by John Sullins
Ernesto shook his head. “I can’t afford it. The company buys the gas. I get paid by the mile. But I don’t get jobs every day or even every week. This is the first trip I’ve made in three weeks.”
Where did you say you were going?”
“I unload at a cross dock on the eastern side of Pittsburg. Then I sit there and wait until they have a load to go back west.”
“How long do you have to wait for another load?”
“The longest I’ve had to wait was five weeks.”
Keith looked at him in amazement. “You waited at a trucking company for five weeks? What did you do while you waited?”
“Not much, the guy who ran the cross-dock paid me to unload other trucks a few days. But other than that, I just hung around and talked to other drivers.”
“Do you think there is any chance I could get a ride from any of the truckers heading east from that cross-dock?”
“No, I will have to drop you off before we get there. If they find out I picked up a hitcher, I’d get fired. I’ll drop you off where I leave I-76. I’d suggest you go north on I-76 to I-80 or I-90. I-90 runs east and north along the lake.”
Keith turned in his seat and opened his suitcase. He took out the small road atlas given to him by the nurses and studied the possible routes. After fifteen minutes, he looked up, “It’s about 900 miles using I-80.”
Ernesto responded, “900 miles. All snow covered.”
“It is what it is,” countered Keith.
Chapter 8
Ernesto slowed the truck to a stop at the bottom of the exit from I-76 at Route 28. Keith leaned across the seat and held out his hand.
“Thank you for the ride. I appreciate it.”
“I hope you find some family, stay safe.”
Keith dropped to the snow covered gravel and waited for the big truck to drive away before he walked across the road and up the on ramp back onto I-76. The snow had stopped but the wind was blowing from the north, directly into his face. He pulled his jacket collar up tight around his neck and made tracks through the snow.
He walked north, unable to get a ride from the few cars on the highway, until it was starting to get dark, all the while repeating the names of his ancestors over and over in his mind.
“Mother Joan Warren Hunter, father Forest Hunter, grandmother Mary Todd Hunter, grandfather Brandon Hunter, great-grandmother Sue Davis Lang, great-grandfather Ralph Hunter.”
The temperature dropped with the sun and he knew he had to find a place to spend the night before his feet got any colder. When he saw the silhouette of a farm house and barn a hundred yards on the other side of the fence which ran along the edge of the interstate, he slid down the slope past the berm and pushed himself thru the waist high weeds to the fence. He climbed the fence and moved across a field of waist high weeds and stopped at the corner of the barn. He looked at the house for any sign of lights or smoke from the chimney. He saw no signs of life so he moved slowly to the front door and called out, “Hello, anyone home?”
There was no answer. He called out again, louder this time. “Hellooooo, anyone home?”
There was no answer. He grabbed the door knob and turned the handle. It was locked. He went to the rear of the house and climbed three steps onto a small porch. It was so dark he could see only a foot or two in front of him and he bumped into a metal table in the middle of the porch and then almost tripped over a stack of firewood behind the table.
He moved around the wood and tried the rear door. It was also locked. He stepped to his left and looked through a window. It was too dark to see anything but he was sure there was no one there so he sat down his suitcase and pushed up on the window frame. To his surprise, the window opened. He picked up his suitcase, pushed it through the window, and climbed in behind it. He found himself on top of the counter and sink of the house’s kitchen. The house smelled musty which relieved some of the worry about getting shot by a hiding home owner.
“Hello, anyone home? I’m not a robber. I am only trying to get warm. I won’t hurt anyone.”
There was no answer. He sat his suitcase on the floor, squinted his eyes, doing his best to see in the dark, and shuffled his feet forward. He kept his right hand out in front of him to prevent walking into a wall or tripping over something as he moved towards the direction he thought was the living room.
“I need to get me a flashlight if I am going to keep doing this.”
When his hand felt the rough surface of large stones on the wall at the far end of the room, he knew he had found a fireplace. He waved his hands back and forth until he felt the mantel. He ran his hands across the mantel and found what he hoped would be there, a small box of matches. He pushed on the end of the box, took out a match, struck it on the side of the box. The match lit and provided enough light that he saw the box was nearly full of matches. When the match burned near his fingers he blew it out and lit another. Using the light from the matches he found a stack of old newspaper in a wood frame box beside a ragged couch. He wadded up several of the pages from the newspaper and placed it in the fireplace before going back into the kitchen and out the back door to get firewood.
He checked the flue to be sure it was open and then held a lit match to the newspaper. Ten minutes later the fire was producing heat. He brought in a dozen more logs and stacked them on the hearth.
He searched the kitchen cabinets hoping to find cans of food left behind by the owners but the cabinets were empty. He turned the faucet knobs at the sink but there was no water. Under the sink he found two old metal pans, one the size used to cook soup and the other was larger, used to cook things like spaghetti. He carried them outside, filled each with clean snow, carried them back to the fireplace, and sat them on the hearth in front of the fire.
He used more of the matches for light and searched the remainder of the house. In the first bedroom, across from the bathroom, he found nothing, it was totally empty. In the only other bedroom he found an old mattress standing on its side, leaning against the wall as if someone put it there to remove the bedframe but forgot it when they left. He dragged it from the room, down the fall and laid it on the floor in front of the fireplace. He returned to the bedroom and looked for a blanket or pillow but found nothing but dust.
After the room warmed, he took off his jacket and boots, opened his suitcase, and took out the bag of cookies given him by the nurses and a small bag of salted pretzels he bought from the rest area vending machines.
“Cookies, pretzels, and warm water, one hell of a dinner.”
He rolled the jacket into a ball to use as a pillow, laid down on the mattress, and watched the flames.
Chapter 9
The house was cold when he woke but there were still hot coals in the fireplace. He put more logs on top of the coals and soon they were burning. He sat on the hearth with his back to the fire to get his body and clothes as warm as possible before heading back to the interstate.
When the logs had burned down to near nothing, he put on a pair of fresh socks and then the pair he wore since leaving the hospital on as a second pair so his feet would stay warmer than yesterday. He put the box of matches into his suitcase and left the house through the back door. The snow had frozen during the night and crunched under his boots as he walked towards the barn. He had learned a long time ago that barns often had thing that could be useful when traveling across country on foot. He wanted to check it in the daylight to see if there was anything he might be able to use.
The barn was old with most of the wood slats on one side having rotted and some dangling from the large oak studs. The gaps between the boards allowed enough light to see clearly. He found hay bales stacked about six foot high on the far end and a very old tractor covered with a canvas tarp parked along the side wall. He pulled the tarp from the tractor and found a hatchet sitting on the tractor seat. He picked up the hatchet and put it in his suitcase. He shook the dust from the tarp and spread it out on the barn floor. He guessed its size as 8x12. He folded it i
n half length wise, did it again, and then a third time before folding it the other way until it was about the size of his suitcase. He tried to fit it in the suitcase but it was too thick and the lid of the suitcase would not close. He walked the perimeter of the barn looking for something to use to tie the tarp to the suitcase. He found nothing and was about to give up when he happened to look up and saw a rope hanging from a pulley attached to a roof rafter. One end of the rope was about ten feet over his head and the other end was even higher. The lower end of the rope was about five or six feet from the front end of the tractor.
He studied the distance and the possibility of being able to reach it if he stood on the hood of the tractor. He believed he might be able to reach high enough but was unsure if he could reach out far enough to grab it.
He stood still and imagined jumping from the hood of the tractor and grabbing the rope.
“What happens if I break my leg or ankle? I couldn’t go for help. I could die here is this old barn, die over a piece of rope. But if I get it, I can use it along with the tarp to make a shelter at nights.”
He climbed onto the tractor step and then up onto the hood. He stood at the end of the hood and held his arms over his head checking the distance to the end of the rope. It was too far, he knew he would not be able to jump far enough to reach it. He lowered himself off the hood and searched the barn again for a stick or anything that would reach the rope.
He looked at the barn wall and said, “Damn boy, you are dumber than a box of rocks.” He walked to one of the loose boards and pulled it free from the frame. Luckily one of the nails stayed in the end of the board which he used to hook onto the rope as he lifted the board over his head to the rope. He pulled down on the board pulling the rope with it.
He put the tarp on the suitcase and wrapped the rope around the suitcase multiple times and tied it securely.
He left the barn, walked across the field, climbed over the fence and went up the slope to the interstate. He looked south but saw no oncoming cars.
“It could be a long walk to Maine!”
Chapter 10
He carried the suitcase in his right hand and frequently glanced over his shoulder for oncoming cars or trucks. But he saw only eleven vehicles all afternoon. Seven were going south on the opposite side of the highway and four passed him heading north. Not one stopped or even slowed as they passed. He kept track of how far he walked by watching the mile markers on the side of the highway. After about twelve miles he saw a car pull into a store at the bottom of an exit ramp. He watched the driver get out of the car and go inside the building which indicated the store was open for business.
He walked down the ramp in hopes the store had food for sale. He needed something to eat beside cookies and pretzels.
The only light in the store was coming through the large front windows. A middle aged woman wearing a red apron was standing behind the counter and said hello when he entered. The man that had arrived in the car was in the far corner of the store talking to a middle aged man who was also wearing a red apron similar to the woman.
Keith stopped near the counter and made a quick survey of the store.
The woman asked, “Anything special you are looking for?”
Keith smiled, “Food.”
“My husband is re-stocking some canned goods back there. If you like summer sausage, we have some venison that we just made last week. It is very good.”
“That sounds good. Do you have any bread?”
“Sure do, baked it myself last night.” She walked around the counter and down the second aisle to a box containing five or six loafs wrapped in plain brown paper.
“It is not sliced. I can slice it for you.”
“Ok, I’ll take one.”
“Do you want it sliced thick or thin?”
“Thick.”
As she sliced the bread he walked the aisles and selected three cans of soup and a box of crackers.
The man watched him and said, “I have to warn you, those crackers are out of date, probably stale, but are still edible.”
“I’m not picky, happy to get them.”
The man pointed to his suitcase. “Where you headed?”
“Maine.”
The man rolled his eyes. “That is going to be a long trip. Where did you start from?”
“Well, last fall I started in Georgia when I got out of the Army. I’ve been in a hospital in Indianapolis for a couple of months.”
The man who had arrived in the car, a well-proportioned man with a shaved head said, “A combat injury?”
“No, I was burned in a house fire.”
“Did you serve overseas?”
“Yes, in Syria.”
“See any combat?”
“Yes sir, more than I care to remember.”
The man stared at Keith a long minute. “I am on my way to Boston. You are welcome to ride along.”
“Oh my GOD yes. That would be great.”
The man held out his hand, “I’m Dale Pottinger, a retired jarhead.”
“Keith Hunter, a grunt,” they shook hands.
“Don’t get too excited yet Keith. I’ll get you to Boston if we are able to get gas. These days you never know if you can find it or not.”
Keith paid the woman and followed Dale to the car.
As he put on his seat belt, Dale said, “We have a full tank of gas. That should get us at least four hundred miles. But any store that we pass, that looks to be open, I will stop. I want to fill up as often as I can.”
“Ok.”
“Do you have a driver’s license?”
“Yes.”
“Will you share the driving?”
“Yes sir.”
Dale nodded approval, “Then let’s get going.”
Chapter 11
As usual, there was almost no traffic going either direction. Dale drove steadily on the snow covered highway and kept his hands at 2 and 10 on the wheel.
“My dad told me that in the past, before the economy collapsed, they use to plow the snow from the highways.”
Keith did not respond which caused Dale to ask, “Did your father ever talk about how things have changed?”
Keith looked away from Dale, out the widow to his right. “No, I did not know my father. He died when I was very young.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“That’s ok. I grew up in an orphanage and foster homes. My mother also died when I was small. I never knew anything about my family until a few months ago. That is why I am going to Maine. I hope to find a relative or two.”
“Orphanage? I thought they closed all orphanages years ago.”
“Well, I can only tell you what those folks told me. Orphanages did all shut down many years ago. But when the economy collapsed, the government had to cut off most of the funding for the foster care programs. Without the monthly government checks, a lot of the foster care families could no longer afford to take care of children not their own, so new orphanages were opened.”
Dale could see Keith was not comfortable talking about his family, so he changed the subject, “What part of Maine?”
Keith turned and smiled at him. “I really don’t know. I guess I will start at the first city I come to.”
“Do you know anything about Maine?”
“Not really.”
“You got any money to get around the state?”
“Almost no money. But I will give you what I can, to help with the gas.”
Dale responded quickly and firmly, “No, no, no. I’m not asking for money, just wondering if you had enough to get by.”
“I have enough for food for about a week, less than $60, I think.”
“If you want to earn a few dollars when we get to Boston, I might be able to help you out.”
“Doing what?
“I am going there to help my older sister settle our parents’ estate which involves selling our grandparents house and belongings. We have to get everything in their house ready for auction. I could use so
me help moving furniture and getting some of it cleaned up. I can’t pay much but it might be enough to help you get to Maine. You would be welcome to stay in the house while we’re doing the work.”
Keith could not believe his luck. He had gotten a long warm ride in the truck, then no another ride all the way to Boston and also an offer for a warm place to stay and a job for a few days,
“Sure, that could help a lot.”
The sun that had been shining brightly disappeared behind growing cloud cover and soon snow was falling. Dale was still at the wheel when Keith pointed to his right as they passed a sign indicating they were at Gardnertown New York.
“There are lights on at that store. There are a couple of cars at the gas pumps. Maybe they have gas.”
Dale slowed and turned down the exit ramp. As he was turning right into the store, a beat-up pickup truck coming from the opposite direction turned left directly in front of him. Dale slammed on the brakes and the car slid sideways and came to a stop only twenty feet from the gas pump where the pickup had stopped.
“Damn, that was close,” said Keith.
Dale straightened the wheel, “What the hell is wrong with that guy?”
The driver, a large man in his twenties wearing a dirty ball cap sitting backwards on his head, got out of the truck and raised the middle finger of his left hand in their direction and shouted, “Fuck you ass hole.”
An even larger man, wearing a jean jacket with the sleeves cut off, was holding a beer can and laughing when he got out of the passenger side.
Dale pulled up to the rear of the truck and calmly got out. He walked straight to the driver and threw a looping right hand hitting the man in the side of the jaw. The man dropped to the pavement and did not move.
The sleeveless man stopped laughing and was coming fast around the back of the truck towards Dale. He screamed, “I’m gunna kick your ass.”
Keith was also out of the car and saw him coming. The big man dropped the beer can as he slipped in the snow and fell onto his right side.