Page 21 of The Hitchhikers

“One of the bikers is following us,” she said.

Simon got up and stood behind her, looking over her shoulder into the side mirror.

“Did he see you in the store, Jenny?”

“I don’t think so, but maybe?”

Maybe he recognized her from the papers. Maybe the biker had called the cops from the store. Maybe he was now following to keep an eye on them. Maybe this nightmare would end.

“Speed up,” Simon urged.

Alice pressed her foot onto the gas pedal. The gauge went higher.

“Pass that car.”

“I don’t know if I—”

“Do it.”

She checked for oncoming traffic, then gave the RV another jolt of gas and crossed the dotted white line. She gripped the wheel hard, her forearms and shoulders rigid, her back as stiff as a steel rod. She passed two cars and then guided the RV back into the right lane. One of the cars honked, and she jerked against the seat. She must have been too close.

“It’s fine,” Simon said, but his voice didn’t sound fine. He sounded scared. He grabbed their map off the dash and quickly unfolded it on his lap, tearing it in his haste.

Alice ran an amber light, glanced back, and saw the biker.

“He’s still there.”

Simon looked up. The road was curving and so he was able to see the bend ahead, but her vision was blocked by the rig in front of her, the massive back doors.

“Get around this rig,” Simon said.

“It’s too long!” Sweat dripped down her forehead and stung her eyes. How was it possible to break into a sweat so fast? Her shirt was sticking to every part of her body.

“There’s a road that splits off ahead.” He tapped the map with his fingers. “We can turn before the biker knows we’re gone. Just step on the gas.”

He said it like it was so easy. Like they weren’t in an oversized vehicle that could fishtail or tip over with a strong gust of wind. Alice sped up, the flat nose of the RV almost touching the rig’s bumper, then she took a deep breath and crossed the center line.

Everything was so loud. The RV engine when she gunned it, the tires of the truck they were passing—with only inches to spare. She prayed she had enough distance between her and the rig and slipped back into the lane. She glanced in her side mirror. The rig’s chrome grille nearly filled the entire view, but she could see the driver’s angry face. He laid on his horn, blasting it three times so loud she felt it through her body. She hoped he would radio the police.

“When I say go, make a right.”

“Oh, God.” They were going too fast. She didn’t know how to drive like this. She didn’t even watch race cars on TV because it made her anxious.

“Now!” Simon’s voice cut through her thoughts. She hit her turn signal, eased her foot onto the brake, and guided the RV around the corner—and was shocked that she made it.

“Keep your speed up.” Simon had his window down, his hairblowing back, and he was looking into his mirror. “I can’t see if he made the turn too.”

Alice drove fast on straight stretches and slower around bends. She was beginning to relax her grip when she heard Simon swear.

“He’s behind us. Turn there.” Simon gestured to another corner.

She made the turn, the RV drifting into a stomach-dropping slide, her hands frantically spinning the wheel, before the RV straightened at the last second. They were on a narrow road, single lane, with rough, cracked pavement that seemed to stretch forever. No houses in sight.

There was a roar as the motorbike came up beside them, then a loud bang. Metal on metal. She looked at her mirror and screamed. The biker was hitting the RV with a metal bar.

Simon got behind her again, looking out her window, then he moved to the dinette’s window, then back. Jenny was saying something, but Alice was too busy trying to keep the RV on the road. Another loud bang as the biker hit the side of the RV. He was yelling. The words became clearer as he neared her window, his red hair whipping behind him.

“Pull over, bitch!”