and peered into the car to look at Tony.

“Is he dead?” he asked.

“Ought to be, the stupid fuck. ”

“Then why’d you let him drive?”

Ruger shrugged. “He got behind the wheel. ”

“Yeah, but you said he was fine to drive. ”

Ruger shrugged again.

“Maybe we should see if he’s, you know, still alive. ” Boyd leaned farther into Karl’s side of the car. He reached out and nudged Tony’s sleeve. “Yo! Tony! You in there, man?”

No response.

“Let it go,” Ruger suggested.

Boyd tried again, shaking Tony by the sleeve. Nothing. He tried one last time, and this time Tony lifted his head and shook it slowly, trying to clear his eyes and his muzzy brain. The lower half of his face was smeared with blood and snot, and his nose was disgustingly askew.

“Yo, Tony! We thought we lost you, man?”