Three months later

 

A bitch of a hurricane is brewing up. It’s been all over the news for the past few days. I was too wrapped up in my research for my new article to watch TV or read the headlines, but Mandy has no excuse for dragging me along on this road trip through Montana with dark clouds gathering above our heads.

Okay, maybe she has a reason…in the form of two tickets to see Mile High—the hottest indie band in the world. Too bad the concert’s taking place in Montana, which is probably the reason why it isn’t sold out. I mean, would you drive across half the country to see a pretentious bunch of delusional idiots dry humping the air and lip synching the life out of some auto tune while believing they’re the incarnation of Mozart?

Yeah, me neither.

But Mandy’s a fan.

Apparently, the fact that they’re wearing black carnival masks (and not much else) and no one knows their real identities makes them even hotter—or so Mandy says. She doesn’t just have the band’s entire repertoire, which I swear consists of all of five songs that seem to run on replay across all stations nationwide (you can’t escape them anywhere); she’s actually not even ashamed to admit she’s into them.

Talk about turning into a groupie and reliving her teens.

Imagine my dismay when my car license registration won two concert tickets in a big radio swoop. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but out of all the great prizes (think a new iPhone and a makeover with a celebrity hairstylist), I had the misfortune to win the tickets when I’m probably the only female in the world who wouldn’t know who they were if it weren’t for Mandy’s eclectic taste in music.

The moment I won the tickets, someone must have also bashed me over the head because I was stupid enough to tell Mandy about the win and reveal that I was considering selling them on eBay. Mandy almost blew a gasket and basically dragged me into the car to head for Madison Creek.

The fight was lost before it even began.

Which is why I’m here—God knows where—with the enthusiasm of a turtle at the outlook of putting my poor ears through the torture that’s about to befall Montana.

Poor Montana, too.

Forget the band.

Fortunately, the tickets come with a ‘one-week all expenses paid hotel stay for two.’ That’s the only upside of my prize, at least in my opinion, and the main reason I agreed to keep it.

I desperately need the one-week vacation before the boring work routine engulfs me once again.

I’ve no idea where we are, only that we’re hours away from New York City, when I unplug Mandy’s iPhone in favor of some local radio station’s playlist of Sheryl Crow and David McGray songs. We’re halfway through the second song when the news comes through.

“Storm Janet is picking up speed as she makes her way across western Montana. Residents are advised to stay indoors as severe, rare storm force winds with heavy rain are expected across some parts of…” Mandy switches off the radio.

Suddenly the gray clouds gain an ominous new meaning and my throat chokes up.

“A hurricane? Are you fucking kidding me?” I yell at Mandy, who’s speeding along an unpaved country road, past green pastures and untouched nature.

“Relax. It’s just a bit of wind, Ava,” Mandy says. “Besides, we’re almost there. Relax and enjoy the scenery.”

Relax?

I cringe and bite my tongue hard so I won’t say something I may come to regret later. Mandy isn’t exactly irresponsible; she’s just easygoing, to put it mildly.

Maybe even a bit reckless, which is what I usually adore about her.

When I met her in kindergarten, we found our friendship based on opposites:

I loved to collect coins and shells; she amassed clothes for her impressive doll collection.

I collected novels; she collected the phone numbers of hot guys.

Today, I’m a journalist; she’s an environmentalist lawyer working for a non-profit organization and needs to work as a club hostess on the side to make ends meet.

I’m a worrier; she reminds me of the positive things in life.

While I have a list for everything, including the contents of my wardrobe, she would get bored halfway through writing a list and always ridicules me for being overly conscientious, which she lovingly calls obsessive-compulsive.

“You should have told me we’d be facing bad weather. We could have waited until tomorrow. We didn’t have to depart today.” I shoot her a venomous look, even though she can’t see me because her eyes are fixed on the road, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on her thigh.

“And risk missing a day in a free five-star hotel? Maybe.” She shrugs. “But the thing is, if I had told you just how bad the weather might be, you wouldn’t have trudged along to see Mile High. We’ve wanted this for ages.”

As in, she’s wanted this for ages and sort of insisted that I come along.

I set my jaw and let her continue her little monologue.

A heavy gust of wind rocks the car. I wiggle in my seat nervously. “Are you sure the hurricane’s not heading our way?”

“Relax,” Mandy repeats. I swear she’s turning into a walking mantra. “Hurricanes can only form over water. Montana is far too inland to be hit by one. “

“Why were storm force winds mentioned then? What is this if not a hurricane?”

Mandy casts me a short side-glance. “A little storm or hurricane won’t stop us from having the adventure of a lifetime. For all we know, it might not even hit Montana. They said so on TV. We both know the weather newscast tends to be a little overdramatic.”

There, she just said the word.

Oh, my frigging God.

The wind howls louder, the trees whip back and forth in a wild frenzy, and the car trembles with the force coming sideways. Mandy tries not to show it, but I can see the whites on her knuckles as she holds on tightly to the wheel, forcing the car to stay on course.

I try to calm my thumping heart, but it’s hard. Hurricanes are unpredictable. Mandy might even be right about the last part, but I don’t want to be outside, in the middle of frigging nowhere, to find out. I sigh and slump into the passenger seat, keeping my eyes focused on the road ahead, praying we’ll reach our destination soon—a hotel near Madison Creek.

The tickets couldn’t have come at a more fortunate time. Mandy had been a fan for ages. She had also been talking about looking forward to a last adventure together. With my career as a journalist really taking off, Mandy figured we might as well see more of the world before we end up stuck behind a desk in an air-conditioned office in stuffy New York City. Not that I don’t like NYC; I’ve lived there my whole life and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else in the world. But lately, it’s been oppressing…filled with people and memories I want to push into the proverbial filing cabinet deep inside my brain.

That was the only reason why I agreed to trudge along.

“This kind of wind rarely lasts more than an hour,” Mandy says, resuming the conversation.

“I hope so,” I mutter and close my eyes, slumping deeper into my seat. “So, where are we exactly?” I ask for the umpteenth time.

“It’s a road trip, Ava. The beauty of it is that you don’t know where you are,” she says dryly, leaving the rest open to interpretation.

I watch her in thought.

Her lips are pressed together, and her grip on the steering wheel has tightened.

“Basically, you have no idea where we are,” I say matter-of-factly.

She shrugs. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m so not wrong.”

I wouldn’t be surprised to find out she hasn’t thought about a stopover to get dinner either.

I should have known better than to leave the planning details to her. Now, with thick rainclouds roiling and twisting over our heads, and the wind picking up in speed, I can only hope the satnav will guide us safely to the nearest town.

I groan audibly to communicate my displeasure. “You said you were taking a shortcut, but this shortcut is taking longer than the estimated time to arrival. How do you explain that?”

“Fine. If you must know.” Mandy shoots me a disapproving look. “We sort of got a bit off track, but don’t worry, we’ll get there eventually.”

I sit up, suddenly alert. “What do you mean by ‘off track’?”

Warily, I peer at the satnav, which is a palm-sized black device attached to the windshield, its screen turned to Mandy. Given that neither I nor Mandy are particularly adept at reading road maps, the whole purpose of buying the thing was to get us from A to B without the need for a map. I realize it’s been at least two hours since we last stopped at a petrol station. It’s been even more than that since we last drove past a city.

With a strong sense of foreboding in the pit of my stomach, I turn the screen toward me and realize in horror that all it shows is a country road surrounded by a huge patch of green and a message stating ‘no service available at this time.’ There’s no street name, no information on the nearest highway, no sign of a petrol station or motel. Wherever we are, it’s not on the freaking map.

Shit!

We probably left civilization behind a few hours ago.

“We’re off the grid,” I say, mortified, as I stare at the screen. “Mandy!”

“It’s not a big deal.” She shrugs again.

“How can you say it’s not a big deal? We’re lost.”

“We’re not lost,” Mandy protests feebly. We’ve been friends for ages, which is why I know she’s lying. She catches my glance. “As soon as the storm calms down, the satnav will start working again. I’m pretty sure we’re headed in the right direction anyway.”

“How do you know?”

“Call it my gut feeling.”

“Is this the same gut feeling that almost got me expelled from school after you suggested we paint the walls red as a means of protest against the lousy food?”

Mandy remains quiet, so I ask the most obvious question in a voice that can barely contain my anger, “How did this happen?”

“I took a shortcut.” Her words come so low I’m not sure it wasn’t just the howling wind gathering around the car that spoke to me.

“What?”

“I said I took a shortcut!” she yells at me. Then she adds quietly, “Or so I thought. And then the damn thing failed—” she points at the satnav “—probably because I forgot to update the software.”

“This is so typical of you.” I open the glove compartment to pull out the roadmap, but all I find are cans of soda and several packs of Twinkies. “Where’s the map?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

“I didn’t think we’d need it.” Mandy shrugs and stares ahead at the darkening road.

I laugh from the waves of hysteria collecting at the back of my throat.

Why would anyone ever take a shortcut in the middle of nowhere and consciously decide against packing a map? Then again, this is Mandy. Given that I’ve known her all my life, I have no one to blame but myself.

“There goes my backup plan,” I mumble.

“It wasn’t really that much of a backup plan anyway, given that neither of us has ever found her way around with the help of a map,” Mandy says, not really helping.

“But still. You should have known better.”

“What about you?” Mandy prompts. “You could have thought about packing one instead of obsessing over your non-existent love life.” The accusation is palpable in her voice. She’s trying to blame it all on me.

“I’m not even going there because I wasn’t obsessing. I spent the last few months working my ass off. You know how hard I had to work to get where I am now.”

“Where?” she asks innocently. “We both know that by ‘work’ you mean you were secretly obsessing about the fact that you shouldn’t have brushed off the guy who hit on you at Club 69.”

Oh, for crying out loud.

She’s trying to divert attention from her mistakes by annoying the living shit out of me.

I roll my eyes. “Get us out of here before we end up completely lost and living in a self-made wooden hut. I’m not learning how to set traps and collect berries to keep your sorry ass alive.”

“If this helps, I did pick up how to make a fire when I was a Girl Scout.”

I grin at her. “Yeah, your fire will be of immense help when we’re trapped in a storm.”

“Check the cell,” Mandy says, her face brightening at the idea.

“And call who if we don’t even know where we are?”

“The police, obviously. They could track us.”

Intentionally, I don’t praise her as I retrieve my cell phone and then stare at the no signal sign. “Dammit. No bars.”

Which isn’t much of a surprise.

We are in the middle of nowhere. There’s no doubt about it because ninety-nine percent of mainland USA has cell phone coverage, which is about everywhere. Mandy has just managed to find the remaining one percent, and she didn’t even have to put a lot of effort into it.

“No signal,” I say needlessly and drop my cell phone back into my handbag, which I then toss it onto the back seat amid Mandy’s toiletry case, several shoeboxes, and countless fashion magazines, all of which she picked up during our petrol station stopover. For the money, she could have bought at least two roadmaps. The thought manages to make me even crankier.