Chapter 8 – Up Against a Wall
David Cochran’s hour-long commute home from Richmond to Norfolk was usually as dull as a baloney sandwich. To spice things up, he sometimes engaged in a little road rage.
His favorite targets were the stiff shirts driving spanking new Land Rovers or Bimmers or any of those other high ticket SUVs that were more pretty than functional. He had a real man’s truck, a Chevy.
His Bertha was a much loved shiny red Silverado. He loved it almost as much as his first born, okay – well, maybe not, but he damn sure loved that truck. She purred like a well-stroked pussy and when needed, she’d roar up close and impersonal on fake He-Man vehicles that were cleaned and waxed and shined every time they got a spot of dirt.
But tonight it was dangerous to rage. An honest to goodness blizzard was making his trek home dangerous.
The storm had sprung up without any warning from the overpaid jerks on the tube. Apparently none of the weather experts bothered to check their fancy Doppler systems beforehand. Now he was alone on Interstate 64 and it looked like a ghost road. The only company David had was Bertha.
He turned the volume down on the radio so he could concentrate. At least that’s what he told himself. The real reason was the jawing on the radio. The call-in chatter was getting weird.
The first caller, probably a low-voltage buffoon, started crying about the winter vortex. What’s that, a twister? How the hell did he see a storm twister in Richmond? Then another hysteric started complaining about how a snow thunderstorm just parked over the city like it was a car. He didn’t have any fancy Ph.Ds, but he knew bad weather had to come in from somewhere and then move.
After that, the calls got even freakier, as if those earlier losers had pushed open the floodgates. Jesus fucking Christ, David didn’t think Richmond had that many crazies inside the city limits!
He’d heard enough of the Valium deprived knockabouts when they started spouting off about ghost creatures with fire for eyeballs, and ghosts hiding in shadows. David smirked. Yep, those fools were off their dipshit crazy meds.
He thought southerners were goofballs, anyway. They always got sissy over a few baby inches of snow. He’d grown up in Cleveland where they had actual snowstorms. The only real vortex were the ones those dumb lummox drivers caused by flipping on the roads and shutting down the interstates in the first place; especially those nitwits who drove functional fakes instead of rugged trucks like his Bertha.
David wished he had left work sooner. He’d gotten the warning, all right. Before the white stuff got too thick, two cops had stopped by the garage and told his skinflint boss that it might be a good idea to close up early. Al and the others lived in the city, so getting home was no big whup for them, but David, well he had that long cruise so an early release sounded real good.
That was the first time he’d heard about the wall. It came from one of those cops. David struggled to remember what he’d said. Yeah, that was it. His exact words had been, The city is surrounded by a godforsaken wall. David remembered trying not to laugh. Hell, where were they, in China? Weren’t no wall around this city.
Gulp, gulp – somebody had drunk his lunch and ate the olives. But then he saw how scared the cop looked, it stopped being funny. And boy, did he look pissing-in-his-pants scared.
What David noticed was how the six foot three, linebacker-looking, square jawed, won’t-take-no-crap cop looked scared enough to draw on his thumb and grab a teddy bear. Now that David thought about it, Mr. Al-the-Cheapskate had been acting spooked all day too. The tightwad did, without much chitchat, let them go early. Swear to God!
David asked his running buddy, Craig, about Al’s sudden generosity, storm or no storm, cops or no cops. Craig, who acted a little squirrelly too, had said something about taking a break in the backroom and seeing a news report about some missing kid. David thought that answer was way off topic but Craig’s behavior was well…weird too. David had let it go.
He’d gone back to coaxing life into an old Nova for a young mom who’d been taken for a ride. The ‘as-is’ had been a piece of crap junk bought in desperation. David had worked most of the day making sure the damn thing was roadworthy. So, uh-huh, he hadn’t heard the news about a missing kid. But that was bad stuff, though. He had little angels of his own.
If given a choice, he would’ve stayed to work on the car instead of going home. Gina wouldn’t care if he had to drive through Armageddon so long as he got home to free her up from the kids. He knew the whine was waiting for him as soon as he crossed their apartment threshold.
No hugs. No kisses. Just a big fat jug of Kiss-My-Ass Wine, vintage 2003, with promises of more of the same in 2004 and 2005. God help him.
Gina hated that he drove to Richmond for a job she considered as rinky-dink. She claimed mechanics gigs were a dime a dozen in Norfolk, as if she would know, while completely missing the point that her nagging had chased him out of the city.
He loved her and his kids, but lately he wondered if the I do’s had come too early in their relationship. David remembered with hot fondness how he’d nearly fallen over in his seat when the hot blonde with the go-to-hell boobs practically sat in his lap at the club. His pals had turned into drooling dogs while those blue eyes had focused solely on him. She had been fresh out of some la-dee-dah university up north and was itching to burn off some steam, which is what they did. Boy did they burn off steam, clothes, and the sheets in his crappy apartment on Brookside.
Gina had considered him a bad boy, which he wasn’t, but to dive between those creamy thighs, he’d pretend any role she wanted. Right in the midst of their good times, she’d gotten herself pregnant. By that time she had found a position as a hotel manager. But once the girls came along, right behind the other…and damn didn’t Miss Edu-ma-cation know anything about birth control…she’d insisted on giving up her job.
Gina had been ticked; as if knocking her up had been his plot to rob her of a life. And without her salary they damn near had to get some public assistance just to keep the family fed. Oh, and if that had happened he would’ve never heard the end of it!
Gina’s dad was a big shot retired engineer who had never thought much of David. He was still a condescending bastard. Every conversation ended with snide comments about his princess’ low station in life. Then after grinding David’s balls, he would casually ask if they needed money to tide them over. David never took the bait. He would masturbate with sandpaper before he took a handout; and if he had ever found out that Gina took money from him…well, load up the cannons and prepare for World War III.
Yep, it was her nagging that had encouraged the daily trek to Richmond. What she didn’t know but probably suspected was how he hated to come straight home. After work, he would hang out with a few of his coworkers at various strip clubs. He wasn’t looking for any action, he just liked the freedom. He didn’t care if the rooms were too smoky and the drinks were too watered down. He didn’t care if he really didn’t have the bucks to spare, after all, what was the harm in tucking a few bills into G-strings? It wasn’t like he was actually sleeping with any of the strippers. Although the temptation was there, and he did have a favorite who resembled Gina before she gained all that weight.
He turned up the radio to drown out his thoughts. Again he listened to storm warnings sandwiched between tracks of the good ol’ country music blaring from his radio. After a few miles, the music dwindled until all he heard were nonstop reports about the blizzard. The Richmond blizzard was a local phenomenon.
It was a local phenomenon? That still didn’t make sense no matter how authoritative the voice.
He flashbacked to the about-to-piss-in-his-pants look on the policeman’s face while at the same time he absorbed the subliminal terror emitting from the radio forecaster’s voice as he relayed the array of traffic accidents that had closed down the major roadways. The booming voice also encouraged residents to stay in and lock their doors.
Lock their doors? From a blizzard? That di
dn’t sound right, either.
David exited the interstate and took to the back roads.
If the snowstorm was parked over Richmond, then David knew that Gina and the girls were all right. But he couldn’t be sure and dammit, he cursed himself for slipping good money in G-Strings, when he could’ve just bought a damn cellphone. Maybe Gina was right. Maybe it was time for him to grow the hell up.
Bertha’s cab grew colder despite the heat blasting from the vents. The ice pellets hitting the windshield thickened and he had to hunch over his steering wheel and peer out just to try to get a clearer view of the road.
This was dangerous, untreated territory and if he flipped out here with only twisted trees and brush as witnesses, he could possibly die. Despite his desire to hurry home, he slowed. He crawled for almost an hour without his high beams hitting on anything living.
David felt like he was the only person on the entire planet; save for the chatter on the radio. When the deejay made another morbid comment, David was forced to flick it off. He was already on edge.
The repetitive beat of the wiper blades filled in the silence. Despite the coldness in the cab, he began to sweat and his heart started to jackhammer in his chest.
David suddenly became aware of new problem. His spidey sense was tingling off the charts. The hairs on the back of his neck raised up. The problem was that he didn’t feel alone.
He couldn’t stop checking the side and rearview mirrors even though he knew the real problem was inside his truck and not outside. Someone, or something had hitched a ride with him. Whenever he dared to stop eyeballing the road, he clearly saw that he was by himself.
“This is bullshit,” he said to no one, but the sound of his voice gave him some comfort. He felt better still when he gave the Chevy a little gas.
David made good headway until he turned off the side road and back onto the interstate. He expected to merge into traffic, maybe get waved through a few accidents by some cops, but what he saw had terror squeezing his heart.
There was absolutely no traffic.
Nothing.
He swallowed down his fear. Again, he was acquainted with the uncomfortable feeling that he was the lone survivor of an alien war where all of humanity had been scooped up except him. The silence and his heartbeats filled his ears.
The road had been treated, but he lost control of his truck nonetheless. Bertha gained speed without his giving her more gas, and when he pumped the brakes, gently at first, she didn’t respond. For the first time since he had her, David felt like Bertha didn’t belong to him. He struggled with the steering wheel and worked it while the rear end fishtailed.
The headlights flashed on the familiar sign. He was so close to exiting the city limits. Up ahead was Henrico County.
His high beams flashed on something else. Bertha jerked to a stop without David applying the brakes. Slowly, he released the steering wheel. Internally, he was screaming his fool head off.
He forced himself to stay calm as he peered through the windshield. There was debris on the road, but it wasn’t exactly random. Cars, trucks and semis were crushed together to form a wall.
It was impressive.
It was an incredible barrier and totally unbelievable.
“What in the hell?”
The only response was the idling Chevy and the spew of hot air shooting from the vents. Now David could understand the radio guy’s panic. He also realized that dude had been leaving out some pretty weird things. What else did Mr. Deejay know that he wasn’t sharing?
David’s gaze slyly swept by his side. While his vision was still telling him that he was alone, his guts weren’t buying it. He felt a presence in the dark corner of his cab, he was sure of it. Not only that, he was sure that whatever was there was staring right at him. He rotated the knob to turn up the heat to the highest level and saw that his hand was shaking.
If he understood right, all he needed to do was to get on the other side of that wall. There was real life, people and no blizzard. He held onto those thoughts like a lifebuoy.
The bottom layer consisted of flattened semis and on top of them were vans, trucks and cars all crushed together like tin and stacked up in layers like pancakes. How? Were there survivors?
Were he and Bertha safe?
He weighed whether or not he should get out to see if there were any survivors. He considered his options for a millisecond. His conscience would never allow him to wait for a rescue if there was a possibility folks were hurt and needed his help.
The wall was tall, possibly twenty or more feet tall, and ran the entire length of the interstate. He rummaged in the glove compartment and pulled out an extra pair of work gloves and a flashlight. The chance of anyone surviving in that hulking mess was extreme, but if there was life, maybe there was also a cell phone.
He was going to freeze to death in his light coat and work boots, but he had to try to help. He crossed himself like a good Catholic, zipped up his coat and opened the door which groaned loudly. Winter whisked into the cab like a coldly biting bitch. David jumped, or sank, into the snow.
Ice crystals pelted him instantly as the cold snaked clingy frigidness up his thighs and around his balls. “Jesus!”
He turned up his coat collar and found that his fingers were numb despite the gloves. He clumsily high-stepped through the snow to the wall. The hair along his nape stood on end. The closer he got to the wall, the more he thought he heard snarling in his ear.
He knew that he wasn’t paranoid. A wall of crushed cars across the interstate told him that he wasn’t paranoid enough. He wanted to haul butt out of there, but he couldn’t. What if there were people in those cars? What if someone was still alive and could be helped? If he turned away, then he was a crap man just like Gina’s dad, the coot-meister, always said.
The wall was half-buried under a veil of snow. The trucks and vans at the bottom of the pile weren’t even worth considering, but he looked into busted out windows anyway. He didn’t know what he expected to find, perhaps mangled flesh, pulpy bodies, blood and eyeballs?
The vehicles were all empty. What he could actually see weren’t squashed bodies, but things like coats, galoshes and scarfs. He saw discarded or left behind items of life, or more importantly, no indication of death.
He was puzzled. “What the hell?”
Did folks get up and walk away and somehow their cars and trucks got smashed together? And where the hell were the cops?
He looked back at Bertha. Her headlights shone on footprints made nearly obscured by the snow. He couldn’t tell how many people had come along, but there had been many, and according to the path that led away from the cars, they had gone back toward the city through the woods that lined the interstate.
David shuddered. There was no way he would knowingly walk in those woods unless what was out here was worse than his imaginings. Every horrendous fairytale he could think of that started with Once upon a time, ended with someone being cooked or eaten. Never mind the newer fairytales about axe-wielding psychopaths, or inbred families that skinned folks alive in rundown shacks. No way. There had to be another choice. He just had to find it before the blizzard turned him into a snowman.
But first things first. He had to see if anyone was hurt. To do that, he was going to have to scale the damn thing…in the snow…with frozen mitts.
Against his better judgement, and maybe to save himself some pain, he called out to see if there was actually anyone in one of those husks. The only response was the wind. It howled like an angry beast. David ignored the icy grip of fear that forced his balls to retreat.
In his mind, the crushed vehicles merged under the blanket of snow. They started to resemble an it; a big hungry animal that was waiting for him to do something stupid like come inside.
He flexed his fingers, took a deep breath and tested the stability of the wall with a hesitant mount. Sturdy. The damn thing seemed strong. He grabbed the handle of something red, and hoisted himself up using the fender of somet
hing blue. He was truly grateful that he had on his work boots with the tough rubber soles. He didn’t slip.
“Hello?”
He looked in, and it was the same as below, evidence of existence but no signs of death. He prayed as he reached, careful not to let go until he was sure of his footing and then his grip. His heart hammered at his exertion. He just wished it would just stop snowing for half a second. And the snow did trickle to a slower pace as the wind died down.
David paused. He was being screwed with, he was sure of it. This bit of understanding made him more determined to get the job done and get the hell out of Richmond.
He climbed up to the next row and peered in…then he lunged over, and was greeted with a door that opened as he tried to steady himself. He hung in limbo ready to cry or crap. His muscles promised future pain as he strained forward. His entire bodyweight was hanging from that one arm, braced by that one slippery glove. His grip weakened and just when he thought a hard drop was imminent, a strong gale blew and David felt pushed, yes pushed, to the inner meat of the animal where another shiny door handle promised safety.
He grabbed it, held himself steady and waited for his internal alerts to stabilize. He didn’t question his good luck. Once he calmed down, he continued his search but this time with a lot more caution.
The progress he made was painfully slow, but he needed to be sure. Each vehicle was mercifully abandoned. After he had cleared the last car, he crawled down. He had been beaten by the blizzard and was exhausted beyond comprehension. He couldn’t wait to thaw in Bertha’s womb.
Country music erupted in the silence. David stared at his truck as if seeing it for the first time. He hadn’t left the driver’s side door open and who had turned up the radio?
The big red Silverado with the Vision 375 Warrior rims vibrated in tempo with the song. “Berty?” He trudged forward, he wanted to accept the invitation, back out the way they had come and find life somewhere in the city. He would find a diner somewhere, get to a pay phone and call Gina, and then have a cup of coffee. He would laugh at himself, convinced that he’d made up most of the happenings.
Stolen Prophet: A Horror Supernatural Thriller (The Prophet's Mother Book 1) Page 6
