I didn’t want to stop, but when the low fuel light lit up on the dashboard of my car, I knew I had no choice. Gunslinger 66 was the only gas station I had seen in forty miles, right off highway 26. If it weren’t for the neon sign that read Open—well, actually, Ope because every few seconds the letter N flickered out—I would have thought it was permanently closed. The station was run-down, with clouded windows and wooden beams barely holding up the structure. The old Mazda2 Hatchback sputtered as I pulled up next to a pump. I let out a sigh of relief and shook out my hands. They ached from gripping the steering wheel so tightly. I had barely made it here, running on fumes and hope for the last mile or so.
Closing the door behind me, I secured my bag over my shoulder and held it tight. There was nothing in both directions except the black snaking highway, open fields, and the sun that was turning its back on me. In the distance I could see the mountains. They looked like anthills, but I knew up close they’d be bigger than the skyscrapers I was used to. A tumbleweed floated across the road. Honestly, if it weren’t for the movies, I’d have no idea what it was.
A small worn sticker on the pump read “Cash Only. Please See Attendant.” Of course. I groaned. I tied my hair back in a low ponytail and made my way across the gravel lot. High heels weren’t the best choice, my ankles wobbling side to side over the treacherous terrain. The door squeaked as I pulled it open. A fan buzzed in the corner, oscillating the smell of beef jerky and gasoline throughout the station. Most of the shelves weren’t fully stocked. I assumed they didn’t get regular deliveries way out here. Behind the counter stood a mammoth of a man dressed in dirty overalls. The skin on his face was a mix of deep-set wrinkles, cavernous pores, and thick scars like a topographic map. His neck craned in my direction, but one of his eyes didn’t follow suit. He let out a low whistle. “You ain’t from around here, sweetheart.” The man’s voice was thick like honey, but the way he looked at me was anything but sweet. I raised my chin and took a couple of large steps toward him. My heels clicked against the wooden floor. “What gave it away?” I asked, cocking my head. His one eye scanned from my head to my toes while the other was fixed on the front door. He brought his hand to his wiry beard and ran it down the sides of his face to the few scraggly hairs that extended past his Adam’s apple. “Just the way you look gave it away.” He twisted the strands of his beard. “Good,” I said. “I need sixty in gas.” Reaching into my wallet, I pulled out three twenty-dollar bills and slid them across the counter. He stood there for a moment, staring at me like he was trying to pinpoint where a woman like me would come from. “Chicago?” He grabbed the money and hit a few buttons on an old metal register. “New York.” The drawer popped open with a chime. “You’re far from home, miss.” “I’m well aware,” I said, watching his every movement. He placed the money inside and slammed the drawer closed. “You’re all set.”