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“What are you doing?” Rhett asks miserably. “Gonna build us an igloo?”
This is not a time for jokes. I ignore him and it’s not long until I find what I’m looking for. I pick up the rock in stiff, red fingers and throw it as hard as I can at the car window. It doesn’t shatter completely but it does crack into a thousand lines leading away from the point of impact. Good. One more and—
“What the fuck did you just do to my car?!” Rhett shouts. He’s looking at me like I’m insane and not the genius that I totally am.
“What do you mean? We’re going to die!”
Rhett throws his head back and groans like he’s been stabbed in the gut by my stupidity. Then he reaches in his pocket, pulls out a key, and clicks the locks open.
My mouth drops. There’s a beat as molten fury replaces all the blood in my veins. “You were fucking with me?” I ask, aghast. “What— What the hell is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me?” Rhett barks. “I’m in Ohio.”
I get in the car but only because I think another minute outside may result in finger amputation. My entire body sighs in relief when I’m wrapped up in the heat’s cozy blast. Rhett gets in a moment after me, both of us still steaming in anger. Then he slams his door shut and my entire window falls out of the car.
We both stare at it for a beat. Then I turn, as calmly as I can, and say, “Serves you right. Why would you even joke about something like that?”
“Serves me?” he asks. “We’re both going to be driving another four hours with no window! Why the hell would you throw a rock at it?”
“I was solving a problem. I didn’t realize it was an entirely made-up one.”
Rhett doesn’t have a response. Or maybe he does and he’s just smart enough not to voice it. He puts the car in gear and backs us up, turning us down the side road.
Any of the tentative butterflies I felt out there in the headlights are completely squashed. I’m not easily shaken, but the thought of dying of exposure in Ohio still fills me with icy fear. Though that may just be the wind coming through the empty window.
How can one guy be such a massive asshole?
I can’t even keep my anger up for long. Soon it fades to a dull throb. I pull my heavy coat out of the back seat and wrap myself up in it, trying to block as much of the wind as possible. I’m drained, tired, angry, and nervous, and this is just day one.
At long last, our headlights reveal an old farmhouse with a light on in the kitchen. There’s a sign too, painted on a board near the road: Hotel — Vacancies.
No shit.
Rhett pulls into the driveway beside a rusting blue work truck. We both take a moment to look at the old house, at the decrepit truck, at the ax sitting next to a woodpile. Then we turn and look at each other.
His eyes clearly say, You got us into this.
I hope my own translate a firm decisiveness. I’m sure they do not.
“So…” I say after a solid minute filled only by icy wind whipping the car. “You wanna go knock?”
“Not particularly,” Rhett says. He peers again at the house. “I really didn’t picture dying in Ohio,” he says, as if it’s a foregone conclusion at this point.
“Neither of us did,” I say. “But we came all this way and I’m not sleeping in the car.”
“Can’t now. We’d freeze with the window gone.” He stops at a single look from me.
Rhett glances again at the house and then turns to me suddenly, a glint of manic fervor in his eyes. Before I know what’s happening, he’s taken my hands in his. “Liz. I’m just… I’m really glad I’m with you. I’m so happy that, despite everything, we’re going out together. Thank you for making my death special. My only wish is that someone will continue our meaningful, revolutionary task once we’re gone. May God have mercy on our souls.”
The sarcasm rolls off his words in rivers. I yank my hands out of his before I can let myself enjoy their warmth. Without another word Rhett drops the act and gets out of the car.
I watch him for a second and then sigh, grab my backpack, and follow him to the door. This was my idea, after all.
“I thought I was going to take the bullet,” he says when I catch up with him.
“If we’ve seen the same horror movies,” I say, “then it’ll probably be a cleaver. Maybe a chainsaw.”
“I just hope they save my face for the funeral,” he grumbles. Then he bangs on the door.
