James stomped the gas and headed south down 101. He kept checking the rearview mirror but saw only trees and an occasional house. The power was still out and the windows that weren’t shuttered were all black and reflecting stars. He couldn’t shake off the feeling that the sheriff was going to be coming up behind him some time very soon. It was impossible of course. He’d seen him lying on the ground when he’d driven off, felt like he’d passed through another door that was bolted behind him. There was no returning to the place he knew. Or even a normal life again.
The Skylark purred. It didn’t broadcast itself like the muscle car he’d driven up from San Diego. James allowed himself to marvel over his good luck although the course he’d taken was far from over and was really only beginning. Except for what happened to Cuke, he was having no regrets. Besides, it was the sheriff’s fault for letting the old man come along in the first place. What the hell was the idiot thinking?
As he passed through town he wondered how many times he’d sat next to the highway on his bicycle, watching people come and go, guessing where they might be headed. The tourists weren’t hard to spot and the locals and the truckers he knew by heart. There were others, however, that never seemed to fit. They’d mostly stare ahead as they drove by but sometimes they’d look at him and he’d see something in their eyes that was too much, like having the sun reflected back in your face from a mirror. Their thoughts had been made visible in a flash, yet too fast for him to comprehend. But he understood them now. They were people much like he was. In a hurry to get away from something. Seeing potential terror wherever they turned, even in boys sitting on their Stingrays watching them from the roadside.
Whatever happens you don’t stop. You don’t stop until you’re in Twin Falls. Or even further away than that if you need to.
He came upon some work crews dressed in orange that were cutting up some downed trees with chainsaws. One of them waved at him as he went by. James thought he might have been yelling something about going too fast.
Near the edge of town he looked for his parent’s mailbox. His mom had painted it fire engine red. It wasn’t hard to miss but somehow he had. Then he saw it was on the ground. The post it was attached to had been knocked down by the storm. He turned the car onto the shoulder and slowed up next to where it lay and turned off the car. His parent’s house was up a graveled drive and hidden in trees. No one inside would see him on the road.
The mailbox was twisted some and he imagined his mother throwing a fit and going straight to the hardware store in Buoy to get a new one. She’d bought the first one when the trouble had started with his father. To show a proud family face to the rest of the world. He’d never asked her why she’d painted it red.
The post was not damaged but hard for him to lift. He’d had to lean it on his good shoulder before picking it up and walking with it to the misshapen post hole. It went in and he stepped on the loose earth around the edges until he thought it would hold. He stared at the mailbox one last time. It looked more twisted at this angle than before, like he was looking head on at a fish swimming toward him. He lit a cigarette and inhaled. A smile broke his mouth apart and he laughed until he was overcome by a coughing fit.
He got back into the car and began to drive fast up through a curving section of the highway. The Skylark couldn’t take the curves very well and the tires skidded and he almost went off the road twice before deciding that he was going to have to slow it down until he could trade it out for something that fit his needs. He cursed himself for being seduced.
After he got over the first hill he began to make out the bridge that spanned the bay. Then it struck him. If the power was still out than why was the bridge lit up like a birthday cake?
As he got closer he saw a glowing road sign telling him that the bridge was closed. Orange barrels with reflective tape blocked the entrance. He could see the shiny tops of hardhats and the play of flashlights. The movement of the lights ticking up and down made him think of insect antennae.
He was supposed to have turned around by now. He steered the Skylark around a Dodge pickup parked in the middle of the road. It had a flashing yellow light bubble on top. There was a guy standing next to the truck, and when he saw the Skylark heading toward him he dropped his thermos and dove into the open door of the Dodge.