Interstate (10 page)

Kids in back making too much noise now. Or maybe they have been for a while but he just hears it now. But too much with that man having looked at him before like that and their car getting so close, though now it's a good two hundred feet in front of him. So maybe he shouldn't say it, leave them alone, they're being all right, but the noise is kind of irritating if just as noise and he says “Kids, come on—Margo, be quiet, enough.” She says “Why's it always have to be me just because I'm older? She could be doing something wrong too.” “Then Julie, Margo, both of you—anyway, I'm a little nervous, maybe just tired from the drive, and your noise is disturbing me, so please tone it down.” “What, Daddy?” Julie says and he says “I said, and come on, you must have heard me, I said to tone it down, be a little less noisy—you both are, so you both.” “We're not doing anything. We're playing games together, not hurting each other, and having fun. You want us to have fun, don't you, and not pester you when you're driving like you've said we do?” “Please, don't, you're too young for that, to also start trading cleverness or something with me, using my words for that—what I said I said and so on—to get out of it. I'm trying to concentrate on my driving, which you've got to on a big highway and so many cars and trucks, and I need you two to be a lot less roughhouse than you are.” “Be less what?” Julie says. “We're not,” Margo says. “We're even being quiet, playing well for a change, so you should be happy.” “Okay, nothing, really, fine,” he says, “but just try to keep your voices at that level you just spoke, both of you, kind of low. In fact, don't try, just do it; please?” The other car's slowed down to where it's even with his again but back in the middle of its lane and man's staring at him when he turns to it but with this new look of niceness and no sinister smile. He smiles, one of those flash ones which means he's smiling because something isn't nice or funny, and looks front. Probably shouldn't have done that. Just smiled naturally or not at all. But what's with them? Don't they know they're distracting him, which could be dangerous for him driving the car and then for them if he's distracted into them or too near them by losing a little driving control? Well, it won't go that far, but the level of danger is raised a little he'd think by their looks, even if those were nice ones they just gave, for something ugly's obviously underneath, and now coming back and such and what went on before and also raised by their driving fifty in the speed lane which seems to be just to stay even with him—what else could it be for?—and they should know all that. They should just leave him alone. He has kids in the car too, goddamnit, don't the idiots see? Forget it, they're just trying to needle him, for some reason. He's their target or mark on the road for the moment, source of entertainment because they're bored with driving or their own conversation, the music on the radio—they can't locate any station or bring it in clear in this sort of open-land stretch—or they've run out of tape cassettes or have none to play and to each other nothing much ever to say—but having kids' fun in their own big dumb men's way, or they just don't like his face, he reminds them or one of them—the passenger—of someone the guy really hates or maybe the passenger even thinks he's that man. He could speed up but feels they'll only keep up with him. Or go into the next middle lane or even to the slow one and drive slower in either but how slow can you go on this big Interstate without being a danger yourself with all the cars flying by and buses and trailer trucks? Certainly first cop car he spots he'll honk for or pull over if it's on the side of the road or the divider, but he better keep a sharp lookout, and first turnoff or rest stop that comes up, he'll pull off. He rolls his window up all the way. That's at least some protection if he needs it or a signal to them to leave off or just enough of a shield between them where they'll now feel they can't get through to him. Other front window's down a little but that's okay, nothing wrong on that side. Kids' windows are only pushed out a little at the back and clasped. Glances around to them and then in the rearview. They're all right, playing quietly by themselves, Julie, because of her yawn, probably starting to nod off, but no sign they're aware of any uneasiness in him. Senses some arm action from the car and looks and man's smiling nice-like again and saying something like “Your window, your window, roll your window down,” and points to his chest and then his mouth and then to him as if he has something to tell him and now with this slightly urgent face, and then to the highway on their side and all the time the driver's nodding agreeingly. “What?” he mouths. “Can't make it out. What? Sorry,” and looks front and drives into the next middle lane. He thinks “They're trying to inveigle me into something, that's all, I can see it a mile away.” They drive into the lane he just left and stay even with him. He glances over and both are looking at him now and smiling, then the driver laughing, the passenger then laughing, the driver then laughing hysterically it seems like. “Hey, what gives already?” he says through the window. “What the heck you want?” “What's that, Daddy?” Julie says and he says “Nothing, sweetie, go back to your nap.” “I wasn't sleeping.” “Really, nothing, I was only saying out loud before something I was thinking inside.” “You were talking to those men there,” Margo says and he says “Those men, in the car beside us? No, but don't pay any attention to them, wave or anything, you hear? Are you both listening to me?” and Julie says “What men?” and Margo says “The car outside my side,” and Julie says “I didn't see them, I wasn't waving, maybe Margo,” and he says “No fights, both of you, just play or be quiet,” and he looks in the rearview a few seconds later, has to shift it around a little, and they're back to what they were doing or something else. He turns to the men. They're still laughing or only started laughing again when he turned to them but not as hysterically and the passenger shaking his head at him as if how could anyone be such a jerk? and he looks front. Why'd he even answer them? They didn't hear, but just with his mouth moving. They're crazy or just bastards. Best to ignore them. They could sideswipe his car or whatever's the word. Sideswipe. That what they're after? Bump or graze his car a little with theirs to give him a scare? Even to send him off the road or into another car for all he knows? They might know how to do it without losing control of theirs, but he could lose control. That could be what they want, for him to crash, but more realistically to just scare him and they might be so stupid as to think everyone can get back control of their car once they lose it for a second, at least any man his age, so they actually might not have any thoughts about making him crash, but he could. He's a good driver but not great. Car spinning on a slick or ice, he never knows what to do. Brake, no brake, left when it goes right, right when it goes right, steering the car where? and it's happened. Then out the side of his eye the passenger's hand out the window, which is all the way down now he sees when he looks straight at him, and pointing it to the front of his car and down, the wheel or somewhere near. “Something is wrong with your car,” the man seems to be saying. “Something is wrong where I'm pointing, up front.” “Something's wrong with some part of the front of my car?” he mouths, not wanting the kids to hear, and the man nods and the driver, looking back and forth at the road and him, nods vigorously, saying “Yeah, babe, yeah,” and the man says with his expression and hand “Roll down your window so I can tell you what it is.” Wait wait wait. Something's been wrong with his car and their staying even with him and everything all this time was for that? And the laughing before, even the hysterics, was because they knew he was thinking they were doing something terrible or nuts or intending to when it was only his car and safety and stuff and even his kids they were concerned about? Good intentions all along? So maybe it's that, it seems to be, which he's relieved about but now worried about his car, though it's probably only the air in his left front wheel's low or hubcap there's loose, it's not a flat, he'd feel that, nor his door the man's pointing at and he can see it's shut tight, or maybe something's stuck to his fender or somewhere—the grille—a dead animal, a bird, even, and he rolls his window down and says “What is it—the wheel?” and the passenger says “No, man, it's nothing, but this,” and sticks his left hand out beside his right and there's a gun in it. Guy's got a gun, pistol, fingers around the trigger part. “What're you, fucking crazy?” he screams and speeds up and they catch up and he yells “Girls, down, duck, duck,” and they say “What's wrong?” “What's the matter, Daddy?” “What's ‘duck'?” Julie says and he yells, quickly seeing the guy alongside with the gun out on him, “Down in the seat, away from the windows, now, now, get down,” car staying beside his. He takes his hands off the wheel and keeps shaking them over it and says “God, God, what am I going to do? they're trying to kill us,” before the car starts hooking right and he grabs the wheel and straightens it, man with the gun out and both men laughing, girls screaming. “Down, keep down,” he yells, “are you both down?” and in the rearview sees they're down because he doesn't see them and from below somewhere still screaming, or just one is, scream's so loud. “On the floor, get on the floor if you're not, even if you have to take your seats off, seatbelts, on the floor, now,” and floors the gas pedal till the car gets up to as fast as it can get and starts vibrating, men right beside him, arm out with the gun out, driver clutching the wheel but lunging back and forth in the seat and bouncing on it he seems so excited and passenger not laughing now, serious, both hands on the gun, arms resting on the window frame, finger seems to be on the trigger, head cocked and one eye closed, taking aim at him. “Don't,” he shouts, looking front, “don't, please don't, I'll crash and kill the kids, they're in back on the floor,” and slows down, men's car speeds past, good move, what else? slow down some more, into the slow lane, maybe off the highway, even into a ditch, anything better than getting shot at, slows down, into the slow lane, no cops around, no other cars or trucks except far ahead and in the rearview way back if that's a truck, men's car into the middle lane he was just in and slows down, another car in the passing lane speeds past doing eighty, maybe ninety and he honks and keeps honking and it honks back but never slows, no houses on the road, just fields and trees, way off a farm, dart off and crash if you have to but going slow and where you have some control. He see a good spot? Too many trees or steep inclines. Maybe shoot across the highway and stop in the grassy middle strip or even cross it if he can find an opening in the fence and then north, but some maniac doing eighty or ninety on this side might suddenly appear from nowhere and hit them. Can't keep my eye on everything at once. Some cars and a bus pass in the passing and left middle lane. He honks. Men's car's slowed down till it's almost even with his, gun out on his head again but with some kind of cloth over it and the arms, just the barrel he sees, passenger laughing and driver back into hysterics and slapping the dashboard with one hand. “You down, kids?” he yells, “you still on the floor?” and they just scream, never stop, two of them, blocking out his thoughts, and he yells “Stop, stop, I can't think, speak, tell me where you are, you both on the floor?—I got to know,” and Margo says “Why were we—” and he yells “Answer me,” and she says “Yes, we're here, but why were we going so fast before and now slow—can we get up?” and Julie says “We stopping, Daddy, those men with the guns away?” and he says “Not stopping, don't get up,” and looks for them in the rearview, not there, “Or stopping, yes,” and slows down, more cars passing and pass in the two last left lanes and he honks, men alongside him, gun out, guy laughing, and goes off the road, on the shoulder, wants to get as far off the road as he can but tries to keep from getting too near the incline, which is only a couple of feet deep he sees—not even—but car can turn over if he gets only the right wheels in, though comes to that, chance it, they shouldn't get too hurt if it just rolls over once and stops and he gets them out quick, wants to roll down the right window all the way so there won't be any smashed glass but he can't, seat belt, and unbuckles his and rolls the window down while he holds the wheel and yells “Hold on, stay down—kids, you hear? we're going to stop,” and brakes hard, expects shots, kids bang into the back of his seat by the sounds of the two slams and his head's thrown forward and bangs into the windshield but doesn't smash it and he's snapped back into his seat, looks up, car's going on and arm's in and in fact seems to be speeding up but still in the same middle lane and then arm's out with the gun and no cloth and aimed back at them, two hands it seems around it and from in back the kids' screams and he yells “Girls, duck, down, duck down,” and throws himself to the floor, shots, two, two more and screaming and ripping of metal in his car both. “Oh my God, oh Jesus,
oh no, my darlings,” and gets up, car's way off, jumps around on the seat on his knees and looks over it and down to the floor. Margo's screaming, Julie, nothing, eyes closed, Margo's opening on him. Blood around and on them both, blood running down his face but he's too alive and alert and no pain so he knows he's not hurt and it must just be some cut on his forehead, but Julie looks dead. She has to be hit. But maybe just her head slamming against the seat before and she's stunned or out cold but she'll be up or she's faking and he says “Julie, you all right?” and there's nothing and he says “Margo, you?” and she says “Daddy, your head,” and he says “Hell with my head, but you're all right, right?” and she says “My head really hurts, I think I might've broken it,” and he says “No no, you're okay—Julie, you all right? You okay? What is it, dear? Get up. Margo's fine. We're all fine. It's over now. We're safe. Don't stay there. Tell me. Don't pretend if you're not hurt. Margo says she's not pretending. Really hurt, I mean. Julie, lovie, do the same,” and Margo says “She's not pretending, Daddy. She's very hurt, look at the blood. It's all over,” and jumps away as if suddenly afraid of it and sits up, legs tucked under her, on the seat. “It's mostly from me, that blood there,” he says, wiping his head with his sleeves, “not her or that much of it,” and gets out on his side, cars passing, a truck, tries opening their door on that side, locked, beats the door with his fists and yells “Stop, stop,” then thinks “Quick, do something, save her if she can be saved,” and then shakes his head and says “No no, not that thought, never,” and gets on his seat and leans over the back to open their door and goes in back through it and sits on their seat, Margo in the corner, and lifts Julie up by her back and head and doesn't want to look but has to and lifts her blouse and pulls down her pants and sees she's shot in the chest near her neck. Blood's coming out of it, has come out, one shot it seems and wipes the blood off her back and doesn't see any place where the bullet could have come out, and presses his chest with his hand while holding her and screams “Oh no, oh my God, not my child, don't do this, don't, make her live, not Julie,” and Margo screams. “Shut up,” he yells and she says “My head hurts bad, Daddy, I feel sick,” and he yells “Fuck your head, your sister's dying or dead,” and she starts crying and he says “I'm sorry, I'm going crazy, I don't know what to do, what should I do? but be quiet,” and she's quiet and he listens at Julie's mouth for breathing but she isn't. She is. Thinks he heard something, a gurgling, a voice. Then nothing. “What, what? You say something, Julie? Say it again.” Ear at her mouth. Nothing. Ear against her chest. The blood, which he feels on his cheek, and looks around for something to stop it, his hanky. Margo's shouting something at him, the words “important, important,” and he says, pressing the hanky hard against the hole in Julie, “What's that?” and she says “A hospital, it's important we go to a hospital,” and he says “Where is one? You see a sign before for one?” and she shakes her head. “We could be driving around looking for one till she really dies. Right now let me just see. Maybe a police car will come and they'll get an ambulance here quicker,” and listens against her chest around where he thinks her heart is. Nothing. Listens to other places where her heart could be. Parts her lips with his fingers, ear on her mouth. Thinks he feels something, breath, wet. Maybe it's the blood again and he isn't feeling anything like breath, or can't hear it and closes his eyes and concentrates but there's nothing, no breath, sound, gurgle. Wipes his ear where it felt wet and looks at it; was blood. Parts her lips and sticks his ear inside her mouth far as he can get it. Cars zip by, what sounds like a big truck. “Shut the noise,” he shouts, “shut the fuck up,” and Margo says “I'm not saying anything, I'm quiet,” and he says “The cars, trucks. Shh, I'm listening, I have to listen,” and sticks his ear back in, closes his eyes and holds his breath. Nothing. His ear out, lets her lips close, kisses them. They're not warm, they're not cold. That wasn't why he kissed them but feels them again, kisses them. Same thing but colder than lips usually are he thinks. “Oh my God, help, someone help, we need help.” “Breathe into her,” Margo says. “What?” “Breathe into her. They do that; it could help.” “Oh fuck, I forgot,” and pounds his head with his fists and she says “Daddy, please, breathe into her. Down and up like I've seen, down and up,” and he says “I know how, I think, but nothing's going to work, I know it,” and lays her on the floor and breathes into her mouth, comes up and takes a deeper breath and breathes into her, twice more, listens, nothing. “More, more, those times aren't enough,” she says and he breathes into her, takes a deep breath, breathes into her, deep breath, eight more times till it's ten, listens at her mouth and chest. “Go out, I'll continue,” he says. “Flag down a car. That's with your arms,” waving. “Stop one. Stop a lot. Maybe one will have a doctor.” “I still think we should go to a hospital, look for one.” “We will but first do what I say. We just need help. Now go.” She opens the door to the ditch side, starts to step out, he yells “No, don't, you can get killed, the cars. What am I doing? Stay with your sister. She starts moving, yell for me.” He goes out, flags car after car. None stop or slow down. “I have to do this quickly,” he yells at the next few cars, “so someone stop. I got to get back to helping her—Margo, can you breathe into her?” he yells. Her head pops up; what was she doing? “If you can, do.” “What?” “Breathe into Julie, into her, you saw me. Anything might help—Stop,” he yells at a car that just passed in the slow lane. “My kid's been shot,” pointing to his car, thinking the driver might be looking back in his mirrors. “Stop, stop, she's dying, I need help,” running into the middle of the slow lane, looking at a car way off coming in it and then to the one that passed. “She may be dead. Please, please.” Other cars and trucks in all four lanes. One that was in the slow lane moves into the nearest middle lane when it gets about two hundred feet from him and the driver points to his own head and then him with the motion “You're nuts.” He was going to stay there till it was about fifty feet away. He stays a few feet into the slow lane yelling. Most people look, several honk, some point, a little girl waves back at him, a few seem to say to each other “You see that?” a couple of them signal with their faces and hands “Sorry, can't stop,” a motorcyclist goes past in the fast lane but never seems to see or hear him. “My daughter, my little girl, stop, I'm not kidding,” pointing to his car, front door open. “She's shot, hurt, maniacs on the road, she was shot by a maniac.” Makes his hand into a gun and shoots it at his car. “Like this, a gun, don't you hear?” All the cars in the slow lane go into the middle ones to pass him. “Shot, maybe killed, my kid, over there. Oh fuck it.” Starts running back to his car when he sees a car's stopped about a hundred feet past him, now driving in reverse on the shoulder till it's right in front of his. “What's up?” the driver says from the window, “something the matter I can help?” a kid, around eighteen. “My daughter, in there, she's shot. Some guys from another car. I think she's dying or dead. I'm going crazy what to do.” “Better get her to a hospital fast. There's one a few miles from here. Next exit. No, exit after that. What the heck's the exit number? I know it, every day, and now I have to forget? But one of the next three exits for sure. They're all one quick after the other, the first about five miles from here. There's a big blue H sign with an arrow on it by the exit sign you're to get off. Follow it to the hospital, there'll be other H's, a mile, no more than two from it.” “Please get out and stop other cars. I've got to get back to her. Maybe one will have a doctor. They'll see our two cars here and think something's wrong and stop.” “Put your emergency flashers on, that's a signal,” putting on his. “And let me see her,” getting out. “I don't know anything but I think I can tell if she's too far gone.” “No, just go, even to call nine-one-one. Get an ambulance here; you know where we are. My other kid will wave down cars while I keep the shot one breathing. They'll stop for a kid waving.” “Daddy,” Margo yells, “you have to come here. She's changing colors and didn't feel right when I touched her.” He drops to the ground and pounds it and screams “Oh my God, please don't, You got to do something.” “You really better get her to the hospital,” the man shaking his shoulder. “That's the quickest. They can pull her back even when she's dead a minute. I'll lead you.” “Right,” and he jumps up and gets in his car, man runs to his, and he says “Margo, buckle up,” looks back, Julie's where he left her, man's honking, wants to go. “She didn't get up, did she?—make a move, a sound, nothing like that?” and Margo says “I don't think so but I wasn't always looking—what about her strange color? She's not dead, is she?” and he says “She's the same, no new colors, alive, only hurt, she'll be fine, fine,” but doesn't remember seeing. Just there, that's all he recalls, on the floor, same spot, eyes closed, too peaceful, maybe with some new blood on her. “It's smelling back here, Daddy.” Blood; has to go back to help her, stuff it up, get her breathing, keep her, he means. Man's honking and pulls out. “Okay, okay—my keys, oh no,” and looks for them above the dashboard, feels his pockets, screams “My keys, where are they, why am I always losing things?” in the ignition, turns the key and there's this ripping sound from it, ignition was still on and he says “Oh my darling, my darling, and I could've killed them both,” crying. Man honks and he screams “I can't take it, I want to kill myself,” and follows the car into the slow lane and along the highway. “Daddy, you're not going to crash us, are you?” and he thinks, “Oh I wish that was Julie saying that,” and says “No no, it's just I feel so bad,” and she says “Me too—your lights on like that man's?” and he puts the flashers on and says “How's Julie doing? Some movement, anything with the eyes?” and she says “The same. I can't look at her anymore, Daddy, I can't,” and he says “Just tell me if you see any part of her move or breathe. I don't know what to do. What should I? Go back and breathe into her, try and stop her cuts?” and she says “You're doing right, Daddy, the hospital. They'll do it better, they know how.” “Faster,” he yells out the window to the man, “go faster,” for the man's only doing fifty-five, then sixty and then fifty-five again and keeps turning around to see if he's still behind him. “I'm here, what do you think? just use the mirrors, you fucking idiot, don't waste your time turning around to me and cutting your speed,” and honks and honks, gets very close as if to say speed up or move over, but the man looks back again and looks alarmed when he sees how close the cars are and waves for him to get farther back and he waves for the man to go faster, faster and yells “Faster, faster,” and the man speeds up to sixty and stays there. “Jerk, fucking schmuck, move, move,” and sees a sign for the next exit one mile ahead, no H on it, maybe it'll be on the exit sign, but the man isn't signaling right, maybe he never does when he's changing lanes or leaving one for an exit, lots of drivers don't, but it'd be a signal to him that this exit's the one they get off. They approach the exit and the man passes it and soon after it is another sign for an exit a half mile ahead, H on it and he signals left and skirts around the man and speeds up and the man honks and tries keeping up with him and he gets off, doesn't look back to see if the man's behind, maybe he should because maybe the man's trying to tell him that this is the wrong hospital, the next one which might be off one of the next two exits might be the right one for emergencies, looks in the rearview but man's not there, no no, there couldn't be two hospitals so close or the chances of it are very small in what seems like such an unpopulated area and besides that the man would have said something about it before they took off, or even if the man just realized it it's too late and this hospital will have doctors and stuff to help and going fast as he can he follows the H signs and then Hospital signs and sees the hospital, it's a large one so will probably have an Emergency and goes down its road and looks for a sign saying emergency, “Margo, look for a sign that says emergency,” he yells, “e-m-e-r—you know how to spell it. Is Julie all right, everything back there okay?” and she says nothing and he sees the sign and then the emergency entrance and parks in front, “There's Emergency,” she says and he says “I know,” and honks and honks and nobody comes out or is around and he yells “What do I have to do, go in to get you?—this is an emergency, I'm honking emergency,” and looks in back, Margo's crying, “Oh this is so tough for you, darling, I