And, well, the enemy of my enemy was my friend.
I wasn’t typically someone who would reach out for help. But for the first time—maybe in my whole life—I was fragile, vulnerable.
And what did it matter if I had help, so long as I got what I wanted out of this whole thing in the end?
I reached for my phone and typed in the town that had been on the bikers’ rockers.
Shady Valley.
It was a town over in Inyo County, right in the shadow of the Death Valley mountains. Almost four hours from where the drop had been. Nearly five from where I’d been living.
A long drive.
But doable.
Once I was there, I could find my way to a clinic or hospital and get a new prescription for insulin. Then figure out the whole sleeping situation.
“Okay. Mama needs to get something to eat. Then I can feed you. And we can go to the rental place.”
Without insulin, I had to be extra careful about what I was eating. My long-acting medication would (hopefully) prevent any crazy spikes in the meantime, but I wanted to be extra careful.
So we left the coffee place and went to a restaurant, where I got myself an egg and cheese meal and a side of breakfast ham as a special treat for Sugar.
After that, we walked to the moving truck place.
An hour later, all our belongings were in the back with my motorcycle, and Sugar and I were in the front, on the way to some tiny little nowhere town.
“You’re doing good,” I told Sugar as I reached over to pet her.
I was sure cars had been some part of her training, but she hadn’t been in one since I’d gotten her, and I’d been worried she might get anxious.
I should have known better.
That was what made service dogs so valuable—and so expensive. They were personality tested to be calm and non-reactive as well as to obey commands and do their jobs. Nothing bothered her. The closest she got to being hyped up was when a squirrel was teasing her by playing too close to where she was relaxing.
I reached for the radio, turning it up, hoping to drown out the thoughts that were getting louder with each passing mile.
But short of hurting Sugar’s ears with the volume, there was no quieting all the concerns and insecurities about reaching out to some unknown club for assistance.
All alone.
No backup.
Sure, I still had a few guns. Some mace. A knife or two. But none of that would help me if these guys turned on me.
“Stop,” I grumbled at myself when my GPS told me that Shady Valley was my next turn.
Nothing was going to happen.
I’dsavedone of their lives.
They wouldn’t attack me.
They might be suspicious and curious. They might have a lot of questions for me. But they wouldn’t hurt me after what I’d done.
At least that was what I was forcing myself to believe as I drove down the center street of a quaint little small town lined with mom-and-pop shops. I clocked a gym, diner, pub, pool hall, martial arts studio, and a stationary store.
Though there were more empty buildings than occupied ones.
