Darkest Before Dawn Read Online Free

every landmark. I’ll need it when I get out. And I will get out. We crossed the state line over an hour ago, got off at the Bremen exit, and now we are in the middle of butt-fuck Egypt with nothing around but cotton fields. For the past fifteen minutes all I’ve seen in front of us is the glow of the fluffy, white buds in the headlights. The guy to my left, whose name is Bubba— fitting —nodded off a while ago, after polishing off a six-pack. He smells like beer and sweat. His knuckles are caked with dirt. He’s utterly filthy and his greasy head keeps lulling over to the side and falling onto my shoulder. I nudge him off and sometimes he wakes up, grunting before slamming his forehead against the window and snoring.
    The driver—Bubba calls him Easy Earl—he’s only on his second six-pack and he’s swerving all over the road. Every once in a while the tire rides over the shoulder. A mile back, he took out a mailbox. You’d think I’d be scared—and fuck, I am—but not of his driving. I keep hoping he’ll pass out at the wheel. I envision this jalopy swerving off into one of those cotton fields, hopefully hitting a ditch and flipping over a few times. I’d climb out of the busted windshield and take off. Their drunk asses would never be able to aim good enough to shoot me, much less run fast enough to catch me. A few times I’ve thought about jerking the wheel, but I don’t want to chance pissing Earl off. Something tells me he’s a violent drunk and I’d catch a backhand to the face. A busted lip.
    “Aw, shit!” Earl groans as he slams on the brakes. Dust flies up around the truck as he shoves it into reverse.
    “What the hell, Earl?” Bubba snorts and shakes his head.
    “Missed the damn turn.”
    “Fucking idiot.”
    Earl struggles with the steering wheel before finally turning onto a gravel driveway. Pine trees loom over the path. The headlights shine bright, bouncing over the weeds and grass sprouting up between the sparsely scattered rocks crunching beneath the tires. Ahead of us sits an old farmhouse, almost antebellum looking. In its younger years I’m certain it was beautiful, but now the paint on the columns is chipped and weathered. The shutters hang loose, a few missing. There’s a single light shining through a dirt-streaked window onto the porch from the bottom floor. All I can think about is how much this house looks like the one in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre .
    The truck sputters to a stop. Bubba steps out then grabs me by the shoulders, yanking me out. I tumble to the ground, the cold, wet grass soaking through the knees of my jeans. In the distance I can hear crickets and bullfrogs. The sky is clear. I’m terrified, but all I can manage to think is that I’ve never seen so many stars. Funny the things you think about in moments like this.
    Earl rounds the front of the truck and grabs my bound wrists, yanking me to my feet. “Now, Ms. Ava, we’s gots some plans for you.” Earl pushes me from behind. Bubba’s still holding onto my shoulders as they walk me toward the front of the run-down house.
    Bubba snorts back some snot, clearing his throat with a hacking cough followed by thick sounding spit.
    “It’s gonna be a long, long time,” Earl says, jerking at my wrists, “’for you leave here. You gots to earn the right to leave, ya hear me, girl?”
    I say nothing, just drag in a stifled breath. The toe of my shoe hits the first wooden step of the porch and, suddenly, my legs feel like lead weights. I think I’ve been in shock for the past several hours. Something about being walked up these stairs like a death row inmate has made this situation all too real. I am hours away from my home—my father, my mother, my dead date. I wasn’t supposed to be home until an hour ago. That means for two hours no one has had any idea that something has happened. Unless, of course, someone stumbled across Bronson’s truck, but very few people go up to that park at night, and the ones