Page 4 of Kane

I look behind me, but I am alone on the highway.

I made it.

I escaped.

I listen to rock music and drive into the blood-red sun.

I am free!

Then, disaster. The engine coughs, dies…the Monster coasts, slowing.

“No, no, no!” I press the gas pedal to the floor, but nothing happens.

I guide the monstrous beast off the road onto the shoulder, where it drifts to a stop. I press the brake, push the ignition button.

Nothing.

“No! No!” I shout it again in Hindi, just for good measure. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” This in English, and I slam my palms against the steering wheel, fighting tears. “SHIT!” In Hindi.

I collect myself.

“I am a smart woman. I can figure this out.” I say this to the Monster. “I will not be collected and returned like a runaway dog.”

I sit in the car for a long time, trying to figure out what I am going to do. I watched one of Pappa’s drivers open the hood, look at the engine, do something, and then the car started. Of course, that was one of Pappa’s old cars, a Mercedes convertible older than I am by almost double.

Perhaps if I look at the engine, I will understand why it stopped working. Worth a shot, I think. After some fumbling and hunting, I find a little lever which, when I pull it, causes the hood to pop up. I climb down from the belly of the Monster and go to the front. Pull up on the hood, but nothing happens. It is stuck. Try again. Nothing.

“Open, you stupid thing!” I snap, smacking the hood.

The driver had reached into the gap of the partially opened hood; perhaps there is a catch, or a lever. Aha! I find it, and the heavy expanse of white metal lifts. I stare into the mouth of the Monster, and all I see is a tangled mess of tubes, bits of metal, wires, and a large flat part in the middle.

“What am I meant to be looking at?” I ask the Monster.

The Monster doesn’t answer. Neither does the desert around me.

“You know what?” I snap, closing the hood, “To hell with you. I will walk. It cannot be that far. And anyway, it would be better to die out here than go back and marry that…that man.”

I go to the driver’s door, thinking to take the key fob, but I realize it is not my car, it has stopped working, and also I do not care if someone steals it. Serves Pappa right for trying to force me to marry Jiwan.

So, I leave the key. There is, however, a liter bottle of water in the cupholder, unopened. It is a desert, after all, so I take it.

The headlights turn off when I’m a dozen angry steps away from the Monster.

Which, I realize, was all that was holding back the darkness. As I walk a few more steps, I begin to question the wisdom of my decision—it isverydark. Very still. Very quiet. And, oddly for a desert, cold.

I lift my chin, force away my fear at the darkness and the silence and the cold. “I am Anjalee Sharma,” I tell the night. “I am not afraid.” I do not believe myself.

It is very,verydark. And thisisa desert, so who knows what manner of creature lives out here. I do not think there are lions or tigers, but I think perhaps there are wolves or coyotes or some such.

Snakes, certainly.

Disgusting insects, also.

The farther I get into the dark, away from the Monster, the more my fear bubbles up, until it’s hot, thick, almost frantic, and smashing against my teeth and my throat.

“Hey, lady.” A voice, in the shadows. Close. The voice is smooth as silk, innately, primally masculine. Not precisely deep, but unmistakably male.

I scream, whirling around, heart smashing in my chest, pounding viciously hard. “Who is there? Show yourself!”