Hitchhikers (Wolf Point #1)

-62-

I wake up with a start, my breath frosting into the air. It only takes me a moment to remember that Zeke and I pulled into a WalMart parking lot late last night and fell asleep. Zeke's still conked out, his seat reclined and his fist curled under his chin.

Of course, then I also have to recall that Zeke is now an orphan no thanks to me, and that I'm driving a stolen car that by now has probably been reported to the police.

With that in mind, I start up the car and get the hell out of there. Zeke mumbles something and falls back to sleep. What a stupid idea. We thought it'd be for the best parking at a 24-hour WalMart, where people wouldn't wonder why a car was parked there all night. But now the sun is up and everyone in the world must have seen us sleeping. And WalMart parking lots have security cameras. We should've found some deserted road and parked there, where no police cruiser would happen to drive by and see two teenagers crashed out in a car and run the plates.

We were damn lucky not to get caught.

I find myself on a highway, Route 2 East. Of course, the opposite direction I want to go. I don't dare try to figure out how to change direction and continue driving at exactly the speed limit while cars zoom by. Don't want to attract any attention to ourselves.

"I'm hungry," Zeke says a short time later.

"Got any money?" I ask.

"No."

"Me neither."

We're quiet for a time, until Zeke's stomach's rumbling gets too loud. He switches on the radio, and punches through the radio's preset buttons. Classic rock, heavy metal, pop rock, commercial jingle, more classic rock. "Dad always liked listening to the news." It's impossible to mistake the sadness in his voice. Finally he stops on a station playing Led Zeppelin.

"Leave it," I say. I always liked Led Zeppelin, those few times whoever I hitched a ride with liked classic rock. The songs all felt like they were about travelling, roaming, wandering... sort of like me, I guess.

About twenty minutes later a yellow light appears on the dashboard. "What does that mean?" I figure it out as I say the words. "Crap."

"What?" Zeke leans over to look. "Oh."

The gas gauge's needle points right at the red letter E, and the yellow light is in the shape of a gas pump.

"So, uh, we've got no money," I reiterate from our previous conversation. "Any other suggestions?"

"I guess we could steal some gas." Zeke shrugs. "I know how to siphon gas, if we can get a hose and maybe a funnel."

Where on earth would we get a hose? "Or we could steal another car."

"We could rob a gas station, like hold someone at gunpoint and make them fill our tank."

"How about we call a tow truck, then steal that?"

Zeke and I trade a few more suggestions before we can't think of anything more ridiculous and our immediate dilemma sinks in. We drive in silence.

"How long after the low fuel light comes on before the tank is actually empty?" I ask.

"No clue."

When the car runs out of gas a few miles later, we have no choice but to get out and start walking.

"It was a good idea, while it lasted," Zeke says.

"Thanks."

For a time I wonder if it would be better if we turned wolf and crossed the miles that way, the way Kayla always wanted to do, the way Kayla and I did during those dark days I barely remember until I woke to find I'd eaten a child. For the first time I wonder what the point of leaving that injured, helpless creature there was. Kayla said the other pack left the little girl there as some kind of bait, and clearly it worked – I showed up, didn't I? – yet the other pack didn't attack us. Were they watching, just trying to get a good look at their competition?