“Kyle, stop!” I yelled, running after the truck. “This isn’t funny!”
My husband remained at the wheel while his brothers, Brad and Chase, leaned out of the windows with their phones held high, recording my panic.
“Good luck, Lena!” Chase shouted. “See you in 300 miles!”
Then the truck disappeared.
I stood alone by a nearly abandoned gas station, waiting for them to return. I kept telling myself it was just another silly joke and that Kyle would soon be back with that youthful smile that had once made me trust him.
But the road remained empty.
The building was called Cactus Jack’s Last Chance Gas Station. A faded sign warned that the next gas station was eighty-seven miles away. Beyond the single pump and the small convenience store, there was nothing but heat, desert scrub, and distant mountains.
Then I remembered that my purse, wallet, and phone were inside the truck.
