Page 39 - My FlipBook

T R A I L O F C R U M B S

on his brakes. The car fishtailed and slid to a stop at an angle,
the back tire bumping the curb.
Ash didn’t speak but hunched his shoulders a little higher.
Greta heard him loud and clear. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
“I’m almost on empty. Do you have a twenty on you?”
Nate asked Ash.
Ash nodded and dug in his pocket. They pulled into a gas
station a few blocks away. When Nate stepped out to pump

gas, closing the door behind him, Ash turned to face Greta in
the back seat.
“Not too late to back out and take the good ol’ Greyhound
with its not-bald tires. And psychologically sound driver.”
“There is something a little ‘stranger danger’ about him.”
Ash turned back to face the windshield. “He’s the type of
guy who’d either give you his last five bucks to buy lunch or

giggle maniacally as he cut off your legs with a hacksaw. And
not much in between.”
Nate slid back into his seat and smiled at them. “Okay.
Brace yourselves. Rebus hasn’t gone highway speeds for a
while.”
“Why did you name him…uh, her…Rebus?” Greta said.
“I don’t know.” Nate shrugged. “He just kind of looked
like a Rebus.”
So yellow Volvos from the eighties are male and named Rebus.

They headed out of the city in total silence. Ash looked up the
route on Google Maps and prompted Nate when and where
to turn. They were driving through Spruce Grove—a small
city right outside Edmonton—before anyone spoke again.

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