by Lundy Burge
Near Miss
Copyright 2012 by Lundy Burge
It is true that it was very late at night, and that Bob Durran was tired. It is true that that night it had stormed very hard. It is also true that Mr. Durran’s driving has been described as rushed and possibly distracted at best, when he was actually calm and not in any hurry, and that on that night he was very irritated since he was late to a dinner party that his dear friend, who at that moment went by the name of Howard Montang, was holding in honor of his very first book being in publication, thus making his driving even more erratic. And it is definitely true that he was driving on a very particularly dark and winding stretch of road.
All of these facts are true, but absolutely none of them have any cause in what happened on that night.
Observe, the man on the side of the road was dressed in all dark clothing, right down to the black hood hiding his face. Even with his headlights on, which, of course, they were, Bob could not have possibly seen him leaning against the side of a large and concealing oak. Also, the man jumped out in front of his car when he would have been a mere five feet away from the front of the car, thus making it impossible to stop in time.
Faced with these facts, we are led to believe that none of this incident up to this point is Bob Durran’s fault.
Also faced with these facts, Bob was left with no other choice but to slam on the brakes and swerve to miss the poor fellow, which landed him on the side of the road, the right headlight compressed against and around a tree, and his air bag nearly breaking his neck.
When he opened his eyes, Bob first felt the airbag, then saw it, saw the windshield, saw what was outside the windshield, smelled the smoked, and that was when he realized what had happened.
Like the seat was being electrified, he burst out of the car, nearly forgetting to unbuckle himself. When he had ran ten feet from the wreck, he thought it safe enough to stop and turn to see just what he had climbed out of.
He used to have a nice, light blue car that was not retro nor sports nor feminine nor masculine nor luxury nor utility, but was simply a car that he drove around in and picked up pretty women who had a particular fancy to it, or the driver. Now, he had a one-eyed metal frame that had half of its face crushed by a tree that was smoldering despite the rain that was pouring down upon it like a divine fire hose.
Bob was so wet himself at this point that he didn’t even feel the rain anymore. He just felt his cold skin and his hot temper. It was all that damn idiot’s fault. If he hadn’t jumped out in front of his car....
Bob did a sharp, surprised inhale. His heart fumbled, then came back again at break neck speed. It started to hurt even, but all Bob could think of was the fact that someone had jumped in front of his car. And now, no one.
Because there was nothing left of him.
But that would have been impossible. He didn’t feel any impact. There wasn’t any thump. Surely he would have seen the...
A sudden, bloody image splashed across his mind, and he gagged. His knees weakened from the blood rushing to his brain and his heaving stomach. He gagged again, and again. He was sure he was going to vomit all over the road. He was about to when the man called.
“Hey mister. You okay?”
Bob’s stomach was quickly under control. He craned his neck to see the man in the solid black rain coat walking towards him. He had his hood up, but Bob could clearly see his long, elliptical face. It reminded him of comic drawings of Dracula, except that this man’s face didn’t look malicious like the Count’s, but concerned and owned by a man of good humor. He pulled his hood down, exposing a buzz cut cap of tree bark hair, and Bob realized that the rain had lightened to a mist, and that he was freezing wet.
“Oh my God,” he said.
“Something wrong?” the man was right in front of him now. He was much taller, a little thinner, and much younger than him. That was obvious because the stranger had all of his hair.
“You’re alive,” Bob said.
The man wasn’t looking at Bob at that moment, but instead at Bob’s car. With an expression of absolute disgust, he said, still looking at the car, “My... I’m sorry about your car. Ah, damn....”
Bob didn’t feel the need to turn and look at what he already knew the stranger was cringing at.
“That’s—alright,” he said slowly, “I’m just glad I didn’t kill you!”
“That was awfully stupid of me,” then he changed the subject, “You need a ride, don’t you?”
Bob laughed dryly as he said, “Yeah, I do.”
“My car is back a little ways,” he said, “God, I’m awfully sorry about your car there. You’re insured, right?”
Bob snapped his head up, as if surprised by the question. He said, “Yes, of course.”
The stranger began to continue his trek across the road, expecting Bob to follow him with a simple, “Name’s Todd.”
Bob waited until he could barely see Todd to follow him. He didn’t think himself stupid. He wasn’t stupid. He didn’t want to trust this man. Still, his car was wrecked, it started raining again, and there was no way he could get any cell phone service. Still, this man had already tried to kill him once.
He followed him far into the brambles. The mud and thorns made desperate attempts at his shoes and legs. He realized that he was now relying on the sound of Todd’s footfalls, the alternating crisp snaps and the softer gushes that his feet made. He couldn’t even see him except for a vague, tall blur in the distance. Then lightning flashed, streaking across the sky like a pulsating vein. For the instant it lived, everything was clearly visible, including Todd. He had his hood up again, and he look taller, more powerful than ever. The woods seemed to cower away from him in the sick, fearful respect of a tyrannical ruler. The lightning had seen Todd, and it gave him a title: the King of the Woods, and it gave him more strength than Bob dared imagine. The whole image lasted for less than a second, then the light was there no more.
That shadow king had taken it away.
Bob stopped in his tracks, now knowing the mistake he had made in trusting this man.
The thunder resonated all through the trees, but Bob could clearly hear the stranger’s voice saying, “Hurry up!”
Bob obeyed.
All hail the King of the Woods.
Todd’s car was a red Jeep, middle aged. Mud took away any youthful off-the-lot shine it might have had, but Bob could clearly see that it was in excellent condition.
Todd went straight for the driver’s door. He was about to open it when Bob suddenly blurted, “How ‘bout I drive?”
Todd gave him a strange look, as if he didn’t quite understand what he had said.
“It’s just that,” a blushing Bob explained, “I know the way there pretty well. I just need a ride.”
Todd looked from Bob to the steering wheel.
“Come on,” Bob pleaded. He had to win this fight. “I’ll give you directions to wherever you need to go after I get there.”
“Okay...” Todd said, and Bob pushed him out of the way as he bolted to get in the seat before he changed his mind.
He smiled to himself. He had won. The strange shadow named Todd couldn’t hurt him now. He controlled the car. Any funny business, and Bob could simply veer this way or that, brake and bail out, anytime he pleased.
But how well can that really work? Bob tried to convince himself otherwise. After all, Todd wasn’t driving, and anything was better than letting that man take the driver’s seat, surely.
Todd got in, Bob started the engine, and he drove out until the tires splashed out onto the asphalt.
As soon as Bob headed the car for the direction of his friend’s house, another vast, writhing net of lightning was cast across the sky.
“That’s strange,” Todd said.
&
nbsp; It was strange, because the only rain the clouds had left was a fine gossamer veil of mist.
Right before the bolt died, an audacious clap of thunder rolled through the world. Bob jerked the wheel to the right a fraction of an inch for a second, and he nearly went into the ditch again.
“Watch it!” Todd yelled. His voice was shaking almost as much as he was.
Another slicing bolt illuminated the sky. Todd put up his hands to shield his eyes. Another bass boom of thunder sounded. Bob jerked his hands so hard it was a wonder that the wheel didn’t pop off. It went on and on and on. Lightning bolts, raging whips of godforsaken fury, stretched across the sky like banners for supernovas. Thunder exploded across the landscape, bombs landing from a forgotten war. Bob was simultaneously blinded and deafened.
Through a sudden jolt of panic, Bob stomped hard on the brake. The car’s squealing tires could not be heard above the roll of thunder. At last, Bob was thrown against his seatbelt, and was still.
Still, the lightning continued. Bob could still see it
