You're in a car at night on a narrow, winding country road which is unfamilar to you, when you get the impression you're being followed. When you slow down, the car behind slows too; when you speed up, it does likewise. The situation might not be so alarming if you hadn't received an anonymous letter threatening you just a few hours earlier.
What do you do? There aren't too many options. You could drive as fast as you can in the hope of coming to a house or a village where you can seek help. Or you can stop the car, get out and face down your pursuers. Flight or fight?
She drove on a bit more and then, the ultimate test, she stopped the car. The other car stopped too, a couple of hundred yards back.
She checked herself for fear. Was it something you could measure, like an earthquake? At the top of the scale would be her panic in the forest, in comparison to which she was now surprisingly calm. Maybe three and a half. Four at the most. Her heart was beating fast, yes, but she was still able to think, and she found it comforting to know that if she was being followed, at least it wasn’t by a zombie or a werewolf.
At first she was pleased with this. It meant she would analyse her situation in a calm, rational manner, and take a sensible course of action: fight or flight? But then she realised it wasn’t rational at all. Because zombies and werewolves don’t exist, whereas human beings, who when they put their mind to it can be every bit as nasty, are all over the place. Not only that, but they know how to use a gun and are better drivers.
She ought to be more afraid. Not to the point of helplessness, but six or seven would be sensible. If Neanderthals weren’t afraid when they heard a sound in the bushes, they’d have rolled over, gone back to sleep, and a minute later been supper for a sabre-toothed tiger. But although she tried to crank up her fear a notch or two, she couldn’t get beyond five, and after a while, she leant over, opened the glove box and felt about for a Luger automatic. This wasn’t rational either – more a request for divine intervention – because if Magali kept a weapon worth speaking of in her car, presumably she would have spoken of it. All she found was a screwdriver, so short and spindly you wouldn’t even speak of it if you wanted to fix a screw, let alone put the wind up a tiger. A screwdriver against a gun could only end one way. But on a narrow, unfamiliar road at night, the flight option didn’t look promising either. They’d press her into driving so fast she’d skid off the road and land in a ravine. They wouldn’t even have to shoot her then.
It wasn’t a choice between fight or flight. It was a choice between different ways of dying. And on balance, she chose being shot. As she got out, clutching the screwdriver, she braced herself to die.
The driver of the other car put the lights on full beam, dazzling her. She couldn’t see the make or colour, let alone the number plate. She stood by her own car, not moving. Her heart had moved up a few gears and was now pounding furiously: it was the heartbeat of a sitting duck. This had to be the stupidest thing she’d ever done.
And was it? Well, it's no spoiler to say that Sophie survives. But whether she's brave, reckless, naive or just plain lucky is something only the reader can decide.
Truffle Trouble, first in the Sophie Kiesser mystery series, is available for just $0.99.