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This is one of the first short stories I ever wrote, I think back around 1995. There were a couple of stories I wrote around that time that haven't survived except maybe in my high school newspaper I edited. This story was also published there, which I was very proud of, and which received a lot of positive feedback. I wrote a sequel that went into the next issue and that's all that survives of it -- I can't remember much about it now. "Lonesome Road" is about being in a helpless situation and instead of assuming you can't do anything, you just react. I also changed the regular roles around making it a little more unusual. While I believe I sent it off to a few magazines, it was never picked up, because it's just to simple but a good example of some of my very early work.
Edward Harding shifted into drive and exited the parking lot of the hotel. He’d spent the last month in Stockton, going through the matter of getting his new novel, Sea of Turmoil, published, with Dan Fresno, his publisher.
Life was going just swell for Ted. He had met his wife-to-be, Jeanne, in high school. They had then gone to the same college, got their degrees and within two months they were happily married, at the young and tender age of twenty-two. Two years later, Jeanne had given birth to their beautiful son, Ryan. The following year Ted had published his first “war” novel, Fires in the Sky, which had quickly become a bestseller. His ensuing novel, Ground Attack, had come out two years later; when he was twenty-nine he had completed his third novel, No Surrender, which also became a bestseller. He had now earned himself quite a bit of popularity, especially with the “hard-ass” men who loved reading about war and people fighting and getting hurt, but most importantly fighting for your country and dying with honor.
Since the publication of Fires in the Sky, Ted had made a routine of, upon completion of the manuscript, he would drive down from Sacramento, where he lived in a luxurious villa with his family, to Stockton, where his publisher lived and had his office. As a matter of fact Dan’s office was actually one of the rooms in his apartment, and he just loved that arrangement. He thought life could not be better than doing work and then, maybe, if you wanted to, getting a drink, cooking some, watching TV or taking a nap; computers made life so much easier these days. It was obvious that Dan had found his niche in life. So, Dan and Ted would go through with the publication and then Ted would drive back up to Sacramento, rest for a few months and begin writing again, or, if there was some promotion and “selling” work for the upcoming book, he would do that. Yes, Ted enjoyed his life very much.
There was only one flaw with Ted, he had an incurable addiction to Camel cigarettes; he easily went through a pack a day.
Ted was now on his way back to Sacramento. He passed by a big sign that read:
YOU ARE NOW LEAVING STOCKTON
THANK YOU FOR YOUR STAY . . .
. . . AND PLEASE COME AGAIN!
It was three-thirty p.m. and for some odd reason the highway was quite deserted.
Ted shook out his last cigarette and lit it. He sucked in the warming smoke, felt it softly titillate the back of his throat and circle around his mouth. He blew it out, making exact concentric rings, which floated up to the roof of the Lexus and then disappeared. The rings reminded him of the wet stains that are left behind on a coaster, once the glass has been removed. Ted often had an occasional drink, but never took it excessively. Everything was good for you in some way, as long as it wasn’t taken in moderation; that was his philosophy. He had been drunk on only a few occasions in his life and the last time he could remember being drunk was when he was on his honeymoon, they had gone to Catalina.
Ted flicked the remaining filter out the window, making sure it hit either the tarmac road or the dry dirt. He always made sure it landed far from any bushes; the fires had been bad this summer and all it took was the slightest spark on a dry twig and whoosh! You had a raging and practically unstoppable conflagration, which would continue consuming, until its fuel ran out. But by that time many people could have been hurt or possibly killed.
BUNTER’S SERVICE STATION
“You want it, you got it!”
the sign above the store read. Ted slowed down and entered the small, empty parking lot. He was low on gas and he needed another carton of Camels.
An old haggard man who looked about a hundred-and-five, but was probably somewhere in his seventies, walked up to the car, on the driver’s side. Ted got out and walked up to him.
“Fill ‘er up,” Ted said.
The old man, Stu Bunter his nametag read, went about his everyday job.
Ted walked around the car and headed for the store. He pushed open the glass door and a little bell tinkled from somewhere inside, announcing his entrance. Ted thought the shop was empty, except for the old geezer behind the counter, who, in fact, looked exactly like the guy who was filling his tank outside. For a moment Ted looked back outside the glass door, just to check. Stu was out there, pumping gas into the Lexus. Ted turned back and looked at the nametag of the old geezer, Al his name was, obviously the identical twin. Ted began walking towards the counter and he saw a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye. He looked in that direction and saw a young girl of about twenty, standing by the rack of magazines. She was quite a site in her halter-top and cutoff jeans, long blond hair cascading down her back, a natural blond at that, which was a certified rarity in California these days; her long tanned legs ran down into a pair of pretty pink sneakers. To use the cliché, she certainly was a Site for Sore Eyes. It brought back memories of when Ted had met Jeanne in high school; she had also been a site for sore eyes and had quickly captured his heart. It hadn’t been quite “love at first sight”, but definitely love at second or third.
The cute girl didn’t look in his direction, but continued with her foraging through the magazine rack, like she was looking for a particular piece of some enormous puzzle she was working on, then she found it. She picked up the magazine and began flicking through it.
Ted turned and walked up to the counter.
“A carton of Camels, please,” he said.
“That it’ll be,” Al said in acknowledgement. He turned around and began searching through the stacks of cartons that were lined up against the wall behind him.
Ted read the sign referring to the china section enclosed in the glass counter, consisting of plates and vases:
YOU BREAK IT; YOU BOUGHT IT!
It brought a smile to Ted’s face; he would have to use a quip like that in his next book.
“Here ya go.” Al placed the carton on the counter and read up the amount on the register, Ted paid him the exact amount, down to the penny. The penny had to be one of the most useless coins invented, Ted thought, they just ended up piling in your pocket or on your dresser; nevertheless they had their need in life for completing the last digit of every total between one and four, and six and nine. But that was just one of life’s little hardships.
Ted picked up the carton, his hardship, turned and lifted his foot to step forward when he realized that the girl was in his way and he had just avoided running into her, not that he would have minded of course. But then Al would have known why Ted didn’t try to stop himself and he would have been in a really uncomfortable situation.
The girl was even more beautiful up close. She had one of those faces that could easily end up on the cover of Vogue or Cosmopolitan, but would most likely end up working in some fast-food place in some small town that no one knew about. The world was full of beautiful people, but only a handful got recognized for their gift. Her nails were painted that same color as her blood-red lipstick. She smiled shyly at him.
“I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind giving me a ride?” she said in a sweet inquiring voice.
Now if that ever wasn’t a come-on line, Ted didn’t know what was. This thought brought a smile to his face and he said:
“Where’re you headed?”
“Well, how far are you going?” she responded.
“All the way to Sacramento,” he said.
“That’s would be extremely helpful,” she replied.
“Well, come on then.”
She turned and headed for the door, wiggling her butt the way women do. Ted stole a look at Al and saw a sly grin pasted on his face.
“Good luck, fella,” he croaked, the sly grin looking like it had been sitting in a pie and someone had thrown it at his face.
Ted ignored him and began following the girl, letting the door close behind him.
Stu had finished filling up the tank. Ted paid him the necessary amount and then got in the Lexus. The girl had already got comfortable in the passenger seat, her bag on the floor between her legs.
“Edward Harding, you can call me Ted,” he said, offering her his hand. She gently shook it.
“Tamara Feld, you can call me Tammy,” she replied in the same way he had.
Ted opened the carton and took out a packet of cigarettes. He tossed the carton in the back sea, took the wrapping off the packet and offered one to Tammy. She eagerly took one, gripping it firmly between her lips. Ted snapped out his lighter with I Luv California painted on each side, and lit her cigarette. Tammy smiled her thanks at him and took a long draw on it, blowing thick smoke around the car’s interior. Ted lit himself one and took a long drag; his nicotine craving had been satiated once again, but for how long? He started the car and drove out of the station and onto the highway.
Again he noticed how empty the road was. Once the service station had disappeared below the horizon behind them, it seemed like they were the only two people left on Earth. Ted turned on the radio, but all he could find was static. So he switched it to CD mode and put on an Aerosmith CD. Crazy began bellowing from the speakers. Tammy smiled at this; she must like them, Ted thought. He continued staring ahead at the barren hazy tarmac leading ahead to the shimmering horizon.
*
They had been driving about an hour when something began gnawing a Ted’s mind. It was something important that he had either seen on the news or had read in a paper, but he couldn't quite remember what it was; it was on the metaphorical "tip" of his brain and yet he couldn’t reach it. He knew it had something to do with the current setting he was in, whatever that may be, otherwise his conscience wouldn’t have started trying to dredge it up. What was it now?
Crazy began playing once again and it reminded Ted of the brilliant video Aerosmith had made for the single. It had been about two teenage girls, one was the lead singer’s daughter, Liv Tyler was her name. At one point in the video they had been driving a jeep across a deserted road, much like the one he was driving across now, and they had picked up this guy who had been plowing a field in some nowhere place in Nebraska or something. Anyway, what stuck in Ted’s mind was the ending to the video; the tractor, that had continued plowing the field, even though the guy wasn’t on it anymore, had plowed the word CRAZY into the field. Yep, that was pretty cool, Ted thought.
Click!
As if some invisible hand had just picked up the thought from the tip of Ted’s brain and shoved it right in front of his face so he could see it better, he remembered what the nagging thought had been. He had read it in the LA Times while he had been on a business trip down there. It was about this elite band of hitchhikers that went around the country trying to get rides to anywhere. Then once the unsuspecting person had granted them their ride, they held them a gun point and then proceeded to steal anything of value they had on them and then drove away in the car, leaving the helpless victim to find their own way home.
Ted secretly eyed Tammy, suspiciously, from the corner of his eye. She was reading the lyrics from the CD booklet; she never saw him eyeing her. He focussed once again on the road, feeling guilty, almost perverted, at having thought and suspected such a thing of this girl. How could a young beautiful girl like this be carrying a weapon? Then again, they now had metal detectors in some schools to search the kids for weapons. But that was only in the big cities. Surely Tammy could not be possible of such an act, let alone taking his money, as well as his car. She was probably going to Sacramento, or somewhere nearby, to visit one of her relatives, maybe for the first time, or maybe it was an old school pal, possibly a boyfriend? Ted shunted the terrible thought from his mind and focussed on his driving.
Tammy put the CD booklet back into the CD case and put it in its slot next to the small CD collection Ted had. It was a very odd collection of five CDs. As well as the Aerosmith CD, there was a Garth Brooks CD, his greatest hits, a Celine Dion album, Color of My Love, a Sex Pistols CD, Never Mind The Bollocks and finally a Beethoven greatest hits collection. This collection could actually scare some people, maybe even induce a seizure.
Tammy then reached down between her legs and began rummaging through her bag.
Ted stole a look at the bag, a black bag. Then Ted saw the corner of a magazine poking out of the top of the bag. He read part of the headline on the cover: “She had been shot in the . . .”. The magazine looked brand new, it also looked like the magazine she had been searching for and finally found at the magazine rack. She had stolen it from the service station.
Ted’s face value of Tammy slowly dissolved and a new unknown visage arose, an evil one, perhaps?
So what! Ted thought, she steals things, that doesn’t make her a member of that hitchhikers gang, does it? Of course not! Anyway, life’s going too good at the moment, it’s not like my luck would change with the click of a finger. It’s a gradual process . . .
“Life’s going too well,” Ted said, simultaneously realizing he had said it allowed. He hoped Tammy hadn’t heard him.
“Well I’m sorry to burst your bubble, hun, but it just went down the chute like so much dirty laundry,” she said her voice totally different from the sweet one he had known, now a husky Bronx accent.
Ted slowly turned his head in her direction. In her right hand was a handgun, a Colt ·45 to be exact; it was pointed straight at him. The happy smile was whipped from his face like some big dude had just slapped him as hard as he could. Ted actually wondered if there was a red mark on his cheek.
“Okay, take it easy,” he said. “I don’t want any trouble, just tell me what you want?” he said, close to stuttering.
“You mean, you don’t know who I’m hooked up with, babe?”
Her personality had changed dramatically; Ted concluded it was because of the pistol she was pointing in his direction.
“You’re one of the gang of h-h-hitchhikers, aren’t you?”
That was it! He had stuttered, now she knew he was afraid, which was the absolute truth. Strangely she took no notice of it, I guess she’s used to handling frightened people, he thought.
“Very good, you pass Go, collect two hundred dollars, because once I’m done with ya you’re gonna need it. Actually we like to call ourselves The Winners, ‘cos we never lose. The "losers" are people like you, who either have to walk the dust, or bite the dust. Now, pull over!” she said her voice rising for the first time.
“I’m gonna take this lovely car of yours, along with all the money you got. I’ll take that Aerosmith too, screw the rest of you’re crummy collection, got that?”
Ted didn’t answer.
“I said, got that!” she shouted, she made a prodding motion with the gun this time.
Ted felt a wave of nausea wash over him, like someone had just emptied a bucket of pig’s blood on top of him, like they did in that movie, Carrie. For the past ten years life had been going just great. He had a feeling he might have some bad luck, but this! This wasn’t bad luck, this was . . .catastrophic!
The cold and nausea enveloping him was plain fear. But there was something else he felt, in the center of his chest. It wasn’t cold or nauseous, it was hot, like a boiling sun, it was hard and strong, it was . . . anger. Ted was angry at the way this pretty innocent-looking girl had completely manipulated him. He was angry at her for wanting to steal his money and car, which he had worked hard for and she was going to just take from him, like stealing candy from a baby, without so much as a “thank you very much” either.
Ted began debating what to do. Should he just pull over and let her take everything and leave him with nothing? Or should he retaliate and risk his life?
Ted slowed the Lexus as if to pull over and Tammy lowered the ·45 slightly. It was all Ted needed; he floored the accelerator, the speedometer pointer rose up like a flexed muscle. He thought she was merely bluffing with the gun and would in fact be too scared to actually use it. Then everything went tragically wrong.
“I said pull over!” she screamed at him. She aimed the gun at his thigh and pulled the trigger. He couldn’t believe she actually did it, and from then on it all seemed to take place in slow motion.
The shiny bullet exited the end of the muzzle with a puff of smoke and a bright yellow flash of light. He watched it as it pummeled into his leg, the bullet going through his pants’ leg and burrowing into his flesh, like it was passing through so much flimsy paper, creating a hole the size of which Ted could not believe. The hole quickly filled with blood, then the blood began spreading and it looked like he had a burgundy patch on his pants’ leg. Finally the pain and dizziness began and everything speeded up once again to real time. His foot went limp and dropped from the accelerator and the car began slowing down. Ted let out a loud wail, tears squeezing from the corners of his eyes.
Tammy saw this and burst into fits of hysterical laughter.
“Scared you, did I? Didn’t think I was gonna do it, huh?” she said, giggling like she had just playfully tugged his ear a little too hard, instead of blowing a hole in his leg.
This was too much for Ted. He saw her laughing at him and he flipped; the boiling sun exploded in his chest to a black hole within a few moments. The red anger burst from inside him and enveloped his entire body like a protective force field. Adrenalin began flowing through his system, strengthening his blood with super-charged energy, nullifying the pain within his leg. Now the anger within him was like a trapped raging beast trying to get free. He no longer saw Tammy as a sweet girl, or as a human being for that matter, but as a sick creature, a foul temptress that deserved to be hurt!
His right hand shot out and clung to the side of her head, his uneven nails sinking into her scalp, his thump plunging into her eye. With his adrenalin-charged strength, he rammed her head through the side window. The glass cracked and shattered with a loud crashing sound, her evil laughter turned into a tortured petrified scream.
Before Tammy could do anything with the gun, Ted’s left hand fastened around her hand and aimed the gun upwards. Her index finger began working the trigger, three shots were fired, the bullets going harmlessly through the roof and into the sky. Then Ted shocked himself, as well as Tammy, by pushing her hand right back to her forearm, hearing her wrist bones snap, like crackling twigs in a fire; she promptly dropped the gun. It fell to the floor, on Ted’s side.
The Lexus had now stopped entirely. Ted reached and picked up the gun with his left hand and aimed it at her. He slowly withdrew his right hand, streaks of blood running down the back like some strange war paint. Tammy drew her head back into the car. She had stopped screaming now, but shook and shivered with fright and shock, like tiny bolts of electricity were running throughout her body. She turned her head to face him. The left side was encased in blood, she looked like that villain in Batman, Two-Face; the right side had streaks of blood stretched across it, like some mundane make-up look; her right eye closed, weeping, the purple bruising already materializing. Her left eye stared coldly, yet painfully at him. Her nose was twisted at an odd angle, obviously broken, her lips littered with tiny sore blood-filled cuts. Ted reached across her; the gun still pointed at her head and opened the passenger door. He unclasped her seatbelt and pushed her out of the Lexus. She simply fell from the car, like a sack of garbage. She fell to the hot hard tarmac, her aching face mashing into the dusty roadside.
Ted shut the door, started the car and, using his left foot on the accelerator, drove on. He never once looked in his rear-view mirror.
Tamara gently lifted her head up from the scorching road. She could now feel her face burning and beginning to blister, as well as weeping blood and a good dosage of pain and agony thrown in for good luck. She saw the Lexus racing off into the distance, quickly increasing in speed, a cloud of kicked-up dust forming behind it. It began to blur and become hazy as it drew further away from her, and then it was gone. All that remained was that trail of dust, like a comet's lingering tail, writhing in the Lexus' wake.