Disappearance

by Wiley, Ryan

  I think about how long it will be before I get to the next town. Assuming I walk two miles per hour – which, with all of the stuff I'm carrying, may be even slower – and figuring there should be a town within sixty miles, I have two full days of walking ahead of me, realistically three.

  I realize now I didn't bring any maps. At the time, I didn't think I needed any but now I wish I had. I could have looked to see exactly how far it's going to be before the nearest town. It doesn't matter though; knowing how far away it is isn't going to make it any closer.

  I mentally prepare myself for three days of walking. I hope it's not true but that's what I have to plan my food and water for. It would be great if I came up to a town sooner, but I have to expect the worst at this point.

  With that thought, I pick up my pace and continue walking forward.

  After two hours, I become more and more annoyed by what I'm carrying with me. This would be a lot easier if I didn't have to hold four boxes of cereal in my arms and have bottles of water stuffed in my pockets.

  I'm already using the last of my energy reserves, which isn't good considering I may have another six hours of walking ahead of me today. I'm almost guaranteed to be sleeping outside tonight. It's starting to get dark and cloudy, and the last thing I want is for it to rain. I don't think I'll have any trouble sleeping outside as long as I can lie down, but if it rains all night there's no chance.

  I continue walking but am startled when I feel something brush up against my leg. My first thought is that it must be a snake. Like most people, I'm terrified of the slithering creatures. Sure, if there's a big glass wall between us at the zoo they aren't that frightening, but when you see one in the wild you have no idea whether it's poisonous or not.

  When I look down though, I see it's not a snake. Not even close. It's another black cat.

  "Well hello there kitty."

  Where on Earth did this thing come from? I look around behind me and see it may have come out of the woods. How strange it is that I keep running into black cats, and I notice it's usually around this time of day too.

  I think back to the last four days like I did with the car. On the first day, I saw a cat on the way to Abby's office. On day two, there was a little black cat that came up next to me when I was siphoning gas by my house. Yesterday... I didn't see a cat. Does that disprove my theory? What was I doing yesterday around this time? It seems like so long ago.

  I remember going to the electronics store and getting attacked by Cujo #2. That was later in the day though. Before that I drove a lot then had a little meltdown at the gas station. Somewhere during that stretch of events was four o'clock.

  Then I remember that I started drinking around this time yesterday and passed out soon after. It must have been then, when I had my nap, which would explain why I didn't see a cat.

  It seems crazy, but then I remember the same thing happened with the car – always around the same time of the day. I'm not a betting man, but I would wager a fresh bottle of water that there was a little black cat hovering around the car while I was napping.

  As I look down at the cat, I wonder if it's the same one I saw before. I get a close look, but can't decide one way or the other. At the least it looks very similar.

  Another thing that seems strange to me is every time I see something it's always black. The cars have always been black. The cats have always been black. Even Cujo #1 and Cujo #2 have been black.

  I reach down to pet the cat but forget about the sharp pain in my side. I wince in pain, which is enough to scare her off and run into the woods.

  "Hey, where are you going? I'm not going to hurt you."

  It feels stupid, but I'm actually quite sad the cat ran off. I could sure use a friend right now. I give her a name, even though I'm not sure it's a her.

  "Tabby, come back!"

  I think about going into the woods after her, but decide it's not worth it. I need to save all the energy I have to continue my walk up the highway.

  For the next hour I make my way up a large, inclining hill. I have to make several rest stops to catch my breath and shake out the cramps in my legs. The excitement of seeing what's beyond the hill is the only thing motivating me to move forward. With each step, I get closer to seeing what scenery I'll get to look at for the next hour of my life.

  As I continue forward, I see more and more of the land on the other side. My heart skips a beat.

  It's not a town I see -- I'm not that lucky -- but far off in the distance I see houses! Of course, why didn't I think of that? I don't have to make it all the way to a new town to find shelter. There are always houses right off the highway. Climbing the hill left me slow and sluggish and ready to take another break, but now I have a newfound pep in my step and start fast-walking my way down the hill.

  Even at this rate, it's still going to take an hour to get there. If I only had a car or even a bicycle, I could coast my way down there in minutes.

  It's no surprise that walking down a hill is much more pleasant than walking up one. Walking also really allows you to soak in your surroundings in a way you just don't get while driving. You can hear the beautiful trees singing from the wind and smell the freshness of the air.

  The wind and the dark sky above remind me that it could start raining any minute now. It doesn't bother me as much as it did earlier, though; because now I know I'm only an hour walk from shelter.

  Sure enough, as soon as I'm reminded of it I feel my first raindrops. I try to remember the last time I was outside walking when it started to rain and can only think of one time during a golf outing a few years ago.

  The rain doesn't waste any time and starts coming down hard fast. I take back what I said about not caring if it rains; this is miserable. The drops are big and cold on my skin. With all of my layers of clothes on, it makes me feel even heavier.

  The cereal boxes start to feel soggy. I didn't think about it before, but why am I even carrying the boxes when I can just hold the plastic bags? I stop walking for a moment to do just that, throwing the cardboard to the ground. That's so much better! I stuff a couple bags in my pants, and now I can carry two bags in my free hand - much better than stuffed under my arms.

  The rain beating down on my face is rather annoying, so I flip up my hood. I look up at the clouds to see which direction they are moving and if the rain will end soon. Outdoor skills are not my area of expertise; I'm a city boy. All I know is the breeze is starting to pick up, so hopefully that means the wind will push the rain clouds away, whatever direction that may be.

  A huge gust of wind comes and knocks me off-balance. Then I hear something I should have expected, the rumbling of thunder.

  I pick up my pace, but I'm still a long way away from any houses. I look up just in time to see lightning followed by a loud crack. I turn my head to see if there's anywhere safe to take cover but there's nothing –- only highway, an empty field, and the woods a bit farther in the distance. I'm not sure anywhere is safer than where I am so I continue to move forward.

  The rain beats down even harder. I may regret it later but I break out into a jog. The stomping on the ground makes my side ache, but it's worth it if gets me out of this weather sooner. I look up again to see if there are any signs the storm will be over but it doesn't look good. Another bolt of lightning cracks down, this time making me jump and cover my hands over my head - as if that would help.

  The storm is right on top of me now. The wind is intense, making it difficult to even walk straight.

  The houses I saw at the top of the hill are starting to come more in focus. There are at least three on the right side of the road and two on the left. At this jogging pace, I should be there soon.

  A few minutes pass and the rain starts to let up. Right when I think the storm is over I hear, without a doubt, the loudest noise I've ever heard in my life. No more than one hundred yards from me, lightning strikes a tree I happened to be looking at. Sparks fly everywhere making it momentarily look like a Christmas tree.


  I'm glad I decided stay out in the open. The only thing I recall about lightning safety in school is that being in a car is one of the safer options. That never made sense to me, but I'll have to agree it sounds safer than being under a tree right now.

  My jog turns into a run; lightning can be a huge motivator. My heart is beating out of my chest but adrenaline has kicked into full force and the pain in my side has disappeared. A tiny white house ahead is getting closer and closer. Despite the lightning, the rain does seem to be slowing down. That's of little concern now though; I'm already drenched. My run turns back into a jog so I can start to catch my breath. I continue to push forward as the house is only a couple more minutes away.

  The feeling I get when I finally step into their yard is pure joy. I feel like I've won a battle even though I have nothing to celebrate. I'm still outside risking my life in the elements.

  I take a moment to catch my breath then start walking toward the front door of the house. I'm only a few steps into the yard when something surprises me -- the sun finds its way through the clouds.

  Only a few short minutes ago, lightning was taking out that tree. Now beams of sunlight are here. I've never seen lightning when the sun is out so I take it as a sign the storm is over.

  Walking toward the house, something occurs to me that I should have thought of before. These past few days I've seen a car around the same time, in the morning around nine o'clock. A cat always shows up around four. Then I remember a dog has shown up around the same time too, hasn't it? Usually around six o'clock or so? I don't know what time it is, but that has to be around now.

  Thinking through this more, on day one I met Cujo #1 on the walk back to my house after running out of gas. On day two, I never ran into a dog. On day three, I met Cujo #2 at the electronics store around six. So where was I on day 2?

  I remember filling up on gas for the trip, then seeing the cat and forgetting my ax and gun so I rushed home. The rest of the day I stayed in the house.

  Of all things to disprove my wild theory, it would have to be this. Sure, I was inside the entire time, but if the rules are that Cujo shows up at six o'clock, then why didn't he magically appear in my living room? Or why didn't I look out my window and see him waiting on me?

  No matter how I spin it, this doesn't add up. I should have seen or heard him if my theory is true. I may have dozed off for a moment while I was reading; I've certainly been known to do that in the past. I'm pretty confident, though, that I didn't nap. My head was racing with so many things I couldn't have napped if I tried.

  I can try to disprove my theory all I want. I can convince myself that because Cujo didn't show up on day two, the other appearances were just coincidental but none of that matters now.

  Far in the distance, I see it –- a big, black dog running right toward me.

  Chapter 15

  I throw my cereal on the ground and pull out the dull-edged ax I've been carrying tucked in my pants. I run toward the little white house, which has a backdoor with no patio. It's very odd that the door sits a foot above the ground and leads to nothing but empty grass.

  The back of the house has two tiny windows about six feet up that I can barely reach and wouldn't be able to fit in if I tried. My seconds are precious; Cujo isn't slowing down and looks angrier than ever.

  I try the doorknob, which is locked. Then, I attempt to break down the door by putting my shoulder into it like they do in the movies. It doesn't budge and I'm reminded again of my cracked rib. Even with the adrenaline pumping, the pain is unbearable.

  I make a couple futile attempts at kicking the door down, but I know it's no use. There's no time and I can tell I'm not going to make it into the house before Cujo gets to me.

  By the time I would make it to the front of the house, Cujo would be on my back and tearing me to pieces. This acceptance, this knowing that I have to have a battle to the death terrifies me but also gives me courage I never knew I had.

  I take my ax with both hands and actually start walking toward him as if I'm the one instigating the fight. Anger builds up inside of me. I feel the only way I'll be able to do what I'm about to do is in an angry frame of mind.

  Cujo is seconds away so I take the ax in a baseball grip. I can see the anger in Cujo's eyes now as he prepares to attack. The speed at which he is running toward me, I'll admit, is very intimidating. When he gets a few feet away, he leaps at me.

  I take my biggest homerun swing, trying to time it like a fastball making its way toward home plate.

  I feel contact and the force of Cujo coming at me knocks the ax out of my hands. I fall to the ground as his momentum carries him past me. When I turn around I see Cujo whimpering. There are hints of blood and my ax on the ground next to him.

  He's injured, but how seriously I'm not sure. It's not enough because he stands up and comes after me again. I wish I had thought quickly enough to kick him while he was down. Instead, I freeze up not knowing what to do next. I have no chance against him without the ax. Unfortunately, he's standing in a rage between the ax and me.

  He jumps at me again. I have no self-defense this time other than to try to push him away. I'm successful at clearing our distance but the snap of his jaw clips my arm. I don't have time to look, my eyes staring unflinching at Cujo, but I feel the pain and blood running down my arm.

  The separation between us gives me the brief second I need to step in and kick him as hard as I can. It connects but hardly seems to faze him. It only takes that one kick to realize I'm not going to cause any real damage doing this. My ax is the only thing that will save my life. His bleeding rib cage is an indication of that.

  He makes another jump at me. This time, instead of kicking him, I try to push him away. I have to get to the ax. He keeps coming at me, and I try to keep my distance with a combination of pushing and kicking as I back-peddle toward the ax.

  I feel it against my feet but by the time I know it's there I trip over it and fall to the ground. I grab the handle with my right hand but it's too late. Cujo jumps on top of me and the only thing I can do in that moment is stick out my left hand to protect myself.

  Cujo opens his mouth as wide as he can and sinks his teeth into my arm. My mouth shoots open in shock. He's got me now.

  The worst part comes when he jerks his head back and forth, tearing my arm to pieces. My own blood squirts down onto my face.

  At this moment instinct takes over, and I know I better do something fast. With the ax still in my right hand, I use all the force I can muster and take a swing at his neck.

  It connects perfectly. Cujo falls to the ground releasing his teeth from my arm.

  Taking the ax with both hands, I get up to my feet and swing it down at him. Again and again, crushing blow after crushing blow, I swing at Cujo. I don't know this madman inside of me; I'm seeing him for the first time.

  After ten swings of the ax – or it could have been a hundred, I'm not really sure – Cujo is dead. There's no denying it as he lays motionless in several pieces. The shock of what I've just done starts to hit me. I can't believe it was me that did all of this.

  Both of my arms are bleeding. They're mangled and probably need a hundred stitches. The pain should hurt worse than it does I think, and probably will when the adrenaline wears off. No matter how much it hurts, though, it will be OK. I'll live to see another day.

  The sun starts to set and I figure I only have an hour before it's dark. It's only now I realize I forgot my flashlight. I suppose I didn't have much room to carry it, but now I wish I'd somehow found a way.

  What I want even more than a flashlight is a hospital with a team full of doctors. Out of all my injuries up to this point, my left arm, mangled from from Cujo's teeth, is by far the worst. Every time I move the fingers in my left hand I feel the pain.

  I take off my sweatshirt and wrap up my arm. I do this to stop the bleeding, but also so I don't have to look at my arm and see the damage that's been done.

  Looking down at Cujo again, I re
alize it could have been a lot worse. That could be me lying there in pieces, being his meal. The thought makes me turn away and the guilt is really starting to get to me. I know it was what I had to do to stay alive, but somehow it still doesn't seem right. I'm not a murderer and don't have a mean bone in my body. Even though I don't like dogs, I don't go out and ax them to death. I consider burying him but I don't have a shovel. Plus, I'm not sure I would want to pick up the pieces to bury him, so I leave him where he is so he can die in peace.

  I make my way to the front part of the house. I'm not sure why I thought my luck would change, but the front door is locked too.

  I take my ax - which I can now only hold in my right hand - and strike down hard on the doorknob. To my surprise, the knob breaks in half and falls to the ground. I try to push open the door but realize I've done more harm than good. Now I'm unable to open the door at all unless I smash my way through it.

  I could take the time and energy to do this but is it really worth it to stay at this dump? It's the smallest house on the road and there are better options nearby. Also, I don't think I'd want to sleep here knowing Cujo's rotting corpse is only a few yards away, so I pack up and leave for somewhere better.

  There are a few houses nearby but off in the distance I see a beautiful log cabin. The moment my eyes see it I'm drawn to it and know that's where I want to be tonight.

  Before I go, I take one final look at Cujo to make sure there's no life left in him. I'm not sure why, but even though he's clearly dead, being anywhere near him scares me. I guess it's from seeing scary movies where the villain always comes back to life.

  I know I want to get as far away from him as possible, so I start walking toward the cabin on the hill.

  It's not far, maybe only a ten-minute walk before I get there. The house has several beautiful glass windows that complement its wooden frame.

  At the bottom is the basement with a glass door, the perfect style for breaking and entering.