Free Everlong by Hailey Edwards

years. I watch television, read books and keep my eyes open. I’ve even dated a couple of times, remember?”
    I hadn’t remembered. “Humans,” I said, “from town.”
    Emma’s lips hitched to one side. “Yes, the owner of the hardware store and the curly-haired realtor who blew through town a few months back.” She laughed, but it was a tired sound. “Most of the demons are taken, and I’m half human anyway…” She scratched her fingernail across the countertop, picking at a spot of dried spaghetti sauce left over from the night before. “I loved Harper too, you know.”
    I tossed her a damp rag from the sink. “I know you did.”
    Instead of cleaning, she glanced up at me, tilting her head to one side and pursing her lips. “Are you sure you don’t want company?”
    “I thought about asking you to go, but I think this is something I should do alone.”
    Emma nodded. “Yeah, okay. Just keep your cell phone turned on and in your pocket. If you need anything…”
    I joined her on the braided rag rug, pulled her into my arms and squeezed. “I’ll call you.”
    “You better. It’s an hour there and an hour back. Three hours round trip if you keep an eye on the time. ” Her expression turned doubtful. “Just be home before nightfall.”
    I imagined her recalling all the times I’d become lost to my memories, burning away the daylight hours until I was forced to call her for a pickup. “I will.”
    She continued to frown. “I’m serious. You’re as blind as a bat in the dark. Plus the rain.” Emma’s voice went stern. “Don’t chance it.”
    I glanced over her head at the Felix the Cat clock mounted on the wall. “It’s seven a.m. I have ten hours before dark, give or take a few. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Chapter Seven
    The front tires of my truck had rolled over the invisible line separating Cleburne and Randolph counties when a loud pop rang out over my right shoulder, followed by a steady whomp, whomp, whomping .
    Slapping my open palms against the steering wheel, I guided the wobbling truck onto the hard shoulder of road. It coasted unsteadily to a stop in front of a green metal sign. “Welcome to Grove Oak” was the bold declaration. The city’s singular attraction was spelled out in bold print one line lower, “Marchland Cemetery, Next Left.”
    I pushed open the door and stepped out onto slushy gravel. A few token drops of rain anointed my forehead and drew my eyes up to where blue-black storm clouds spilled across the sky like ink from a broken pen.
    Glancing at the driver’s-side tires, I frowned at them. Both were plump and taut. Rounding the tailgate to the passenger’s side, I fought off the surge of annoyance tightening the muscles of my jaw. The rear rim sandwiched a mattress of deflated rubber, scored like a breakfast waffle, on thawing grass.
    Kicking the sagging rubber blob, I was forced to consider my options. During our first year in the colony, Emma had forced me to complete the requisite courses to obtain our new citizenship. Including a driving school complete with vehicle operation and maintenance classes. So, I knew how to change a tire . In theory.
    A muffled rumble of thunder deep in the angry sky forced a rapid choice. I decided I’d rather put my insurance premium to work by calling for roadside assistance. I slid my hand into the pocket of my jacket, groping for my phone that wasn’t there.
    “Hmmm.” Frustration growing, I circled around to the open door and leaned across the bench seat until the piping cut into my stomach. Most of the time I left the backpack I used as a purse slumped on the floorboard and that’s where it sat now. My fingers hooked the chestnut strap and hauled it up onto the seat where I dumped the bag’s contents over the fake leather upholstery.
    A miniature first-aid kit tumbled out followed by a nutrition bar, my billfold, a few feminine odds and ends, but no cellular phone.
    A rush of air hissed through my teeth.