“Come on,” she muttered beneath her breath. “Where the hell are you?” She glanced down, fumbling with freezing fingers to pull her phone from her pocket. Keeping the umbrella upright and braced against one shoulder, she shielded the device, and as much of herself as she could manage, scrolling through the phone.

Nearly thirty minutes ago… Thirty minutes since she’d called the tow truck. She’d holed up in the back of the old Camry for nearly the full half hour, but had grown restless cramped in the back as she’d been. Now, though, circling the vehicle again, and stomping along the stray, damp gravel, she hadn’t yielded much in the way of a new solution. She spotted the old, pink ice cream cake box in the back seat. Melting, no doubt. The small, little silver gift—an action figure—rested on top of the cake.

The tire was flat, and she had no spare. Only one other car had passed in the last half hour. She glanced over her shoulder again and peered down the meandering asphalt trail, breathing softly. She held the phone up, examining the reception.

Spotty at best. Triple A had said they’d be along by now. A curtain of liquid puddled from the edge of her black umbrella.

“Damn it,” she muttered, glancing back down the road again.

Erica’s lips trembled from the chill air, and her shoes and socks were already soaked by the puddles forming on the side of the road. She tilted her head and the umbrella just a bit to glance at the road moving up the mountain in the other direction, but there was no sign of traffic from that way either. Slowly, as she leaned against the driver’s side once more, she paused, one hand reaching out toward the damp handle. Her fingers scraped against the metal, but before she could open her door and resign herself to another half hour of impatient waiting with a melting ice cream cake, she heard the squeal of tires and the wet whirring sound of rubber against asphalt.

She turned and glimpsed headlights arching over the incline. Erica’s heart jolted in excitement.

She glanced at her phone for the confirmation message from Triple A, but it was quiet. Maybe the reception had prevented them from contacting her. She raised a hand, waving it past her umbrella, feeling the wet droplets against the back of her knuckles.

“Over here!” Erica called.

The vehicle slowed, the headlights even brighter now, blinding Erica for a moment as it pulled up behind her broken down Camry.

Erica’s smile faltered a bit as she stared at the vehicle. She stepped onto the road just a bit, so the lights weren’t so blinding. It wasn’t a tow truck. No decal on the side. Not Triple A.

She frowned, stepping back toward the front of her car, feeling a faint prickle of anxiety mixed with hopeful relief. Maybe a good Samaritan had chosen to lend a hand. The front door of the truck popped open, and a voice called out beneath the rain, “Need some help?” It was a grating, painful voice, like some smoker from a commercial aimed at teens.