LAST GAS

As the last streetlight, the remaining vestige of civilization for miles, faded into the distance, I glanced over at the wrinkled sheet of paper in my passenger seat, the scribbles and lines spidering across its surface in the darkness somehow offering little assurance that the directions my brother gave me would direct me to the intended destination.The red glow of the dashboard was the only connection I had at this point with modernity, or civilian, or even the warmth of familiarity. Like a strobe, hypnotic and redundant, the yellow broken lines in the middle of the dark asphalt flickered and pulsed monotonously ahead in the headlights, which seemed ineffectively weak against the encroaching darkness. Every so often, I would hear a faint 'tick', then another, like lonely drops of rain - errant bugs whose flight path led them to their doom in the fearsome teeth of my grille, or spread like mustard on the surface of my windshield.


It was dark, almost stifling, as if a black wool were stretched out over the horizon. The glowing center line indicated a straight path, which almost certainly led straight ahead into infinity, but of this, I could only see a meager few feet ahead. I could not be certain what, if anything blocked my path. It would be just my luck if an inquisitive deer or wild pig just happened to be crossing my path outside the reach of my headlights.

Boredom began to set in. I was familiar with these long stretches from camping trips in the desert in recent years; this was, according to my brother, only a 40 mile trip. I would have left earlier, sparing me the monotony of darkness and fatigue, but getting out of the city was more troublesome than usual this particular evening; and now, the stress and frustration of being stuck in traffic and spit out into the middle of a vast expanse of nothing was taking its toll.

I flipped on the radio. The volume had been increased as I had been trying to pass the time earlier in the traffic jam by listening to the local pop station, and I winced as static came gushing out of the same speakers, at the same obnoxious, deafening level. I quickly adjusted the volume and began scanning for anything audible to listen to, to keep me alert, awake, and occupied. It wasn't long before I had reached the opposite end of the dial, finding nothing. No music, not even classical. No late-night talk, or health advice, or even the final innings of a baseball game. I was, for sure, in the middle of nowhere. I pounded the steering wheel in frustration, and glanced down at the odometer... 28 miles to go.

Seconds seemed like minutes.... no, hours. The incessant drone of the engine, the blinking, that incessant blinking ahead of me... no other cars in sight, nothing for miles... not a sign of civilization other than the occasional tacky billboard for Howie's Country Store or Ralph's Stop n' Go... on and on... I sat back, and tried to relax, get focused, just a little, but it just... wasn't... working...

In the distance. What was that? A faint whitish dot grew steadily larger and brighter... it was a light! No, several lights, illuminating what appeared to be a service station in the distance. A giant QUIK STOP logo on an enormous pole towered over a squat facade and a single pump. Yeah, I was feeling rather thirsty, not to mention fatigued. It was time to dose up on caffeine and tough it out for the last 20 or so miles. I slowed and pulled into the loose gravel of the gas station's parking lot, easing the truck into a narrow space right in front of the door to the little convenience mart. Gathering my keys, I exited my pickup and walked inside to the sound of civilization - chimes. An elderly man with two-days facial growth was sitting behind the counter, deeply engrossed in one of those tabloid rags with a picture of boy-bat on the front.

I sidled over to the soda fountain. Just my luck - a huge handmade sign covered its length. It read, "OUT OF ORDER." Wonderful, I thought, as I headed over to the fridge and grabbed a 20 ounce Mountain Dew. As I approached the counter, reaching for my wallet, the old man - his name tag said "Bart" - looked up, expressionless. I tossed a couple bucks onto the counter.

"You're probably going to need to fill up on gas, sonny," he told me.

That was ridiculous - I had just filled up and had over half a tank to go 20 measly miles. I refused the kind and thoughtful offer.

"Are ya sure?" he asked. "This is the last stop fer miles, last gas you'll find in this hellhole.You'll want to be prepared, you know."

I replied, "That's ok. I've only got a few miles left.. I'll probably stop on the way back."

He looked at me quizzically, and snickered. "You can never be too sure..."

I shrugged my shoulders, rolled my eyes, and walked away.. this guy had obviously lost contact with reality. I let the chimes announce my exit as I strode out the door.

Apparently, I wasn't the only one who needed a reprise from the monotony of the road. Across the pump from me was now parked a blue Buick, and its owner was partially obscured by the girder holding up the canopy above. He was busy pumping gas into his car. In the passenger seat, I could see the outline of a woman's head with her hair in a bun. I approached my car, and the man spotted me. He looked down, as if in thought, then looked back up at me again. It was as if all of a sudden he was hit with a jolt of electricity. He shuddered visibly, then his eyes grew dark and narrow, and an angry expression overcame his features. "YOU." he muttered ominously.

Me? He was looking at me. Now he had taken his hands off the pump, was rolling up his sleeves, and began to walk in my direction. "Do I know you?" I asked.

"It's you. You son of a-"

What?

"You killed my wife!" And with this his pace quickened, and I backed away, stumbling over my feet as he was now charging, arms raised, spittle flying from his suddenly clinched mouth...

"Wha? I don't... what are you....huh.." I didn't have time to form a full sentence before he was about on top of me... I fell to my side and scampered out of his way just as he dived in my direction. Regaining my balance, I tore for my car, the man furiously lunging at my legs... I wrenched open my truck door, and shut it before he slammed into it with both arms like a giant hammer.

"You killed my wife! Come out here, I'm going to beat the living... I'll kill you!"

"What are you talking about?" I pleaded, now that I was in the (apparent) safety of my truck, doors locked, man pounding at the window just inches from my face. "I don't even know you... and isn't that your wife in your car?"

He knelt down slowly, stopping for a moment the incessant beating, and stared darkly into my eyes. "You don't know yet," he muttered. "You're a murderer, and don't know it. Look at the friggin' car, see what you did!" ..and he stepped aside.

I had not looked so closely at the Buick, but now I was compelled by nothing other than sheer fear to examine it, I noticed that it didn't look quite right. At first, it seemed intact, but every so often, like bursts of electricity, would blur, and the car would assume a much less... functional shape. For an instant, it looked as if the roof had caved in, and the door was gouged a couple of feet, and the windows shattered... until everything popped back, and the woman looked back at me from the passenger seat, and smiled. And then another blur, and the face turned into a grimace, a rictus, the jaw dangling from a single fibrous tendon, blood smeared around the inside of the car, all over the seat, bony hand with ripped flesh mocking a salutatory wave.... and then back to normal. God, I needed that MD right away... but first, there was the business of this psycho whaling on my car and threatening me. He moved back into my field of view,

"That's enough time!" he yelled. "If you don't know by now, it don't matter. I'm gonna kill you!" and reared up, this time wielding a very large tire iron. I drew back as he slammed it into my window, shattering it into tiny glistening shards. Now was the time for action! I wriggled the key into the ignition and turned it just as he was doubling back for another blow, hoping to strike home this time. The truck roared to life. The man swung, and glanced my shoulder painfully as I squealed off into the night, trailing behind bits of gravel and sand and spraying them in my wake, obscuring the man, who was shaking his fists and yelling at me as he disappeared in my rear view mirror and the last light of civilization dimmed behind me.

I couldn't have killed this woman, I thought, as I took a swig of Mountain Dew... I mean, she was really alive. She smiled and waved! That other image... had to be just a dream. I stepped more firmly on the gas, pushing 80, 85, 90.. hoping to leave that car in the dust, and gain a little distance before I was able to turn into the safety of my brother's driveway. The dim light had now faded to nothing, and I was left once again with nothing more than my dashboard light and that darned flickering of the yellow road lines to break up the dark emptiness that led into oblivion, for all I knew.

Breathe in, breathe out. Nothing like a good healthy confrontation to heighten my senses, right?

Odometer check. Good... picked up another ten miles, shouldn't be long. I check behind me. No sign of the maniac with the Buick. I nervously tap my steering wheel, whistling some tune I remembered from earlier this evening, in less troubled times. Funny that a traffic jam could now be considered 'less troubled.'

Ahead, another dim light. Odometer says I still have a little while to go. Wonder what this is. Look down at map... funny. Bro didn't mention any more landmarks along the way. Maybe he missed this...

HOLY CRAP.

Tall sign, up ahead. I can barely make out the letters, but the logo is unmistakeable.

"QUIK STOP"

The lights bring more into view; I can see the pump, the canopy above, the convenience store. And parked right below, stocky man with moustache, coddling a large crowbar, a green Buick, straight out of my worst nightmare. Impossible! I hadn't turned, or encountered anything other than a straightaway... my odometer tells me... wait. This can't be possible. I look beside me as I come upon the gas station. The man spots me and smiles, tapping the crowbar against his open hand. Just sitting there, as if he knew something I didn't.

(You don't know yet)

I put the pedal to the floor, engine revving to the redline, topping 100, 110. This had to be some mistake. I look back down at the directions, and up again. The gloom once again deepens to blackness again. And those blasted yellow lines, the sound of crickets audible through my shattered window, the chill night air lifting the hairs on my arms.

I hear a sputter, a cough from my engine, a short hesitation. I was doing so good. My car rocks as the engine hesitates again. Back to my gauges. Oh, Lord - I'm almost on empty! It couldn't be far, seriously couldn't be long before I see the driveway, and the mailbox with BROWN on it, and the friendly welcoming face of my brother, sister-in-law, their two kids...

I push harder, the truck relents.... and finally, in the middle of nowhere, dies, and I struggle to keep control to maneuver to a stop along the narrow emergency lane on the roadside. I mutter a profanity.. this is the worst possible time to run out of gas.

(This is the last stop for miles)

I open the door, and the reading light winks on. Beside me, in the same position they were when I first pulled into the Quik Stop, lay the directions in my brother's handwriting. I pick them up, and reach under the passenger seat for my flashlight.

I continue to think I'm not too far from Jack's house, though I can't be sure now. That most certainly had to be a hallucination, right? I didn't just see the gas station with that crazed guy sitting on his car's hood.... I'm just tired. Really tired. I've been driving too long. I resolve, directions in hand, to walk the remainder of the way to safety. It couldn't be more than 5 miles. At most. I shut the truck off, lock it up, and begin walking along the grass beside the highway, dodging the occasional broken bottle and tire tread. The comfort of the red dashboard light, the familiar monotony of the illuminated center line are both gone, replaced by the faint beam of my mag light, moving back and forth as I try to maintain a steady pace forward.

The crickets are loud, and as I trudge through the tall grass, I can feel a soft breeze on my face, hear it whispering through the trees in the distance. An owl offers a lone, wistful challenge to my invasion. The isolation surrounds me like a scratchy blanket, and I shudder in the chill nighttime air, briskly trudging forward.

I stop, because there's something else I hear. It's distinct, and growing louder. A nervous lump lodges in my throat as I turn around and face what I had dreaded would happen... a distinct pinprick - no, two, - a faint pair of eyes growing wider apart and brighter, and the sound... a low rumble, the hum of an approaching car. I take a deep breath, face forward once again, and speed up, moving my legs as fast as they can go, a growing ache spreading through my thighs, cramps threatening to overtake me, my lungs feeling a stinging, spreading fire. Sweat beads on my forehead, my arms sway, I hasten into something of a run, but the rumble grows louder still, and the lights illuminate the ground in front of me. I look back again, and notice that the car behind has sped up and has begun to veer toward the right, almost off the road, directly into my path.

I yell for help, running faster still, stumbling but pressing onward, as the fury of the engine and the green, monstrous beast behind the wheel of which is someone I had never met but who even now craves my blood all over the pavement, roars like a predator lured by the scent of living, breathing prey. The noise is deafening, the light now blinding as I look backward, and can't see anything but bright light and the speckles of dead bugs on the windshield and the reflection of yellow lines, so familiar but so foreign... and the light encompasses my entire being, and becomes infinitely bright, and flashes out, leaving nothing but blackness...

****************************

Blue. Red. Flickering. Lights pierce the darkness of isolation. Two men wearing uniforms bent down over a broken figure, one with a penlight and the other lifting a blanket over the prone form.
"Oh, man. Doesn't look like this guy's going to make it, either." ,the first man sighed.
The second looked up at his buddy. "I thought he had a fighting chance, at least. The folks in the Buick over there never saw it coming, didn't even have a prayer."
"It's horrible. Woman's jaw got clean sheared off."
The second man replied, "Looks like the guy here just fell asleep, and just happened to slam into the only other car on the road for miles."
"Good thing ol' Bart there heard the commotion. Seriously, I thought the old coot was as deaf as a rock." First man pointed to the bright, welcoming light of the Quik Stop in the distance. Below the logo, a smaller, less well-placed sign read, "Last Gas For Miles".
"Yeah, well sometimes I wonder about his mental health, talking about seeing ghosts all the time. I think the isolation gets to him."
First man looked up. "Doesn't it get to everybody around here?"
Second man sighed, and pulled the blanket the rest of the way over the dead man's face, as the blue and red stobes danced across the crumpled, overturned pickup in the brush just a few yards away.