Page 4 of Found By You

“Who hired you? Was this some sort of political stunt you’re pulling?”

The statements and accusations were so far from the truth, I wonder if they ever knew me at all.

I may only be twenty-six going forward with this whole single mom thing, but I’ve never been more sure of something in my life.

So, yeah, between the pure embarrassment, being ostracized from my family, and the dirty looks from everyone I’ve ever known—it was time to go.

Alaska is the final destination, and I’ve probably picked a crappy time to be driving across half-a-dozen states, a large chunk of Canada, and the mass of Alaska to get to Anchorage.

At least I’ll be in a snowy wonderland for Christmas. It’s the little things.

My car does a funky jolt, snapping me out of my thoughts as I start to lose speed. Pressing harder on the gas, the speedometer continues to go down. I’ve got the pedal to the floor, but nothing’s happening. Shit. I push the button for my hazard lights and ease onto the side of the road.

Throwing it in park, I kill the engine and try the only thing I can think of… I wait a few beats, then go to start it again. Click, click, click.

“No, no, no,” I whimper at the dreaded death click. I desperately try to pump my brake, hoping for a miracle, but…no such luck.

Story of my life.

I lift my gaze to the windshield to gauge where I am. Of course, there isn’t a street light, sign, mile marker, not even a car or house in sight. And it doesn’t help it’s freaking pitch black out. Are there even lines on this road?

I grab my phone, noting it’s just after nine, and attempt to refresh my GPS that’s been ‘searching’ since I stopped at the gas station over an hour ago. I wait, hopeful the single bar of service doesn’t—

No service glares back at me.

I’m officially dead in the water with no clue as to where I am.

“Shit.” With shaky hands, I grab my coat, pull it on, and get out. Shivering, I hold my phone up, trying for a signal to—at the very least—get my GPS back on track. I’ll need a location to give someone when I call for help. I pace the desolate street, taking minor steps left and right, my phone held high over my head.

Nothing.

Not a single blip of service.

Like an unwitting victim in a horror movie, I spin around in a panic as the wind picks up, causing a rattle in the trees. My stomach twists, and a wave of nausea hits me like a freight train.

I tug my coat tighter around me and take a deep breath, reaching in and popping the hood. “We’re okay, we’re okay,” I whisper, continuing to look around as I walk to the front of my car.

Not that I know a single thing about cars, but it doesn’t hurt to check, right? Who knows, I might get lucky for once in my life and it’s a silly stick I ran over or something. I push the hood up and stare at the engine expecting—what, I’m not sure.

Hot tears sting my eyes. This can’t be happening.

Breathe, Maci, breathe. Figure this out.

After taking in a few calming breaths with full-blown tears streaming down my face, I step around the car to get inside and warm up a bit when a set of headlights appear in the distance.

And they’re coming this way.

“Oh, thank god,” I breathe.

With my hazards blinking and my headlights still on, I stand beside the hood of my car and cross my fingers whoever this is will see me and stop. However, they don’t seem to be slowing.

I start waving my arms wildly, yelling out, “Stop, please!”

The truck finally starts to slow, nearly blowing right past me. It’s big, I note, black with a logo I can’t read written along the sides and a large yellow plow on the front. Thankfully, they pull off to the side in front of my car and begin backing up.

I stand by the hood of my car, shifting nervously from foot to foot before stuffing my hand in my coat pocket. My hand wraps around the small, chilled can of pepper spray I’ve kept on my person for the last three weeks. I’ve never had to use it, thankfully, but when I started receiving threats on my life from random governor supporters, it seemed like a safe bet. And I really don’t want to use it on this person, but being stranded in the middle of—who knows where—pregnant and alone… I’ll spray The Pope if he’s a threat.

Full on Mama Bear.

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