So far, Rachelle Allen and Gretchen Hargis have hit the road in "old reliable", Hargis's 2005 Chevy Suburban. After a breakdown on a less traveled road, and a storm approaching, things look dire for the women. That is until help arrives.

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Once I have collected myself, I walk over to where Rachelle stands, sipping her water and looking at the countryside. I need to approach this delicately, I mean, I really don't know her that well. On Fanstory, heck, we are great together, but this is real life. Stress can make people act differently. I just had a slight mental breakdown, and I'm usually calm, cool and collected.

"Hey, how's that water?"

Rachelle smiles pleasantly and turns to face me. "You look like you have something to say."

"You're perceptive," I say stalling.

"So, say it."

I sigh. "I think one or both of us should walk to find help. There has to be a gas station or garage somewhere close by." I dig into my pocket and pull out a quarter. "Flip a coin to see who goes and who stays or are we both going?"

Rachelle gets a slightly amused look on her face. "You have no idea where we are, do you?"

"No, but I'm guessing you do."

"Amish country. There are garages somewhere around, but I doubt they are in walking distance."

I feel that panic starting to build again. "What now? Do you have a signal, cause I still don't."

She quickly checks her phone, shaking her head as she turns in a small circle with it lifted up.

I start to walk to the back of the car to pull out a bottled water, when I hear Rachelle.

"Hot dog! The cavalry has arrived."

I run back to her side, looking for a tow truck or state trooper. I'll tell you what I did not expect to see, a horse drawn carriage, two of them, in fact, complete with men in straw hats. I hear a distant rumble of thunder and feel a chill come over me.

"We're saved," she says, grabbing my arm and giving it an excited squeeze. "Isn't this amazing?"

I shake my head. "Do you know how many horror movies start like this? Are you kidding me?"

She ignores me and starts walking towards the approaching carriages. "Excuse me," she calls, her voice melodic, and oh, so friendly.

All I can hope is that I can outrun her because she's in those fancy high heel shoes.

The carriages slow down, stopping, as friendly Rachelle rushes forward to tell them animatedly about our predicament. I hang back, ready to hop into the broken-down car if need be. She waves me over. "This is Gretchen Hargis. She's a writer just like me. We are on our way to a convention in New York."

Two boys climb down from the carriage. Rachelle walks them around to the back of the Suburban, then they return with two suitcases each. She looks at me. "What about your stuff?"

"I've got it." I pull the over sized backpack out of the back and close the doors firmly. I run my hand over the dusty back of the SUV. Part of it was to say goodbye, part to leave DNA on it.

"Coming," I call out trying to sound cheerful and definitely not terrified.

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With Rachelle in one buggy (not carriage, as I was corrected) and me in another, we start the slow trek down the long desolate road. I look at Rachelle in the buggy ahead of mine. She is in a show stopping outfit, sitting among people who are in dull grays and black. She looks so out of place but is talking and laughing, like she's the belle of the ball. She is the proverbial social butterfly. She must feel my stare because she turns to wave at me. I wave stiffly back.

"Storm is close," the man holding the reins says. He leans his head towards the dark gray clouds that fill the sky to the left of the buggy. "We may not make it home in time."

"Do these guys go any other speed?" I ask, thinking I'm funny.

"We don't rush them. They are doing their part. We will be fine."

I can tell this guy wouldn't know a joke if it hit him over the head. I turn to the other passenger in this horse drawn hot rod. She's about thirteen or so. Long brown hair with natural sun kissed highlights surround an oval face. There is a sprinkle of small brown freckles across her nose.

"Hi," I say.

She smiles shyly, her eyes taking in my jeans and striped shirt. Her eyes linger on my earrings. They are dangling circles, with blues and greens and gold. "These are made of paper. A friend of mine made them. She hand painted them and coated them with resin." I reach up and take one out, handing it to her.

"Pretty," she says. She turns it over in her hand, her thumb sliding across the smooth surface of the earring. Quickly, she glances at the man and hands it back to me. "I'm Hannah."

"Nice to meet you."

I feel a raindrop land on my arm. I pull the other earring out of my ear and slip them and my phone into the front zippered pocket of my backpack. The buggy veers off the main road and starts down a long dirt road. And this is how it's going to end for me. They are going to take me to a remote location and kill me like in the movies.

"Almost there," the man says. "Not much longer."

I swallow my scream. To take my mind off of my pending fate, I go through the list of actresses I would like to play me in the horror movie based on Rachelle and my last moments.

Kathy Bates comes to mind. She kicks ass. I don't want to be remembered as a sniveling coward. Remember me as a woman who kicks ass.