by S. P. Shane
The engine grinds loudly as the road winds over a steep hill. At the top of the hill, the road appears to run dead, but it makes a sharp turn and continues. The tires lose traction for a moment, but Josh steadies it, then speeds ahead on the county highway. From here, the bottom of the hill is within view.
The blue and white lights of a Crenshaw County cruiser reflect off of the wet roadway. An officer's car blocks the lanes ahead of a line of cones and flares.
“You gotta be kiddin' me! A roadblock? For us?”
"There's probably high water," Josh says.
He lets the bike coast slowly toward the roadblock.
An officer with a thick brown mustache and goatee climbs out of the cruiser. A clear rain coat covers his gray uniform. He jogs up to the bike.
“The highway's closed just ahead. Where y'all headed?”
“Ferry's Port.”
“You'll wanna double back and try the fifty-three.”
"Is the road cut off?"
"Water's coming outta the bank. If it comes any higher, it'll wash out the road."
"But it's not blocked yet?"
"Too dangerous, son. You'll wanna head back."
Josh nods, lets the bike roll backwards, making a half-turn, as the officer strolls back toward his car.
"So, now what?"
Josh glances at his watch, while blinking and shoving strands of wet hair out of his eyes. "We'll never make the fifty-three."
My heart sinks as Josh peers down the highway leading back to Crenshaw's Creek. “There's gotta be another way.”
“Ferry's Port's only a few miles from here. Four at the most.”
“Can we get there?”
“If we can just get around the bend we're home free.”
“But ya heard the man. We can't.”
“No, Caleb. He said we shouldn't.”
“Uh...” I want to tell him that there's everything in the world wrong with his little plan, but there's nothing back in Crenshaw's Creek for us anymore. The only thing I know to do is to keep moving—one way or another.
“Well?”he asks, as if it's my decision.
“Alright then.”
The motor hums, and the bike lurches forward. The officer staggers around and glares at us, as Josh opens the throttle all the way.
"Hold on..."
The officer runs toward the front of his car, flapping his arms, but he's not about to tackle a speeding motorcycle. The Kawasaki barely clears the guard rail, as Josh steers the bike past the cruiser. He angles the bike toward the center of the road and holds the throttle wide open.
As the bike barrels around the bend, an ocean of water swells to the right of the road, swallows trees and covers the ground. Muddy brown water rips greedy handfuls of asphalt from the edge of the road.
Debris gushes by in the current. Tree limbs. Empty plastic bottles. Soda cans. A blue denim jacket. A storm door. The ground shakes and the bike barely holds the road. For a split second, it appears that it's just road noise—vibration from riding too fast on rough pavement. But the water stirs as well and ahead of us water edges out into the right lane.
Josh leans forward. His eyes peer above the handlebars, and his clenched fists holds the throttle tightly. I lean forward too, holding on with everything I've got. If the bike goes into the water, it's the end of us both.
The wind kicks up, carrying beads of water directly at us, as the bike drifts into the left lane. A muffled cough rattles the bike beneath us. The needles on the gauges fall to zero. The bike's stalled.
“Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!” Josh kicks furiously with his foot, trying to restart the engine. The wheels continue to roll, but the bike slows.
Waves lap against the pavement, as a wide line of water rises in the corner of my eye. It's like a small hill rolling from the tree line. And the only thing I can think is that the quaking we just felt was the levee—and it just broke. And there's not a thing that either of us can do.
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
S.P. Shane is cogitator, an instigator, and a prognosticator from Kentucky. He writes poetry, plays, screenplays, short stories, and novels. When he's not writing, he paints portraits of leprechauns (among other things) and performs stand-up comedy. He writes an occasional tear-jerker when his medications wear off, but he's mostly attracted to comedic, satirical, and absurd writing. He's currently putting the finishing touches on his forthcoming novel.
S.P. Shane