How's one to know
I'd meet you where the spirit meets the bones
In a faith-forgotten land?

Sticky. That was the only way to describe this Georgia afternoon heat. I wiped a trickle of sweat off the nape of my neck and turned up the AC, which seemed to be struggling to combat the temperature outside. This humidity was unbearable and I couldn't wait to fly home to Portland in a few days. I'd spent a week in the northern Georgia wilderness on a backpacking retreat with a bunch of herbalists, and I'd learned an incredible amount from them, but I was ready to get back to the Pacific Northwest and my family. I just had a two-day conference in Atlanta, and then I could say goodbye to the south forever, as far as I was concerned.

I knew that I shouldn't make assumptions about folks based on geography, but I definitely didn't feel comfortable being a liberal from "Portlandia" in the middle of raging Trump country, especially with tensions still high from last year's election. Rural Georgia seemed to be shouting its rage directly at me as I drove down the bumpy country road and saw Confederate flags and MAGA signs, hoping for a 2024 victory, apparently.

I'd reconnected over the past week with several people who'd visited my herbalism guild in Portland a couple of years ago so I knew that there were lots of like-minded folks around, but I was pretty sure most of them lived closer to Atlanta, and I was still a couple of hours away and thoroughly out of my comfort zone. Of course, the heat, pantsuit, and high heels weren't helping with the comfort thing either.

I'd gotten used to my comfortable hiking clothes on the trip, but I was heading to a conference on juvenile law and I needed to look professional so I'd spent last night at an actual campground, paid for a hot shower, and done my hair and makeup that morning. It seemed like a waste since my formerly tamed waves were starting to frizz and I was pretty sure I'd sweated off my foundation within 5 minutes of coming down from the cooler mountain elevation.

I fiddled with the AC again, but it just whined and spit out more tepid air. I wasn't sure why I'd splurged on a luxury car rental; this thing didn't run any better than the economy sedan I usually chose but part of me felt the need to prove something to the other lawyers at the seminar. I was less experienced than most of them since I'd gone to law school after my kids reached school age, and while I knew I was good at my job it still felt like I was playing catch-up. I wasn't the young power-hungry law school grad or the experienced confident partner - I was the 34-year-old mom who worked her way through part-time law school as a legal assistant to a friend, and just kind of added duties to her job description once she graduated. It wasn't glamorous, but it was a job that I loved and a career that I was passionate about. Now if I could just project that level of self-assurance with my peers, I'd be golden.

I knew I was back in cell phone range again because my phone began beeping like crazy with missed text messages and calls. The retreat was strictly off the grid, and I was sure my family had sent me plenty of updates throughout the week so I pulled over to the side of the road and picked up my phone. Before I could pull up any messages, it began to ring with a video call coming from my husband. He began talking as soon as I answered, without even giving me a chance to say hello. "Ana! Oh my god, I'm so glad you're okay! Did you just get out of the mountains? Is it crazy? What's happening there?" My face must have registered my confusion because he relaxed slightly and started over, explaining that they'd been trying to reach me for the past couple of days, since an accident at the CDC in Atlanta where apparently some kind of virus had been released.

Details were still unclear, or being covered up, so no one was sure how it escaped or how it got into the bloodstream of the first victims. Once they were infected, people began biting others and even eating them. The science was still murky, but evidently, the virus could be transmitted through saliva and one bite was fatal. Once your body shut down, the virus took over and you were reanimated so you could infect others. They weren't sure if it could spread through the air or water as well, but at this point Atlanta was a complete mess and the military had locked it down. That morning they'd taken the additional step of closing the borders of the entire state, after an outbreak in Marietta that they thought came from one of the reanimated corpses that had gotten out of Atlanta at the beginning.

I sat in my car, stunned, and tried to process what the rest of the world had been going through for two days. My kids and husband just watched me through the phone, clearly distraught, as I tried to pull some thoughts together. "Okay . . . okay. Obviously I'm not going any closer to Atlanta. I'm not far from the state border, so maybe I should go there? See if they'll let me through?" My husband shook his head. "They're really freaked out Ana. Apparently a lot of folks have been trying to get out, forming groups to push through the blockades, and they've started shooting folks on sight. If you don't see any signs of chaos where you are, it might be best to find a place to stay around there, and see how things play out. I just don't think we know enough for you to try anything yet."

I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing, trying to calm myself down. I could see tears in my daughter's eyes and knew they were desperately worried about me and I couldn't let them see me freak out. "Hey guys! It'll be fine - I'm not hurt and nothing looks scary around here, okay? I'm going to find a good place to stay and then when it's safe I'll come home to you and I'll have a great adventure story to tell." My husband insisted on staying on the call while I figured things out, so I put the phone on the passenger's seat and pulled back onto the road. I hadn't seen anything resembling a town since I came down from the mountains, so I continued on, looking for any sort of hotel or bed and breakfast that might be willing to put me up.

I'd only gone about a mile when the car made a horrible clanking noise and came to a stop, smoke billowing out from the hood. I swore, and explained what had happened to my husband. We both tried calling a tow company but didn't get an answer, and I suspected most businesses had shut down because of the crisis. I could see a neon sign on building just up the road, so I grabbed my purse and suit jacket, locked the car, and headed in that direction. The building in question appeared to be a rundown bar named "Al's", with a beat-up truck in the parking lot. There were a few trailers scattered nearby, and a convenience store that was inexplicably closed, but the bar had an "open" sign, so I took a deep breath and headed inside.

It was, predictably, dark and dingy, and the door squeaked as I stepped in. The grungy old bartender looked at me like I had two heads and I couldn't blame him. I was pretty sure, despite not looking my best, that they didn't get a strange woman in heels and a suit walking in on an average Sunday afternoon. I tried to give him my friendliest smile. "Hey, I'm having some car trouble and wondered if you knew of a repair shop nearby. I'm pulled over just down the road a bit." He eyed me suspiciously for a minute, and then slowly shook his head. "Ya ain't too far from the highway, but it's Sunday. Ever-thin's closed on Sundays in any of the towns 'round here, 'specially with the outbreak. And you'd have ta drive a bit to get to them anyway. Yer best bet's Daryl I guess, if he'll agree to take a look."

He explained that Daryl lived in the trailer that had "a bunch a bikes outside" and then went back to stocking the beer cooler, apparently finished with the conversation. I walked back into the stifling heat, squinting at the bright sunlight after the dim bar and looked across the road. Sure enough, there was a trailer with several motorcycles under a carport that seemed to be in various stages of being rebuilt or taken apart. I could make out a figure bent over one of the bikes, and I looked down at the phone where my husband was still connected. "Well, wish me luck. Let's hope this 'Daryl' is friendlier than the bartender. I'm gonna hang up, but I'll call you as soon as I know anything."

I made my way across the street and toward Daryl's trailer. He straightened up as I approached, and watched me warily from the shade of the carport. I picked my way across the gravel outside the trailer and gave an awkward wave. "Daryl? Um, hi, my name's Ana Brewer-Moreau and the guy from the bar sent me over. He said you might be able to help me with my car. It broke down, a little way down the road, and apparently there aren't any tow companies or repair shops open today. Is there any way you could take a look?" I tried to look friendly, but I've never been particularly good at chatting people up, and Daryl didn't exactly seem thrilled to have me standing there.

After a moment of silence he put down the wrench he was holding and took a couple of steps toward me. He had a definite redneck look, with short, messy, brown hair, a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and oil-stained jeans. But his eyes were a clear piercing blue, and he didn't look high or particularly angry, just wary and a little irritated. He looked up the road to where I was parked and shrugged, and then started walking. I tried to keep up, but with my shorter legs and high heels, I felt like a puppy tagging along after him.

He had already popped the hood and peered underneath by the time I arrived, and didn't seem to notice me hovering behind him. After a bit of poking around he slammed the hood back down and shook his head. "Looks like it overheated. You check the coolant? Notice the thermostat goin' up or any lights on the dash?" His voice was gravelly and quiet, with a rough southern accent.

"No, it's a rental. I just drove it from the airport to a trailhead before I went on a backpacking trip, and then back down from there today. I wasn't really looking at the thermostat or paying attention to the dash but the AC wasn't really working well and then all of a sudden it just made a weird noise, stalled, and began billowing smoke."

He eyed my heels when I mentioned backpacking and raised an eyebrow and I felt slightly defensive, "I wasn't hiking in these. I had to change because I'm supposed to attend a conference in the city before my flight. And I didn't know about all the crazy stuff happening there until after I came out of the mountains, because I didn't have service. Honestly, I just need to figure out a place to get my car fixed so I can go to a hotel or something. Can you help? I've got cash."

Daryl didn't answer, but opened the door of the car and put it into neutral, then began pushing it up the road toward his place. I got behind it and tried to help, undoubtedly looking ridiculous and felt like an idiot for not paying closer attention to the way the car was running. When we reached his trailer I stood there wiping sweat off my face while Daryl started poking around again under the hood.

I sat on an overturned bucket, took off my charcoal suit jacket, and pulled out my phone, scrolling through dozens of texts from worried friends. I reassured them that I was fine, and looked back at Daryl. He was scruffy and dirty but his cut off sleeves showed off broad shoulders and impressively muscled arms and I unobtrusively snapped a picture with my phone. I sent it to my friend Liz with the caption, "Stuck in MAGA country, but at least there's a view . . . ," knowing she'd find it amusing.

When it became apparent that Daryl wasn't going to clue me in as to what he was thinking without some prodding, I asked, "So do you think it's something you can fix?" He shot a glare in my direction and straightened up, his eyes flicking to the tattoo now visible on my shoulder. "Woulda helped if you drove somethin' made in the US. This European shit ain't exactly my specialty. I'll need to take it out to be sure but it looks like yer water pump's busted, and I don't got a Mercedes sittin' around to pull parts from so . . .," he trailed off and shrugged.

I sighed, choosing to ignore the snide comment about the car, and wondering if he really knew what he was talking about. "Well, I appreciate you looking anyway, just to make sure. I mean, maybe it's not that bad? Could it just need coolant?" Daryl muttered, "maybe three days ago," and started loosening some bolts and I gave up on any kind of conversation. "I'm going to go get some water at the bar and I'll be back in a bit. Thanks for doing this."

I pulled my suit jacket back on and walked back to the bar, desperate for some cooler air and a cold drink. The bartender didn't look thrilled at my ice water request but I handed him a five and he shrugged and brought a frosty glass. I sat on the bar stool and pressed it to my cheek before fishing my phone out of my purse and calling my husband. I gave him the update, and I could tell he was holding back some frustration that I hadn't paid attention to the way the car was driving but refrained from criticizing. "Alright, so if you can't get it fixed, maybe this Daryl guy can give you a ride to the nearest town? Hotels might be closed but maybe there's a bed and breakfast that's not showing up online that would take you, and then you can find a shop that works on imports. Ask a local - they'll know more than Google."

My husband had taken over his parents' winery when they retired, and we lived in a little town in Oregon wine country that was known for its ecotourism so he was a big fan of talking to locals when we traveled, rather than trusting the internet. I spent the next half hour trying every hotel I could find, but they were all closed due to the crisis. I also texted every person from my retreat whose phone number I'd gotten, but no one answered and I suspected they'd all been drawn into the outbreak drama as soon as they got home and didn't have the bandwidth to deal with my issues. Liz texted me back with a "Yum - think he'd come to Oregon to fix my car?" giving me at least one thing to smile about in this incredibly shitty day.

The bartender just grunted and shrugged when I asked about a local B&B, clearly not interested in helping me. I hoped Daryl would be more forthcoming, so I sent a quick text update to my husband, finished my water and stood up to leave right when a group of rough-looking men walked through the door. I tried to squeeze past them but the tallest, with greasy black hair grabbed my arm and turned me toward him, "Hey hey! Lookie here boys - ya get lost on your way to the board room, girl?"

The group turned their attention toward me and I looked at the bartender for help. He was studiously focused on wiping a glass, clearly ignoring what was happening. "I was just leaving, can you let me go please?" I asked, trying for friendly-but-firm and mentally berating myself for never taking one of those self-defense classes. It didn't work - the guy just pulled me closer to him, grabbing my ass and pushing his face into mine so I could smell the alcohol and cigarettes on his breath. "No, I don't think I can do that sweetheart. I think you feel real nice and we want to get to know you better. Now why don't you come over here and sit on my lap?"

With that, he began dragging me to a booth where his friends sat. I tried to pull free but his hand tightened on my wrist and he glared at me while jerking my arm, "I'm not gonna ask twice, bitch! Sit down or I'll make you -" His head turned as the door to the bar swung open and I jerked my hand out of his and tried to get away. Another of his friends wrapped his arm around my waist before I could take a step, but their attention was on the door Daryl had just come through.

A guy with a shaved head over by the bar laughed out loud, "Darylina! Come to have fun for once? Hey boys, make room for my baby brother." I stared in horror at Daryl and tried to get out of the iron grasp that held me, kicking myself for thinking that trusting some random redneck guy to help me with my car was a good idea. Now he'd delivered me to his friends and I had no way out, and no car to get away with even if I managed to escape them. The guy holding on to me shoved his face into my hair and breathed deeply, rubbing his disgusting crotch against my ass and I felt sick to my stomach.

Daryl glanced at me briefly, apparently unconcerned, and nodded at his brother. "Merle. Guess you met my company fer the night. I ain't gonna share though, so give 'er over." The guy holding me didn't budge but Merle, after a pause, nudged my captor. "If my brother says she's claimed, you best let go." He loosened his arm and I pulled free, trying to get around Daryl to the door but he stepped in my way. "Nope. I helped you with your car, now you gon' pay off that debt." The guy with the greasy black hair laughed loudly. "Nice to see you ain't a total pussy, Daryl. Soon as yer done you send her back here so we can have some fun too."

Daryl didn't answer, just grabbed my arm and hauled me out the door and into the street toward his trailer. I tried to pull away but he yanked me closer to his side and muttered, "I ain't gonna hurt ya, just go along for a minute 'til they buy it." My heart rate slowed slightly and I stumbled toward his front door, unsure where this was headed. He smelled faintly of smoke, leather, and engine grease, and the arm around my waist was strong, gripping me tightly. Daryl opened the door of the trailer and pushed me inside, where the air was only marginally cooler but a fan provided a slight breeze.

He brushed past me and rummaged around in the fridge for a beer before turning to face me, a look of disgust on his face. "Practically have a sign around yer neck sayin' ya got money and yer lost, what the fuck did ya think was gonna happen?" I couldn't believe he was blaming me for the actions of some rapist assholes, his brother possibly included, and flipped from grateful to pissed off in a heartbeat. "Are you saying I was 'asking for it'?" I snapped. Daryl rolled his eyes and took a swig of his beer. "What the fuck ever Princess. Feel free to leave anytime," he said, flopping down on the couch and flipping on the TV. "Ain't gonna be in that car though," he continued. "Water pump's shot, like I said."

I swallowed hard and took some deep breaths to calm down. I peeked out the window of the trailer and saw that the bar parking lot was still full of motorcycles, so those guys were still around. I was pretty sure if I tried to leave on foot they would stop me, and the only way I was driving away was in a cab or with Daryl. I brought up Uber and Lyft on my phone, but I got a message saying all services had been suspended in the state. That left Daryl, and I really hoped he was just an asshole and not a truly bad person. I didn't know if I could trust him but I really didn't have a choice and I'd need to tamp down my anger if I was going to get him to cooperate.

It was already early evening and the sun would be going down soon. I looked around the small space at the dinette and kitchen, and the couch and TV beyond it. There was a short hallway behind me that presumably led to a bedroom and bathroom, and everything was cleaner than I would have expected. He must not have smoked in the house, thankfully.

"Look, I'm sorry for that. I'm a little sensitive when it comes to blaming women for the actions of men, but I realize that you stepped in and saved me back there, and I shouldn't have yelled at you. I . . . really appreciate it, actually. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there." Daryl didn't seem impressed by my apology, and flipped me off without looking at me. Lovely. I texted my husband, glossing over what had happened a bit so he wouldn't freak out, and let him know I was trying to figure out my next steps.

I cleared my throat and turned toward Daryl, "So what are the chances you could drive me to the nearest vacant hotel?" I asked as politely as I could. "I can pay you for your time, obviously, as well as for looking at my car." Daryl didn't turn his head. "Ya got a room somewhere?" he asked.

"Well no," I admitted. "Everything seems to be closed. I was actually wondering if you knew of a bed and breakfast nearby, or just someone who'd be willing to rent me a room for the night . . ." Daryl finally looked at me, with a smirk on his face that told me he thought I was an idiot. "Bed and breakfast? Ain't nothin' 'round here 'cept trailers and trailer trash. Folks'r freakin' the fuck out about the goons in the city eatin' each other's faces off and they ain't takin' in strangers so yer shit outta luck if you don' got a hotel room."

I bit my lip and tried not to make any snide comments that would just piss him off more. "I'm just going to make a phone call," I said tightly, and went outside to sit on the trailer step. I'd taken off my jacket again, but my sleeveless white blouse was soaked with sweat anyway, and my charcoal pants were smudged with dirt from pushing the car earlier. I felt disgusting, and I was scared and totally helpless in the middle of rural Georgia. I called my husband and told him that I didn't have a place to stay, and that "the locals" didn't have any helpful suggestions. There was a highway exit just up the road, but hitchhiking seemed riskier than staying here, especially if the guys from the bar saw me. He didn't have any brilliant ideas, but hearing his voice was nice and helped me work up the courage to go face Daryl again.

"So . . ." I began, closing the door behind me and swallowing my pride. "It's going to be dark soon and I need to figure out where to go. I'm pretty desperate at this point, so is there a place I could push my car so that it would safe to sleep in it?" He looked at me for a long minute and then said, "Ain't safe ta sleep in a fuckin' car, even if ya could manage to push it" before turning his eyes back to the TV.

I sat down at the dinette and looked at my phone, trying not to cry. I was a lawyer, a wife, and a mother. I organized large events for the winery on a regular basis, and worked on committees addressing major issues like criminal justice reform and homelessness. I should be able to solve this problem, but I was stumped and scared and a couple of tears ran down my cheeks despite my efforts to contain them.

"You can stay on the couch I guess. Fer a night. Figure somethin' else out tomorrow." I jerked my head up at Daryl's muttered offer. "Oh. I'm . . . thank you." I was taken aback. Daryl clearly didn't enjoy my company but apparently he wasn't comfortable letting me fend for myself with the group across the street, or the cannibals further out. Maybe he was secretly a noble guy?

I wiped my eyes, embarrassed. "I really appreciate that, and I can pay you." Daryl snorted in amusement. "No shit, I ain't doin' it for free." Okay then. Maybe not so noble, but I wasn't going to argue with a safe place to crash.

Loud laughter spilled in from the street and I peeked out the window. Daryl's brother and his friends were making their way to their motorcycles, though they yelled a few crude things toward the trailer before taking off. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm just gonna go outside again and make a phone call." I stepped out into the cooling air of the evening, sat on the step of the trailer, and took off my heels, rubbing my throbbing feet. I spent the next several hours talking to my husband and kids, texting friends and family that were worried about me, and hoping that tomorrow would bring some options for getting home.