Eighty-Sixed: Chapter 38 - Gridlock

After leaving St. Mary’s, Olivia walked through the familiar landscape of Cornerstone.  Nearly every building was rife with buried memories — the library next to the courthouse, DeLucci’s Pizza, and the IGA.  Every facade invaded her mind with more than she could process within the muddled and sinking milieu of grief that accompanied every breath whenever she thought of her children, who were now no more than ether, intangible.  

By the time she arrived home, she’d decided what to do.  There would not be another day of busy signals and uncompleted phone calls, of not hearing from David, of desperately needing to see his face.  She needed to know conclusively that he was somehow alive again and not just hope that he was.  She needed to know she was not as alone as she now felt, stuck in this farming town surrounded by corn and wheat, denim and plaid, and old trucks under low gray skies.  

Olivia needed to know that even if she had to be in this sixteen-year-old body again, at least she’d have her David, the one who made her laugh desperately and made her feel beautiful, needed, and special, the one who loved her as madly and desperately as she loved him. She needed to at least have that.  

Mickey and Grace were sitting on the back porch, waiting for Olivia to return from wherever she’d gone during Mass.  

“I have to go find David,” Olivia told her parents.  

“How do you plan on doing that?” Grace asked.

“She’ll take the truck,” Mickey said.

“The truck?”

“We’ve still got your sedan.”

“We need the truck,” Grace protested.

“I don’t see us doing too much farming just yet,” Mickey said.  “And the truck is more dependable than that old Nova.  I wouldn’t venture past the town limits in that thing.”

“When will you leave?” Grace asked.

“In the morning.  First thing.”

They all three woke before sunrise. No alarm was needed as they slept restlessly, uncertain of what was ahead. 

Mickey busied himself by giving the truck a thorough inspection and drove it into town in hopes of gas and a working air pump to fill the tires.  Upon his return, Olivia was waiting and ready to depart.

“Take this,” Mickey said, handing over his Smith & Wesson handgun.  Olivia’s father was once again in his prime, yet his eyes — deep and dark and weighed with memories — revealed his true age. “You remember how to use that?”

“I remember,” Olivia answered. 

“If you find yourself in a pickle, just huddle down in the truck and make yourself invisible.”

“I will.”

“I still think I should come with you.” 

“Mom would be in a panic if you came along.” 

“I just don’t like how the news looks on TV.  But I don’t know what else you could do right now.”

“I have to find David,” Olivia said.  

“I know.”

“You’d be doing the same if it was Mom.”

“Oh, I understand,” Mickey said.  “If you find him, how will we know?”

“Just stay put,” Olivia said.  “Don’t venture far.  I’ll make it back here one way or the other.  And I’ll keep trying the phones when I can.  Maybe they’ll open up soon.  If they do, maybe it’s time you finally got an answering machine so you don’t miss it if I get through.  You should be able to find one in town.”

“I love you, girlie,” Mickey said as he embraced his daughter.

“This is the first time we’ve hugged since all this trouble began,” Olivia said.  

“Last time I hugged you was at David’s funeral.”

“How was that just last week?”

“I know you need to do this,” Mickey whispered into his daughter’s ear as he wrapped his arms tightly around her.  

“I need to do this,” Olivia repeated. 

Her father nodded in resigned agreement.

“Here,” he said, breaking their embrace as he dug into his pockets.  He pulled out a wad of cash.  “That’s probably fifty or sixty bucks there.  Have no idea if that money is worth anything now, but it’s better than nothing.  And keep that gun under your seat.  What about food?”

“I made up some sandwiches and filled up a milk jug with water,” Olivia said.  “Enough to last a couple days.”

Photo by Mario Mesaglio on Unsplash

“The tank is full, and the tires look good. The 76 was open in town here, but if you don’t see gas stations working along the way, you need to turn around and head back when the tank is half gone. Don’t take the chance of getting stranded somewhere.”

They hugged again, quickly this time.  

Grace watched from the kitchen window.  Tears poured down her face.  Going to Mass the day before had not produced the comfort she’d hoped for.  She was left instead with opened wounds of grief, of long-forgotten painful memories combined now with the stark realization that her grandchildren somehow no longer existed.  In this terrible new reality, Mark and Rosie were nothing more than a memory from a future that had not yet come to pass and may never happen again.

Olivia headed east, staying on backroads for the first hour as she edged north towards the highway.  She immediately regretted taking the more direct route through Chicago rather than veering south toward Peoria through less populated regions.  Just outside Aurora, traffic came to a complete standstill.

As far as she could see, she was surrounded by a bottleneck of cars that seemed simultaneously ancient and brand: tank-like Buick Regals and Oldsmobile Cutlasses lined bumper to bumper with squat-like VW Golfs and Jettas, Renaults, and Fiats. Going both east and west, traffic was stuck in an unmovable standstill. 

After thirty minutes, Olivia turned off the truck to conserve fuel.  Another hour passed, and a scattered few courageous travelers peeked from their cars and nodded to each other.  Cautious eyes were everywhere.  Every few minutes, Olivia reached under the seat once and gently touched the handle of her father’s Smith & Wesson.

A quick rapping on the driver’s side window made Olivia shriek.  

Standing with his face no more than six inches from the window was a thin and scraggly man in his thirties. A dirty scruff of brown stubble traced the line of his jaw in ragged patches. His red short-sleeve plaid shirt was filthy and worn, and his bib overalls were faded and drooping.  

“Get away from my truck!” Olivia yelled through the window.

“Roll down your window?” the man asked in a wavering voice.

“I can hear you fine.” 

She shot a darting glance at the door’s lock.  She was secure but realized for the first time that she hadn’t checked the passenger door and hadn’t thought to when she’d left her parents’ farm hours before.

“Traffic is stopped ahead,” the man said. 

Olivia looked around her and saw passengers in other cars as they checked their own locks and rolled up their windows.

“I can see that,” Olivia said.  “Get away from my truck, please!”

“Roll down your window?” he asked again.

“No,” Olivia said sternly.  “Go back to your car.” 

“I haven’t had anything to eat in a couple days,” the man said, and pointed into her car.  “Give me a sandwich there?”

“I need that,” she said.  

“You’ve got plenty right there,” the man demanded.  He stood upright and put his hands on his hips.  “Don’t make me have to just take them.”

“I’ve got a long trip, and that’s all I have,” Olivia said through the window.

“Hey there now, bub!” Olivia heard another man call out from the car behind her.  “Get back in your car!”

“Shut up, man!” the scraggly man said. “I’m just trying to get something to eat.”

“Get it somewhere else,” the other voice demanded.

Through her rearview window, Olivia watched as the man in the car behind her tossed open his own driver’s side door and pointed a pistol directly at the scraggly man still standing just inches from Olivia.

“Get back to your car,” the man with the gun yelled at him. 

The scraggly man laughed and reached behind him, twisting his left arm as he flipped the back of his shirt and withdrew a pistol hidden inside the waist of his jeans.  He aimed his gun back at the other man.

“You think you’re the only one with a gun, big man?” the scraggly man asked, his grin wide with crooked teeth.  “You best get back in your car before I show you how to actually pull a trigger instead of just running your yap.”

If you find yourself in a pickle, just huddle down in the truck and make yourself invisible.

Olivia slowly reached beneath her seat and wrapped her hand around the handle of her father’s gun.  

Around her, she saw drivers and passengers in the other cars watching wide-eyed at the firefight geared up before them.  She looked back out the closed driver’s side window at the scraggly man, now preoccupied with his highway gun duel.

Growing up in a farming town, guns were as common as hammers and pitchforks.  They were just different tools for different jobs.  Curling her fingers around the pistol’s grip, Olivia edged over to the truck’s passenger side. She raised the Smith & Wesson and aimed it at the scraggly man.  He stood on the highway grinning, his focus now entirely on the driver behind her. 

Reaching back to the driver’s side door, Olivia slowly opened the window, cranking the handle with her left hand while her right hand held the pistol squarely pointed at the scraggly man’s head.

Photo by Philippe Gauthier on Unsplash