Disappearance

by Wiley, Ryan

I eat breakfast and think about anything else I might need on the trip. One thing I'd absolutely love to do is take a shower. I feel disgusting and am starting to smell. Not only does the smell bother me, but I also just don't feel well. Deodorant only helps so much.

  If I happen to make it all the way to Alabama today, the first thing I'm going to do is find water to take a bath, even if it means going in the ocean. I grab a few bars of soap, shampoo, and all of the other toiletries I'll need.

  I've been brushing my teeth on a regular basis using some bottled water in the sink. I'm still surprised every time I use the toilet and it works. I keep waiting for a huge explosion to happen when I push down on the flusher but it never does. If I get to the point where I have to do my business outside, I don't think I'll mind. As long as I have toilet paper, I can squat down.

  My time travel book makes me wish I could go back a few thousand years to see how people survived without all of life's current necessities. I wouldn't mind going a few thousand years into the future too, just to see what that's like, but that's a whole other topic I won't get into.

  I load the car up with last-minute items I've thought of and consider taking my golf clubs with me. If I'm going to be in warm weather I might as well enjoy it. I settle for a pair of swimming trunks instead, which should more than keep me occupied when I get there.

  When all is said and done my car is packed with stuff. The trunk, backseat, and now front passenger seat don't have one inch of space left. I couldn't fit my golf clubs even if I wanted to. I can't think of anything essential I'm forgetting, and anxiety starts to build inside me. The fear of the unknown is a scary thing.

  I back the car out of the garage and take one last look at my house. I smile when I think of all the great memories in here. As I drive off, I wonder when I'll make it back here.

  Making my way through this empty town is starting to feel normal. It still has that polished look to it like everything is as it should be, but I know inside the shop doors is nothing but emptiness.

  When I looked at the map earlier, I wrote down some directions I think will get me there in the most optimal way possible. I tried the GPS, hoping it would work, but there's no signal. Maybe my luck will change when I get a couple hundred miles out.

  A rush of excitement builds in me when I reach the highway. I can almost imagine the cars passing by. Do I honk at the first one I see and try to get them to pull over? I laugh at how crazy I'd think someone was if they did that to me. Imagine someone driving up next to you honking and signaling for you to get off the road. I'd be reaching for my phone to call the police.

  If I do see cars soon, I decide it would be best if I pulled into a rest stop to strike up a conversation there. It would be a strange conversation, no doubt. I'd have to work this into the conversation... "Yeah, everyone has disappeared within forty-five miles of my house and I'm trying to find any form of civilization."

  My route takes me west for a few hours to reach I-65. I've gone this direction many times before, when Abby and I go to Cincinnati a few times a year to get away.

  As always, I get the feeling I'm forgetting something. It takes a while, but I remember what it is when I reach down to itch my leg – bandages and Neosporin.

  I've swapped out bandages a handful of times since my little meltdown with Abby's office door. Of course, I can more than survive today without a bandage, since I'll be in the car and it won't get infected. With no doctors around, I need to be extra careful.

  Something else I wish I had brought is my CD collection. With no radio, things are pretty quiet and boring. Abby has a few CDs stashed around her car but they are dreadful. I'd rather sit in silence than hear sappy love songs.

  I'm not a big music person, but like everyone else my age I have thousands of songs on my phone. It doesn't matter how old I get, I always listen to the songs that were playing when I was in high school and college. My parents do the same thing, always listening to music from the '60s and '70s. I guess we all like to re-live the days when we were young and rebellious.

  I'm about an hour outside of Cincinnati when I see a long bit of construction. I don't know about other parts of the country, but driving on Ohio's highways is a never-ending battle with construction areas. By the time a road is finally built, they tear it down and start re-building it again.

  My wife and I haven't been this way in several months, and large concrete blocks are set up for what seems like miles on the left side of the road.

  I'm in this construction zone for about five minutes before I see it, a car headed towards me on the other side of the highway. The concrete blocks leave no way for me to get over unless I find a gap up ahead. I slam my foot on the pedal hoping to find such an opportunity. I begin honking my horn too, just in case they aren't paying attention. It's hard to see over there because of the concrete blocks, but just as we are getting ready to pass each other I see it's another black car. It looks similar to the car I saw yesterday, maybe not quite the same but similar.

  I try to get a look at the driver but we go by so quickly I'm not able to see them. Without being able to get over, my only chance of heading in that direction is if there's an exit ramp. There hasn't been one in a while, so I think one should be close.

  Even though I've been on this road several times, I have no memory of where the exits are. I speed up even faster hoping to find any opportunity to turn around, but it never comes.

  After fifteen miles, I finally approach the exit ramp I desperately wanted, but decide it's no longer worth it to go back. They are long gone by now. I remain optimistic I'll see another car up ahead though.

  It turns out my optimism was wrong. I never see another car in the more than seventy miles left to Cincinnati. This large city, which usually has thousands of cars on the highway and thousands more driving through the streets, is completely deserted. I guess I should start expecting this, but it still has me in disbelief.

  I've seen my tiny little hometown deserted, and I've seen Chesterfield, a large city in itself, wiped out. Cincinnati, though, is one of the top five largest cities in Ohio, and probably up there on the US city population list as well. Yet, everywhere I look I don't see a single human being. This kicks things up to a whole new level of weird.

  I look at my gas gauge and see I still have more than half a tank left. Of course, I don't really need to worry about running out of gas, because I have four gas jugs sitting in the trunk of my car. I can pull over at any moment and refuel.

  I consider driving through the downtown area, but I can see enough of what I need from the highway. There's nobody here; everyone has packed up and gone. Wherever they went, I hope I'm headed in the same direction. Are they going to Mobile, Alabama too?

  After driving a while longer, I reach the bridge that takes you over the Ohio River and into Kentucky. I admit I'm worried that I'll somehow burst into flames the moment I leave Ohio. With the way these past couple days have gone, nothing would surprise me.

  Is it just Ohio that's missing everyone? I can't think of a reason why an entire state would need to be evacuated. If that was indeed the case then why was I left out? No, it couldn't be that.

  When I drive over the state line into Kentucky, I don't burst into flames. I'll have to save death via spontaneous combustion for another day. I think about the last time I left the state and realize it's been far too long. Abby and I enjoy traveling, but we haven't been out of the state since our trip to Italy almost a year ago. Seeing state borders brings back a flood of good memories. The only time I've been out of Ohio is for vacations or doing something else fun.

  After driving a while longer I realize I'm starting to get hungry. Since there are no fast food options today I pull over to the side of the highway. In the backseat I have everything to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, as well as crackers and a bottle of water. You've never lived until you've eaten lunch by yourself in a car parked on the side of the highway.

  When I'm done, I get out to stretch my legs. I take my
fully loaded pellet gun and step out of the car. It's sunny and cool, and I look forward to the hot and humid weather I'm expecting in Mobile.

  To keep myself entertained I take some practice shots at a nearby stop sign. I seem to have a natural gift with this thing. I look around for birds or any other moving objects but don't see anything. I could go exploring in the woods, but I don't think I'm ready for that much adventure. The last thing I need is a run-in with a bear when I only have a pellet gun for defense and zero tree-climbing skills.

  Instead, I shoot the sign a few more times and, once I've had my fun, head back to the car and drive off. I think about anything I can do to make this trip a little more enjoyable. After all, I can do whatever I want to anything I want. If I had the desire to break into a bank and take wads of cash, I could. If I wanted to stop at a liquor store and start drinking and driving, I could do that too with no fear of getting pulled over.

  Thinking about it, alcohol would make this trip more enjoyable. I'm not a big drinker but from my experience alcohol makes everything more fun.

  Other options I have for the anarchist in me are burning down buildings and stealing sports cars. These are things I would never do in a million years under normal circumstances, but with nobody here, why not? Could be fun.

  I decide I'm going to have some adventure in the next town I find. All of my crimes up to this point have been out of necessity; it's about time I make the most of my unique situation.

  Sure enough, almost as if by fate, I see a "Cracker Barrel 2 Miles Ahead" sign. Cracker Barrel is a little restaurant that was a requirement for all of my family trips. I have no plans of going there today though; it's only an indicator of a town ahead.

  I start getting excited like a little kid who sees the entrance sign to Disney for the first time. Moments pass and I take the exit ramp to a town with infinite possibilities. The Cracker Barrel is just off the road. This restaurant chain, like McDonald's, always seems to have the best locations right off the highway.

  I look across the street and, next to the exit ramp back onto the highway, there is a gas station with a carry out. My eyes light up. This store looks very inviting for my destructive purposes.

  I don't even bother going up to the next traffic light to make a U-turn. I drive right through the grass and a flowerbed that this quaint little town has so happily provided to welcome its guests.

  I look in my rearview mirror but can't see what kind of damage I caused because of my dented trunk. I pull into the gas station and park the car right next to the mini-mart's front door. I reach for the ax, but decide the pellet gun might be more fun.

  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 stat
ions 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.