My one unbreakable rule was never pick up a hitchhiker. And never at night. I slowed with no thought of stopping. She stumbled into the slow lane and crumpled to the ground; I swerved left to keep from killing her. I checked the mirrors, black except the yellow glow-dots of my running lights. I pulled onto the breakdown lane, put on flashers, climbed down, and walked back to her. There were no Good Samaritans. She was breathing hard and raspy. I turned her over; her pale skin glowed a faint red in the taillights, increasing to a supernatural yellow hue with the pulse of a flasher.
A girl close to a woman but thin as an antenna. Nose a little too big and lips too skimpy to ever be pretty. I got her up in the cab on the seat half conscious and half sitting, and I closed the door quick to keep her from falling out. We were a hundred and fifty-two miles from Memphis.
I geared up to seventy. I tried to call but got no signal. I got the dispatcher at the state patrol when I was in range. I began to give my location. With a swipe of her hand on the toggle switch, she cut off the radio. She opened the door, pushing it against the wind like she was strong.
She climbed out on the step-up, one hand on the doorframe, the other holding the door open. I braked, but soft-braked slowly enough not to throw her off.
When I was down to fifteen, she jumped. I stopped, ran back. She was moaning. Her arm and legs bled from scrapes. Her nose was bleeding. She raised herself on all fours, like a little dog, and looked up at me. She stood wobbling a little. I wrapped my arms around her to make her stop and I held her for a few seconds before pushing her away at arms length.
