Disappearance (11 page)

When I get out of the car, I stand far enough back so the glass doesn't fly back and hit me. I hold the gun like Al Pacino does at the end of Scarface, shout, "Say hello to my little friend," and start blasting. This feels cool until I see my dinky pellet gun hasn't even put a crack in the window. I take several more shots, trying to hit the exact same spot and eventually I do crack through the glass. The destruction is a rush – every little boy's dream.

I turn around and shoot at several empty gas pumps, hoping to cause a massive explosion but instead it barely makes a dent. I need a bigger gun!

I make my way into the mini-mart, which I notice was already unlocked and see a wall filled with different types of liquor. There's not much room in the car, so I just grab a couple bottles of vodka and Jack Daniels. No reason to be greedy; these two bottles are enough to keep me drunk for a week.

I open up the Jack and take a swig straight from the bottle, redneck style. It burns my throat and makes my eyes water; the taste reminds me of college. Looking around, I find some plastic cups and a couple liters of Coca-Cola. Jack and Coke has always been one of my favorite drinks.

In the back there's beer. I catch my eye on a forty-ounce bottle of King Cobra, the nastiest beer you'll ever have but the beer of choice for poor college kids. I open the bottle and take a swig, then almost immediately spit it out. King Cobra is bad any time, but warm King Cobra when you're sober is just plain disgusting. I throw the bottle across the room and to my surprise it doesn't even break.

This gives me the idea to grab some beer bottles and use them as target practice. I line up a six-pack on the counter and fire at each one. The pellet gun seems just powerful enough to break the glass, and I connect on six out of six.

I look around to see if there's anything else I need or want. There are tons of cigars, but I'm not a smoker so it doesn't interest me. I grab a few energy drinks in case I want to stay up late to drive. Not sure why I would, after all I have an endless amount of free time. No need to be in a rush to get somewhere.

I put all of my new goodies in the passenger seat and decide, just for fun, to burn the place down. Doing so would look great on my crime resume. I go back in and grab a lighter. The floor is already dripping with alcohol, the perfect fire accelerator. I'm not brave enough to reach down and light it, so I decide to toss it and run before I blow myself up.

I stand by the door, give the lighter a toss, and then run away as fast as I can. When I get about ten feet from the door, I look back to see the destruction but instead there's nothing. The air must have knocked the flame out when I threw it. That never happens in the movies!

Perhaps my conscience is starting to catch up to me because my excitement for burning the place down immediately fades. I head back to the car and start making myself a drink. I put half Jack Daniels and half Coke into a plastic cup and start chugging. Then I make my way back onto the highway, headed for my next adventure.

Chapter 11

I finish the rest of my massive alcohol concoction, and it only takes fifteen minutes before I'm feeling tipsy. OK, maybe this was a bad idea. I can see why driving while intoxicated is illegal. I'm drunk enough that it's hard to stay in my lane, but still sober enough to realize I'm doing it. I put my empty cup in the cup holder. My eyes are off the road for only a second, but when I look back up I'm inches from the guardrail.

I swerve back to the left, fish-tailing myself back on the road. In that instant, I immediately sober back up. Totaling Abby's car is the last thing I need.

I slow down and stop the car in the middle of the highway. I wonder for a moment why I'm this intoxicated; usually one cup of Jack and Coke doesn't have this much effect on me. Then I realize I only ate part of my peanut better and jelly sandwich. I'm drinking on a near-empty stomach, a recipe for disaster. A quarter of a bottle of whiskey doesn't help either though.

I get out of the car and try walking it off.
"Time is the only way to sober up"
I can hear my high school health teacher saying. Taking a walk is the best indicator I know for how drunk I really am.

In this case, I'm not college-frat-boy-drunk but I shouldn't be operating heavy machinery. Cops aren't around to pull me over, but I can still get myself killed driving in this condition.

I walk around for a few more minutes but things are starting to spin. This, I know, usually precedes excessive vomiting.

I stand up straight, trying everything I can to keep things down. I close my eyes, but even then I can still feel the world spinning. I go back to the car and sit down hoping this awful feeling goes away. I close my eyes again, which seems to help some of my nausea go away. Before I know it, I pass out asleep.

When I wake I feel groggy, not rejuvenated like after a good nap. I do feel more sober though. I get out of the car and go for a little walk to test this theory, which proves correct. While I still don't feel the best, I'm good enough to drive again, so that's exactly what I do.

I look at my gas gauge and see I have under a half tank left. There's a "Louisville 86 Miles" sign, which will make a good stopping point to fill up. I've driven through Louisville a couple of times before but I can't recall much. I know they have a basketball team but that's about it - Kentucky loves their basketball.

The drive seems to take forever. Not only am I alone on the highway, but also the scenery is dull and I still have nothing to listen to. I try the radio stations again, but when I push the "seek" button it's a continuous scroll through all stations without stopping. Even when I manually go through the stations, I don't even get a hint of white noise.

I've always wondered what it would be like to go away for a weekend by myself – just lock myself up in some cabin with no TV or Internet. I've always thought that would be some kind of serene experience where you can reflect on life and dream of the future. After having lived through something similar these past couple days, I now know how boring and unsatisfying it really is. Maybe it would be different if I knew I had a life to go back to, but now I'm unsure if anyone is even out there. I've driven 158 miles with no sign of life other than a car that didn't even bother looking to the other side of the road.

I look down at that bottle of Jack Daniels, which looks like the perfect anecdote to numb these depressing feelings. I pull the car over and pour myself another drink, this time using a lot less alcohol. I'm depressed but not stupid.

Even though I feel sober now, and drinking again doesn't seem like a great idea, I think need it. One drink, I say, should get me through these next fifty miles until I reach Louisville. Once I'm there I'll at least have some excitement and sense of adventure, something to take my mind off the situation.

As bad as it is to drink and drive, the alcohol does make me feel better. Jack will be able to cheer me up through all of this. It's like how people feel coffee gets them through the morning; that is how I feel Jack and Coke can get me through this depressing day.

The next fifty miles are much better. I'm still bored but the alcohol has lifted my spirits. Seeing the Louisville exit signs cheers me up too.

Since Louisville is a fairly big city, I think it's wise to drive around to try and find life. I'm not in any rush to get to Mobile; I have food, and I can sleep in the car if I have to.

I remember watching a movie once with Abby called "War of the Worlds" where Tom Cruise gets chased around by aliens for what felt like hours. Everywhere he went there were aliens, but at the end of the movie he met up with his ex-wife. She lived in Boston, which seemed to be unaffected by the entire worldwide alien Apocalypse. After watching that, Abby and I always said we would go straight to Boston if aliens ever attacked the US.

I wish I had thought of this earlier, because I might have actually considered going to Boston for this very reason, even though it's cold there this time of year. If I make it all the way to Mobile without seeing anyone, I'll probably go to Florida. It's warm and beautiful there when there isn't a hurricane. Once I get tired of Florida, and if for some reason I still haven't seen anyone by then, it's crazy but I think I'll go to Boston.

I make my way down a long exit ramp that takes me into downtown Louisville. Needless to say I'm not met with an entourage of cars. The highway was a pretty clear indication of what was to come – a ghost town.

Everything looks normal, other than the lack of cars driving and nonfunctioning stoplights. There are a few cars parked in metered spots on the road, but where their former drivers are, I wish I knew.

That's something I can't wrap my head around. If there were an evacuation of people, I would think every car would be gone, not to mention the highways would be lined with cars trying to leave. That isn't what has happened these past couple days though. There's nobody around town, and nobody on the highways either. Where could everyone possibly have gone?

I drive around making sure to be aware of what general direction the highway is in. I have a compass at home that I got for Christmas one year. I thought it was a lame gift at the time, but it sure would come in handy now if I had thought about bringing it. My smart phone has a compass app, but my battery died a long time ago and I don't have a car phone charger for it.

Just as soon as this thought occurs to me, I see a store up ahead called "Electrodes," which looks to be a huge electronics store. Jackpot!

I pull into the big empty parking lot and park in my favorite spot right by the door. I get out of the car without grabbing any artillery and see if I can pull the sliding glass doors open manually. My attempt is embarrassing; I'm such a weakling.

I go back to the car and grab my ax, my favorite door smashing instrument, then stand about ten yards away and give it my best baseball swing at the door. When it hits the door, I see something fly off but the glass isn't even cracked. When I go to pick up the ax, I see a huge chunk of the wooden handle broke off. "Piece of shit ax!" I guess you get what you pay for. It's still usable, I just have to make sure I don't get a splinter lodged in my hand every time I hold the handle.

I reach into the car for my second favorite method of breaking and entering - my pellet gun. Since I'm now in Kentucky, I really should start keeping my eye out for gun stores. I'd think they would have drive-thru gun places on every corner the same way Ohio has liquor stores.

It takes several shots, but eventually I get the glass to crack and break through. The key I've found is to shoot at the same spot multiple times until it gives in.

This door has the most durable glass I've seen so far, which makes sense being an electronics store. I have to chip away at it with the ax, which I find to be a much better option than using my foot. I'm not the brightest of the bunch, but I learn from my mistakes. My leg is a scabbed reminder of my earlier stupidity.

I grab my gun and my flashlight from the car and head into the store, leaving the ax on the ground beside the door. Being the nerd that I am, my eyes light up when I see this huge store filled with electronics I can pick and choose from.

The only thing I came here for is a car phone charger for my phone and some CDs to make the ride more enjoyable. The car adapter for my smart phone is easy to find so I make my way over to the CDs. The selection isn't nearly as big as it used to be before MP3 players, but there are still some options. I have a wide music taste, as long as it's not Abby's sappy love music.

I take some Metallica, Aerosmith, Billy Joel, and a nice overpriced collection of Beatles albums. It's starting to get hard to carry everything so I make my way back to the car to unload.

That's when I drop everything I'm carrying to the ground. Standing at the doorway, with its razor-sharp teeth snarling at me, is a big black dog. It looks very similar to my Cujo – same breed, roughly the same size.

I slowly reach down for my gun, making sure to keep my eyes on him. He's snarling but not coming toward me yet. I lift the gun off the ground and take the safety off as quietly as possible. The clicking of the safety, though, seems to set him off and he runs towards me.

Realizing I don't have a clear shot, I look for somewhere safe I can go. Right in front of me is a large shelf holding boxes of software programs. I put my foot up on one of the shelves and climb up. The top has about a one-foot ledge for me to stand and walk on.

The dog is barking with fury as it tries to climb up the shelf. His first attempts fail as he falls back down. However, this dog is clever. The next time he jumps he realizes he needs to pull himself up with the shelves like I did.

Surprised by my survival instincts, I take the butt end of my gun and start hitting him with it until he falls back down. This angers him more and, now that I'm this close, I can look in his eyes. I am almost certain this is the exact same dog from Ohio. How can this be though? There's no way Cujo could have walked over two hundred miles to get here.

With Cujo on the ground, I get my gun into position and aim. He's moving so fast it's hard for me to get a clear shot, but I pull the trigger anyway.

I miss.

He gets a good jump off of one of the shelves and takes a snap at my arm, barely missing. I take a swing at him with the gun but also miss. It's enough to cause him to fall back to the ground.

If only I had my ax with me. Why did I leave it by the door?

The dog, sensing my next shot will be more successful, starts running away. I take aim and, without much thought, pull the trigger. I see him flinch from the blast as he scurries behind another shelf. I'm not 100% sure, but I think I hit him. It may just be a wimpy pellet gun, but it's still powerful enough to hurt when it shoots you.

I keep my gun aimed and ready for his next attack. The shelf is just in front of a wall which means he has to come out on either the left or the right side; there's nowhere else to go.