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inescapable
NATASHA ANDERS
one
Iris Hughes glared at the dead end in front of her.
“What in the actual fuck?” she whispered in disbelief, diverting her glare down to the satnav—or GPS as they called it here—on her dashboard.
“Please continue straight ahead for another 1.2 kilometers,” the robotic voice unhelpfully informed her. Ugh, why hadn’t she taken the time to switch to miles before starting her journey? She’d completely forgotten that South Africa used the metric system. But aside from that, she had more immediate problems.
“Straight ahead? There is no straight ahead.” Iris cast a strained look at the overgrown forest around her—the sun had set ten minutes ago—it was rapidly getting dark and the trees were starting to loom threateningly. She couldn’t afford to get lost, not at this time of day, on an unfamiliar road, in a foreign country.
“Shitshitshit,” she muttered, reaching for her mobile, hoping the phone’s GPS would be more forthcoming than the one in the car.
She peered at the screen, alarmed to note that the battery was in the red. Not great. Since the charging cable was somewhere in her luggage in the car’s boot.
“Genius move, Iris,” she groaned. When she’d picked the car up at the airport hours and hours and hours ago, she’d considered going through her bags to try and find the damned cable, but in the end had decided that getting on the road faster would be best. It now looked like that decision had come back to bite her in the bum. Her phone hadn’t been charged since before she’d boarded her flight some twenty-something hours ago. She’d used it only sparingly on the cramped, eons-long flight over, but despite her valiant attempts to save it, the battery—at only five percent—was on its last gasp.
Praying that it wouldn’t die on her, she hastily put the address into the search bar, and it immediately calibrated a different route to the car’s satnav.
“Bastard,” she growled at the car. It looked like she’d have to backtrack and take a turn she’d passed about half a mile back.
Still swearing underneath her breath, she put the car in reverse. There wasn’t enough room to turn around on this narrow, overgrown road, which meant she’d have to drive in reverse until she came to the turnoff. Thankfully, the car had a rearview camera and she periodically checked the image and the mirrors as she drove. The camera lens was foggy and didn’t provide her with a clear view of the road, and so it came as no surprise when one of the back tires hit something unseen and the car rocked alarmingly.
“Damn it,” she muttered, swerving slightly to avoid the front wheel hitting the same obstacle. The car was “limping”—for lack of a better word—along now, telling Iris that the affected tire must have sustained serious damage.
She braked and peered onto the gravel track in front of the car, looking for whatever had caused the problem. She winced when she spotted what looked like a tree branch just off to the side of the road. Ugh, it must have fallen shortly after she’d already passed this spot on her way to that blasted dead end because it definitely hadn’t been there before.
It was frighteningly windy outside—the strong gusts buffeted her tiny rental car even while she stood there pondering the wisdom of getting out and checking the tire. She couldn’t very well continue driving without assessing the damage, but the thought of getting out into the darkness that had enveloped her surroundings in such a short time was more than a little daunting. If one branch had fallen, surely there was a danger of more dropping. It couldn’t possibly be safe out there. Iris had researched the Knysna area in the Western Cape of South Africa on her flight over from London and knew that the area was populated by wild cats, caracals, leopards—and most fearsome of all—honey badgers.
What if there was a honey badger out there looking to fuck some shit up? She couldn’t risk it.
She put her foot back on the accelerator and inched along slowly, trying to ignore the flapping, grinding sound coming from the left rear wheel.
Crap, the car was starting to wobble badly. Iris braked again and this time switched the car off, before dropping her forehead and thumping it softly on the padded steering wheel.
She was going to have to get out and check.
“Dear God, please don’t let me be eaten by a wild animal, thank you, amen.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door, only to have it rudely snatched out of her grasp by the violent wind.
This was going to suck.
The wind tore at her clothes, snatched her breath from her lungs, and extended icy, intrusive fingers into any gaps between her clothing and skin.
It was ice cold. This was South Africa; shouldn’t it be warm or something? Why was it so damned cold? She felt cheated and indignant about this shitty weather. Were all those pretty pictures she’d seen of Cape Town during her quick online research of the area a total lie? So far, she wasn’t at all impressed with anything about the place. Nothing but gray skies, overcrowded roads, and stormy oceans.
Oh, and really rude, impatient drivers.
She could get all of that back home.
She glared down at the completely flat rear tire balefully and screamed in frustration. Annoyingly, the sound was torn away by the wind.
Jesus, had her biological father ever had to work this hard on any of his assignments? Because this felt like piling on.
She knew the car had a spare. It had been drilled into her by her dad—the one who’d raised her—to always check for that when renting a car, but she doubted she’d be able to get the tire changed in this crazy wind. Her best option was to walk while she still had enough battery power on her phone to follow the GPS.
She checked the map again… it looked like a ten-to-fifteen-minute walk. Probably closer to half an hour in this weather, lugging her small carry-on bag that at least contained a pair of clean undies. She could call a tow truck or mechanic in the morning and get the rest of her stuff then too. For now, it would be best to get to the house and shelter.
