He retrieves his denim jacket from where he tossed it while changing the tire and buttons it over his torn and bloody shirt. The guns are in the Galaxie, but he’s got his knife. He sets off along the shoulder.

He’s been walking fifteen minutes when headlights finally appear. He steps into the road and waves his arms. A semi charges out of the darkness like a rhino. The driver sounds his horn but doesn’t slow down. Jesse is nearly bowled over by the blast of hot wind as the truck passes. He fingers grit from the corner of his eye and keeps walking.

Ten minutes later another truck comes along, from the opposite direction this time. Jesse crosses the highway. Again, the rig blows by like the driver didn’t see him, as do two more that pass during the next half hour.

Time is growing short to reach shelter before daybreak, and panic nibbles at Jesse’s edges. More headlights. He stands in the road, waving madly. It’s a car this time, a dusty Gremlin. It slows and comes to a stop twenty feet away.

“What’s wrong?” a man calls out.

“I had an accident,” Jesse yells back.

He reaches into his pocket for his knife as he hurries to the car.

“Hold up,” the driver says. “Keep your distance.”

Jesse ignores him and goes to his window, which he’s desperately trying to roll up. He’s an old man with thick glasses and buck teeth. An old woman cowers in the passenger seat, clutching a little old dog. Jesse grabs the edge of the window and stops it from going any higher.

“I need a ride into Wells,” he says.

“Let go of the glass,” the old man says, still trying to turn the handle.

“I’m hurt,” Jesse says.

“Let go of the glass.”

Jesse yanks the door handle, but the door is locked. He reaches through the window for the knob. The woman screams, the dog barks, and the man stomps on the gas. Jesse is spun around when the Gremlin takes off, twirls and falls to the ground.

The realization that it’s too late to make it to Wells settles over him like a leaden shroud. He starts walking again. False dawn comes and goes. He keeps walking. Another truck barrels past. He doesn’t try to flag it down, just keeps walking.

The sky is paling when he spies an abandoned homesteader cabin. He makes his way to the windowless, doorless shanty and sticks his head inside. It’s not the sanctuary he was hoping for. The roof has collapsed, leaving only one corner of the interior covered, and there’s no chance of cobbling a shelter out of the debris. Someone’s burned it all in the center of the dirt floor.