All the Pretty Dead Girls - By John Manning Page 0,1

where it was hidden. But she would if she had to.

The highway was wet and the rhythmic sound of the water being thrown up by the wheels against the car made her even sleepier. She was exhausted. It had been almost sixteen hours since she checked out of that miserable motel and hit the road. Outside of stopping for gas and a quick run to the bathroom, she’d been driving—and her legs and back were stiff. She could feel knots of tension in her back, and her left elbow was sore from resting on the car door. Her eyes burned with fatigue, her throat was dry, her lips chapped. She’d kept the window cracked, hoping the rush of cold air from outside would keep her awake. She glanced at her watch. It was almost two.

It can’t be much further, she reasoned. On the map Hammond looks like it’s almost in Mississippi. She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror and grimaced. Worse than how she looked, she could smell herself and it wasn’t pleasant—she smelled like sour socks. Her feet were sweating in her shoes. And now her stomach was growling. She hadn’t eaten since seven in the morning, when she’d stopped at a Hardee’s somewhere in north Alabama. She’d managed to choke down some sort of fried egg on a dry biscuit, washing it down with numerous cups of coffee. All she’d wanted to do was just put her head down on the table and go to sleep right there. But she’d forced herself to get a refill to go, and kept driving.

Got to keep going, Sue told herself, repeating the litany like a catechism. Don’t know when they might come after me, don’t know how much time I have, got to get there before they figure out where I’ve gone, got to get there while it’s still safe—if it ever was safe there in the first place.

She allowed herself to smile when she saw the big sign with the fleur-de-lis in the center, reading WELCOME TO LOUISIANA and BIENVENUE EN LOUISIANE underneath. She thought about stopping at the welcome area, but there were too many cars and trucks parked all around, and a quick glance down at her gas gauge, inching ever closer to the red, convinced her to keep going. She decided to take the next exit with a gas station, fill up the tank, use the restroom, and get something to snack on, maybe another cup of coffee. Her stomach rebelled at the thought of more coffee—especially gas station coffee. Maybe a soda, she thought. I’m almost there, it can’t be more than another hour, maybe I can make myself stay awake till I get there without more coffee.

After crossing the state line, she took the next exit, pulling into a deserted Texaco station. It was a typical roadside gas station, two islands with numbered pumps, a little food store for snacks, and restrooms. Through the rain she could discern Christmas lights strung along the outside of the building, blinking red and green and yellow. Signs all over the glass front announced sales on beer, soda, and the availability of Louisiana lottery tickets. The jackpot for the next drawing was fifty-three million dollars.

A lot of good that would do me, Sue thought.

She noticed off to the side of the station a battered-looking Toyota was parked, with bumper stickers plastered all over the trunk and rear bumper: YOUR MOTHER WAS PRO-LIFE. GOD CREATED ADAM AND EVE NOT ADAM AND STEVE. JESUS DIED FOR YOUR SINS. SUPPORT THE TROOPS. A metal fish symbol was affixed to the lower trunk close to the bumper and next to the license plate, just below a huge yellow ribbon.

She felt an inexplicable surge of panic.

Get out of here, get back on the highway, stop at the next station, there’s got to be a better place than this, raced through her head before she got a hold of herself again. I need gas, and I have to go to the bathroom.

Just be goddamned careful, that’s all.

Sue pulled to a stop at the pump closest to the store entrance and stepped out of the car, shivering against the chill in the air. The rain was letting up. She stretched—she hadn’t been out of the car in over four hours since stopping at a rest area—and her knees and back popped in places. It felt good to stand up. She bent over to stretch her back a little more, and twisted at the waist a