My head wanted to burst.
KILOMETRE 3993
It was a drab day, a diffuse light soaked the grey asphalt. A day without sun other than a hazy disk that roved the sky behind clouds. On the shoulder, in ditches, garbage coloured the scenery. I accelerated. It was hard to bend my elbow and change speeds. When we reached the main road, the woman was once again immersed in deep sleep. Let her sleep. It was still early. She was so beautiful. And I had nothing to say. In fact, seeing her sleep there, next to me, made me feel just a bit more rested.
Her long black hair covered the seat’s old fabric. A stage curtain after a turbulent play. I almost felt like applauding. Despite my bruises, I felt strangely good. I swallowed my headache. She was by my side.
She was by my side.
The sky was covered with a felt mass through which nothing could be distinguished from anything else, except, perhaps, the tips of pine trees that covered the hills.
I held the course steadfastly, but I couldn’t tell whether the slow drum roll of the cracked asphalt would keep me awake or hypnotize me. I told myself once again that I cared not at all for the lascivious call of bedsheets. Conifers flew by on both sides of the car. The forest was dense. And we only went deeper.
The woman stirred, woke up, and turned towards me, smiling timidly. I thought about the dried blood on the side of my face, my open knuckles. She told me we should stop at the next town, that we should find what I needed for my injuries. That I looked like a madman who read too many stories of heroes on impossible quests.
KILOMETRE 4025
We were getting closer to the city. Between settlements now, there were fewer and fewer kilometres of forest. If everything went well, in the next few hours, we would see the silhouettes of skyscrapers appear on the horizon. We were currently in one of the many towns of the area, in front of a strip mall along Main Street. There was a lot of activity around us. People coming and going in stores with broken front windows. Others filled their cars with boxes of supplies carried from their houses. Farther away, a man was recycling wood off a former billboard. Everything seemed to be happening at once, with a strange mixture of calm and chaos. No one paid us any attention. The woman got out of the car and made her way towards the pharmacy. The door had been forced open. She looked around, then went in.
She returned with peroxide, ointment, and a box of bandages. She told me to turn my head, and not move. That it might sting a little. I let myself be worked on while she told me how the pharmacy hadn’t really been looted. That whoever had forced the door had only taken the basics. Cleaning the wounds on my knuckles she asked me what had happened. I quickly answered that some man, someone I didn’t know, had taken a dislike to me for no reason. And that it had ended poorly. She stifled a laugh. I added that if she hadn’t been in the car this morning, I would have left without her. And she was the one who owed me an explanation.
Tying the bandage around my hand, she said she owed me nothing. That we were going in the same direction, in the same car, and that was it.
I didn’t say anything after that.
When I lifted the keys to start the car, she stopped my hand and leaned in to press her body against mine. I went to push her away, but she begged me to stop pretending. And I let her hands move over my torso until her lips were pressed against mine. Her warm lips. I pulled her to me, lifting her by her hips. And, a moment later, the interior or the car became very humid, and very cramped. Time no longer existed.
KILOMETRE 4078
The car carried us across the tough and thorny hills. I took the long curves slowly, my head slightly angled and eyes deeply set on the lustrous asphalt.
Far away, orange signs rose between the grey sky and black asphalt. Construction. We drove slowly past the strange machines abandoned on the road. Dump trucks, pavers, and steamrollers all looked like bronze dinosaurs at the entrance to a museum. The woman sketched a smile and said we might as well change vehicles. I answered that nothing beat my car. But secretly, I was relieved to see the road was still accessible, despite the half-finished roadwork.
The forest surrounded us in a calculated way. As if it was slowly trying to take back from the road what clear cuts had taken away from it, farther north. I told the woman that this road would lead us directly to the city. She told me she knew. Then after a moment’s silence, she admitted that she’d known the man we’d picked up the previous day. I turned towards her, but could only see her silhouette backlit by the grey light. She would have preferred never to see him again, she said. That no matter what she did, fate had always held a grudge against her.
The wind blew harder now. I could see it shaking the small trees on the side of the road and felt it beating against the sides of my car. The woman continued her story. She told me he was a ghost from her past life, a friend of her ex-boyfriend who’d become her lover. After the accident. That she’d pretended to not recognize him, at first, but it was already too late. She knew that someone would be sent to look for her. That there might be a reward. And that was the reason why he didn’t want to let her go.
I listened to the woman, with my hands so tight on the wheel that I wouldn’t have been able to react if something suddenly had jumped in front of us from out of the woods. She insisted that there was no danger now, that he wouldn’t be following us. That everything had been settled. I looked up to the rear-view mirror. The road was long behind us, and empty.
I asked her whether it was because we were nearing the city that she admitted these things to me now. No. Good, because we can’t know for sure what state the city will be in, I replied. She answered that, one way or another, the city would be her finishing line. But with everything she’d heard, she didn’t know what to expect now. She then said that the approaching city wasn’t the reason for her confession. Instead, it was because had she bought the man’s silence by giving him the money from the bag under my seat.
KILOMETRE 4085
I stopped the vehicle on the shoulder at the side of the road. There was nothing around us. A deserted road and wooded land.
I told the woman to get out.
She told me that it wouldn’t make a difference now anyway. A few hundred dollars wouldn’t have made a difference.
I reminded her that it was all I had left. That I was still a day of driving away from my father. I would need gas. Everything had become far too expensive now.
Speaking through the open window, the woman told me that she hadn’t had a choice. That she could get out of the car here, if that’s really what I wanted, but that she thought, in any case, that our fates were sealed. With or without money.
KILOMETRE 4218
We reached the periphery of the city. It was littered with cars. The majority of them had been abandoned on the side of the road. We also saw, here and there, small groups of people. Some searched through abandoned cars while others walked on heavy feet, staring as we drove past.
The highway ran straight downtown. But for now, we followed the drab decor, seen so many times in the outskirts of all major cities. Parking lots like oil spills around warehouses. Vacant lots made of fences, gravel, and brambles. Entire neighbourhoods of cookie-cutter houses planted just off the highway. And immobile cranes, stretching their necks over construction sites.
As we approached, we noticed three helicopters circling downtown. We watched the flight of the metal beasts in a sky the colour of lead. Like birds of ill omen. Perhaps we should change our itinerary. But I wasn’t yet sure what to do. Meanwhile, I had to drive even more carefully to avoid the debris strewn here and there on the road.
The woman pointed out, in the distance, several smouldering buildings, of which were left only burned-out skeletons. I had the impression that the city was pregnant with the stagnant chaos that comes after a huge storm. That we had arrived after some great rout. And we’d need to find a way to deal with whatever we would encounter.
I flew f
rom one lane to another, making my way among abandoned cars and ripped-up luggage left on the highway. But despite my best weaving and bobbing, soon enough, we were forced to stop. A long line of immobile vehicles blocked the way. It was impossible to go any farther.
We got out of the car. Beyond the whap of the helicopters, several kilometres away, the city basked in a strange silence, punctuated by muted sounds and metallic yawning. Without a word to each other, we began walking towards the overpass that stretched out before us. In order to find a path though the inert traffic jam we had to, more than once, close car doors that had been left ajar. From the top of the viaduct, the line of vehicles seemed interminable. Like an arrow shot into the heart of this city abandoned to its own ghosts. We heard the echo of three gunshots. It seemed more like the last rumble of thunder in a departing storm. Except for a few wandering silhouettes in the unrecognizable streets, it seemed like all human activity had been suspended. Garbage bags strewn everywhere. The first floor of most buildings had been barricaded. Factory smokestacks silent, impotently pointing to the skies. And we couldn’t hear a single emergency siren. I didn’t dare imagine what the richer neighbourhoods might look like.
The woman moved forward a dozen steps, scanning the desolation. When she turned towards me, I asked her whether our journey together ended here. As she was preparing to answer, I noticed someone watching us from below. As I pointed my finger at him, he bellowed something inaudible and immediately disappeared. The woman indicated we’d talk later. And that for now it might be more prudent to return to the car.
I walked, scanning my surroundings. On the ground, I found a piece of flexible hose and said that it was as good a time as any to fill up on gas. When we reached our car, I told the woman to add oil to the engine. That she’d find a pint of it in the back. Meanwhile, I grabbed the jerry can and made my way to an abandoned truck. I unscrewed the cap, stuck the hose in, and sucked deeply until I had a vile taste in my mouth. I had to siphon four cars to fill the jerry can.
Walking back to my own car, I noticed that my companion wasn’t there. I didn’t dare call out to her for fear of attracting unwanted attention. She might have left anyway. Just like that, without saying thanks. Like a thief in the night. Egotistic. Traitorous.
Without wasting time, I brought up the gas canister to the gas tank. And once again I noticed the woman waiting for me, sitting in the car’s passenger seat. When she noticed me, she became agitated as if I had surprised her. At the same moment I heard footsteps behind me. I turned around. A man about my size was walking towards me, holding an iron bar.
What do you want? Don’t yell, you could attract the others, and then I would have to shut you up. What do you want? Your gas, your water, and your food, quickly, give it all. I don’t have water or food. You’re lying, come on. Hurry.
The man walked towards me, threatening. When he came close enough, I splashed the contents of the jerry can at him. Then, before he had time to jump me, I took out my lighter and told him that if he walked one step closer, he’d burn.
The man hesitated a moment, gave his clothes a sniff, and began backtracking slowly, cursing me out. He climbed onto a bike he’d left on the ground a bit farther off and disappeared. I quickly poured the rest of the gas into the tank, jumped into the car, and started it up. We began to back up, mindful of trash and hunks of metal. We passed a few groups of people on our way out. Without thinking about what they were doing, what they might be looking for, or who they might be waiting for along the highway, we drove onto a ring road that led eastward, through the suburbs.
My hands were clammy and my heart was in my throat. I felt weak. I thought I might vomit.
KILOMETRE 4232
There was a lot more action near the city. A whole lot more cars driving. No one respected any of the road signs, but everyone drove slowly. We followed the pack, watching the houses go by. Some had been burned and were still smoking. Others were walled in by makeshift palisades made of road signs, wire fences, and wooden planks. But most seemed simply abandoned.
My shirt smelled like gasoline. I asked the woman to hold on to the wheel while I took off my shirt. She told me that everything would have gone up in flames if I’d actually tried to light my attacker on fire. I threw the shirt out the window, grabbed another from the backseat, and took control of the wheel. I turned towards the woman. I nodded.
We crossed a bridge. A sign had been placed between the concrete blocks. prepare to stop. We passed in front of a sentry box placed in the middle of the road. Probably a makeshift checkpoint. It had been deserted. The cones and barricades had been tossed to the ground. I accelerated. I was driving with the uneasy certainty of being followed even though, in the rear-view mirror, all I saw were anonymous vehicles, rundown billboards, and skyscrapers, slowly pulling away. We took an off-ramp that led to a road that followed the river for hundreds of kilometres before forcing its way into the eastern forest. The road that would lead me to my father. By tomorrow.
On the other side of the river, I recognized the city port, but I’d never seen so many containers waiting on ships and in triage yards. From this side of the river, we could see people seated on the concrete guardrail, fishing, watching the movement of helicopters. I was startled by the woman’s hand on my thigh. She leaned towards me and told me that she’d accompany me to my destination. That I no longer had a choice. That she would help me find my father. I smiled and told her she was the one who no longer had a choice.
Then she kissed me.
Little by little, we left behind us the city’s people and infrastructure and drove in silence, midway through apprehension of what lay ahead of us and relief at not being alone. And even perhaps at being together.
On the horizon, clouds gathered and seemed to want to hem the landscape in, as if a giant hand was about to take hold of the world. Soon, between earth and sky, there would be room only for the space of a car.
KILOMETRE 4498
Night already. The road followed its path through farmland and, from the flood plain through which we were driving, we could see the black line of the river growing thicker, in the distance. I counted the time, my speed, and the distance left to go. Then I measured my fatigue, feeling the pain in the muscles of my neck.
I said we should take a break. We could try to find some gas, eat some food. Rest. The woman answered it might be best to wait a bit before stopping. That what we’d seen today made her fear traps, ambushes. I took her hand. It was cold.
She offered to drive. She said that I had a funny look about me with my black eye and my bandaged hand. I was probably exhausted.
I answered that I was okay. For now. But my mouth was dry and my words were barely audible. Each time I coughed, the car pulled sideways. Along curves, I knew the guardrails kept a close eye on me.
Under the grey cloth of twilight, I could barely make out the outline of old mountains. I realized it must have rained today. Potholes were filled with water.
A fine fog began to settle. The woman asked me what would happen when we got there. I would have liked to give an answer, but I simply had no idea.
I drove, staring directly into night’s gaze. I could feel fatigue like an itch under my tongue. I turned on the headlights. But they too were exhausted, lighting not much more than an arm’s length in a dark corridor.
I concentrated on my driving, but beyond the layers of fog released from the peaks of trees, only the glowing eyes of wild animals showed the way.
KILOMETRE 4535
The road was no more than a thin line between the mountains on one side and the river widening into an inland sea on the other. We couldn’t see any of it, of course, with night around us, but the salt air didn’t lie. The car split the fog and I had the impression, every so often, of hearing waves crash on the front bumper. Night was deep. Opaque. We crossed it slowly, one kilometre at a time, the dashboard lights sparkling.
My visi
on began to cloud. For a second, I felt as though I wasn’t there. To see properly, I had to wipe the windshield with my sleeve over and over again. Between towns, where houses nestled in the hollows of coves, I could imagine the dancing light of candles. The road followed the coastline closely. Pushed by the wind, the sea crashed onto the road. One after the other, waves surprised by the headlights froze for an instant in the air before letting themselves collapse on the asphalt. They looked like sea monsters trying to reach out of the deep to demolish us.
As we advanced on the soaked road, I sensed the inside of the car narrowing. Despite my grip on the wheel, the muscles of my neck always ended up relaxing, as if I was deserting my post. Each time I straightened my head, I had the impression that these microseconds lasted an eternity.
KILOMETRE 4664
Morning now. A strange dawn pierced the fog. I parked next to my father’s car, which was so old and big you might easily confuse it for a boat. I turned off the engine and ripped out of my seat. A few paces took me across the rotten steps of the front stoop. The woman stayed in the car. The door was half-open. It’s me! No answer. I walked from one room to the next. The kitchen was filled with empty tin cans. And the furniture in the living room had been tipped over. Hello? No answer. I climbed to the second floor. The staircase was dusty and dirty. It seemed like nobody had been here in weeks. From the hallway, I saw that my father’s bed was unmade and empty. I wanted to go into my old room, but the door was locked. Where are you? Tell me, where are you?
Running on Fumes Page 10
