Skin Heat Read Free

slammed out of the house.
    The last step bowed a little under his weight, but he leapt clear before it snapped. Fast. Too fast. Should’ve taken some damage there. But he balled that up and refused to think about it. Instead he’d focus on doing something good. He realized he should’ve gotten a jacket, but he didn’t need one and there was no point pretending.
    Zeke covered the distance at a run, even with weariness weighing on him. When he ran around the bend where his driveway met the county road, he saw a car pulled off on the dirt shoulder. This time of night, with the headlights on, he couldn’t tell what color it was. The woman he’d heard cussing must have gotten back inside.
    He jogged toward the vehicle and then slowed, so he didn’t frighten her. Scents of gas and oil, burnt rubber and hot metal nearly overwhelmed him. Zeke took a few seconds before he approached. God only knew how he looked to her, probably like a crazy mouth-breather appearing on a lonely road.
    “You okay?” Clearly she wasn’t. But he didn’t have the command of words he wanted or needed.
    She was smart, cracking the window only enough to reply. “Car trouble.”
    “Call somebody?”
    “The battery in my phone died. Do you have a cell I could borrow?”
    He shook his head. “Wish I did.”
    Not that he had anyone to call, or the money to pay for one. But it’d be nice to help her right now.
    “Service station three miles that way,” he said, jerking his head. “I’ll go.”
    “Do you have a car?”
    Damn. He did. The truck might not run, after sitting for so long, but he’d left it parked at the farm. It hadn’t even occurred to him to drive. He’d wanted to run. The realization sent tension coiling through him again.
    “Kinda. Be back soon.”
    He turned then and headed back the way he’d come. The farm was closer. It made no sense that he hadn’t thought of checking things out in the truck. Maybe they’d broken his brain.
    It took him a little while to find the keys, and then a bit longer to coax the old Ford into motion. Eventually the motor caught, but he didn’t find driving natural anymore. He felt tense and scared, wrestling the wheel as he sent it down the drive. Sickness rose in his belly, and by the time he got to the service station, thankfully still open, he was covered in cold sweat.
    Tim Sweeney, the owner, recognized him, leathery face creasing in a smile. “Haven’t seen you in a coon’s age, Zeke. Where you been?”
    “Traveling,” he muttered. “Lady down the road a piece needs a tow.”
    “Scooter!” Tim called. “Mind the front. I’m taking the truck out.”
    A kid made some noise of affirmation and Tim headed for the parking lot. Zeke followed, hands shaking. He tried to hide it, though the jingling of his keys gave it away.
    “I’ll show you.” He got back in the cab and pulled out onto the empty road.
    The fear scaled up. He had no place behind the wheel. It was all kinds of wrong. He wished he’d just run for help. By the time they reached the site, he barely had a grip on his emotions.
    He flashed his lights, and the woman had the presence of mind to signal back, showing Tim where she was. Zeke turned off into his driveway then and brought the truck to a ragged stop before the farmhouse. For long moments he leaned his sweaty forehead on the wheel and listened to the knocking of the engine.
    Distant car doors slammed. Voices whispered in the wind.
    Too far away. I can’t . . . This ain’t possible.
    “Who was that?” the woman asked. “I didn’t get to thank him.”
    “Zeke Noble. He ain’t been back long.”
    Their voices bled away, swamped by nearer noises. He caught squirrels in the dark trees, and the rustling of bird wings as they settled in for the night. Crazy. How he wished it weren’t true, but normal people didn’t hear this stuff. Maybe he hadn’t been kidnapped. Maybe there had been no secret underground facility, just a mental institution he’d managed to