David could not tell what had changed. Maybe it was the lack of trees covering overhead, over the expanded field of view, but when the Towncar turned its nose northward, the arches of orange and red electricity now seemed to come at him in some sort of crazy three-dimensional effect. Though the solar storm was clearly happening beyond the horizon, everything below that line remained dark and unchanged. Darker now, that the ramp lights were out. The sky, on the other hand, was alive and moving at him faster than he was driving. The effect made Davids’ eyes cross. David had to slam on the breaks just in time to miss the median’s concrete divider. Now idling, the sky regained it crazy two-dimensional light show.
David backed up and realigned the Towncar. Even moving that short of a distance, the sky cursed his vision. David held his hand in line with the horizon in order to mask his view. The idea worked, but he could not hold his hand up and drive the hour-plus distance in such a manner. With the same upraised hand, he grabbed his visor and turned it down. Adjusting the seat, David could effectively see the road with the sky largely blocked. At his command, the old land yacht leaped forward again.
Highway 65 was silent this time of night. No. That’s not right, David thought. It was after seven when he had locked up and left the plant. It felt like days ago for him. A few times a lone car or truck passed in the opposite lane, heading south towards Montgomery or Mobile. Otherwise empty. David fought the urge to look around, each time causing a dizzying nausea spell.
After a while, the Towncars’ twin beams of lights were joined by several pairs of red little eyes in the distance. Five minutes later David slowed the car to a halt just close enough to read the “Heroes Highway” road sign. There were about twenty cars on each side, David could see. Stopped, as if at a traffic light. A couple of the vehicles still had lights on, but most were dark. Was it one of those things, David thought. He debated internally with investigating but decided to ease the car over to the shoulder and drive past. Through the windows, David could see the passengers of each vehicle. Frozen, and looking forward. Endlessly waiting patiently for the person in front of them to go. Their vehicles idling until their fuel tanks ran dry and their batteries dying. David did not bother to look at what they had stopped for. Once the Towncar cleared the mess, he guided it back onto the highway and sped on.
It was when David passed the Prattville exits that the solar flares ended. It was a sudden and profound thing. Like someone hitting the breaks at 90 miles an hour. David felt his insides turn and his mouth fill with vomit before he could even react. On all fours, David emptied his stomach on the cool, hard pavement. His head spinning, he looked around for the land yacht.
Canted, the Towncars headlights beamed off to the woodline several hundred meters away. David began towards it but stopped. How did I get all the way out here, David’s mind screamed. He looked around, then at himself. Vomit was down his coat sleeve and part of the left breast side. David pulled the coat off, careful of the sleeve, and folded it around itself. David approached the car, drunkenly. He found his steps uneasy as he shambled the distance back to his vehicle. Silence and regular nighttime darkness hugged him closely as he stood, glaring at the dark vehicle quietly rumbling its ancient engine.
Thankfully, there was no vomit in the car itself to clean up. Don’t think about it, he repeated over and over in his mind. Just get home. David placed the soiled jacket behind the passenger seat and brought the car to bear north again. Silence and night were his only companions. David tried the radio years ago. Several stations were repeating the weather advisory he heard before, but no one was really on the air. They probably put it on repeat and left for home, David thought.
David was not prepared for the carnage he found at Clanton exit 205. From the steady red/orange glow, he could see from as far back as the Zaxbys billboard, upturned cars were all over. David reckoned a fuel tanker or something must’ve hit the support pillar, but the damage was immense. What cars weren’t cast about, were smashed into each other in the chaos that ensued afterward. All lanes were blocked on either side of the bridge. David put the car into park, took a couple of breaths to compose himself, and stepped outside.
James C Gilliam 