David had quit smoking right after Darryl was born, but as he sat on the hood of the Towncar, he desperately wished he had at least one more. The northbound lanes of Highway 65 were congested with destroyed or abandoned vehicles. The on-ramp was equally congested. David reckoned the southbound lanes would be the same, even for the off-ramp. Checking again, even the shoulder of the on-ramp was congested. The off-ramp for the southbound lanes was empty. At first, he thought of crossing back over but instantly remembered that the bridge had been destroyed. Highway 31, David thought. There may be congestion there, but all he would have to do is go to the next exit and hopefully get back onto 65.
It took David another agonizing ten minutes to find the emergency vehicle access between the lanes and cross over. Now driving against the empty flow of southbound 65, he gave the large-bodied vehicle as much gas as it needed to speed it back to exit 205. Once, on the ramp, David slowed the vehicle again. The majority of the carnage and abandonment was focused towards the destruction. All lanes leading towards the blast were choked. The lanes leading beyond and away were free from any obstruction. David wished he had a way to the other side because the highway was absolutely clear after the exit.
Coming up the ramp, Clanton silently accepted the late night visitor. Again, David corrected his thoughts as it should be closer to 9am. The gas stations, restaurants, and shops watched like eerie relics. From some of the darkened windows, David could see the tale-tell flicker of candlelight. The Towncar rumbled by, crossing back over to the proper side of the street.
The further David drove away from the lonesome highway, an ever-growing green haze crept in. At first, he could only see it in the distance like a green fog. When he passed the Dollar General, it enveloped him completely. Smoke, he realized instantly. The haze was thick, but he could still see, though dense clouds would cause him to slow. It wasn’t until he could see the dim Papa Johns sign, that he found its source.
The sight of it caused David to stop in the middle of the country highway and step out of his car. WalMart was a pillar of flame. Green flames. David was aware that burning certain household chemicals could produce such a color, but the entire store raged in near neon green. Around it, in the vast parking lot, people seemed to shamble. Black slivers milling about against an emerald backdrop. After a moment, and a noise that sounded quite nearby, David quickly returned to the Towncar. With gentle urging, he sped away. Up ahead, more pillars of green light could be seen.
A couple of side streets later, David was clear of the green haze and making steady progress down Lake Mitchell road. The eerie silence was joined by familiarly alien darkness. What is going on, David wondered. Why are things going crazy? Why are there cars neatly organized in the street 500 meters ahead of me?
David pulled the car to the shoulder, shut off his lights, and waited a moment. While neatly arranged, the cars did not seem oddly paused like on Highway 65, but rather organized. For the first time in a while, his experience reasserted itself. This is a choke point, David thought. Squinting into the darkness, he could see that the vehicles were set up so that anyone on either side of the road had to head towards the Exxon station. There would be a toll or some other jackassery waiting to ambush him once he arrived. David again stepped out of the car and stared into the distance.
Again, David wished to light up a cigarette while he observed the situation. Where he was parked, he was less than a mile from the offramp leading him north on highway 65. The air was silent and smelled of dusty motor oil. In the darkness, he could see the cars ahead as a dark mass. To his right, the woodline opened up to a field with no fence. Where the woodline met the road, David made his way. He skirted the narrow row of trees, doing his best to silently keep his view of the road in the dark. A couple times, he became disoriented and wandered back into the shoulder. He remembered how easy it was back in the 82nd Airborne, with boots, fatigues, and night-vision goggles. David took solace that it was not Fall and the underbrush was not overgrown. I might not be able to see, he thought, but at least I am moving quietly enough.
While it felt like an eternity, David knew it only took a few minutes to make his way to the edge of the barricade. The Shell station on the left side of the road was well lit, but no movement could be seen from within. His eyes fully adjusted to the night, David scanned over the lines of vehicles. “Nut to Butt” was the words that popped into his head. A derogatory term from his infantry days. From what he could see, either everyone was asleep, waiting patiently, or had left. Hunkered low, David scurried as well as his out of shape body could manage. He was thankful none of his former soldiers could see him now.
David waited in his crouched position next to a suburban. David could see several bullet holes in the side of the silent vehicle. No sounds could be heard announcing his presence or the presence of anyone else in the area. Still not wanting to chance it, David quietly scanned the cars as he moved forward. The far end was primarily focused on the oncoming lane. The near side had the vehicles all the way into the tree line. After a moment, David found a vehicle he could maneuver out of the way.
Climbing through the shattered window, David shifted the automatic transmission to neutral. He turned the wheel as far to the right before it locked up. Again he paused. Not even the wind bothered to stir in his vicinity. Shuffling towards the back, David heaved against the vehicle. At first, it wouldn’t move, but suddenly the car stirred and drifted swiftly away from him. Narrowly missing the car in front of itself, the car drifted into the brush. While it did not collide with any trees, the noise of the car coming to rest in the shrubs and vines were far from silent. When the vehicle first got away from him, David threw himself flat on the ground. He could feel the dirt and gravel bite into his chest and stomach. Still, there was no response. Collecting himself he scurried back to the Towncar.
When the engine roared to life, David quickly made for the gap he had created. He slowed the vehicle down considerably to squeeze the big bodied car through. No sooner had he ease the full length through, the glass all around him exploded. Ducking down, David could no longer see to steer. As the Towncar drifted, two more shotgun blasts struck the canopy and rear windshield. Before he could react, the Lincoln collided with another car, giving David a brisk jolt.
“Thought you could get by,” the assailant drunkenly hollered. “Done blowed your dumbass head off.”
David could hear more shattering glass, this time from the empty bottle that was hurled at his car. The shooter racked the shotgun again, but the anticlimactic click told David that the trap was empty.
James C Gilliam 