The Car

by Gary Paulsen

  And it was, suddenly, too late. They had spoken too much, taken too long. In a cloud of noisy dust the three pickups arrived and the young cowboys boiled out of them.

  Terry had one fleeting moment of what he thought later was insanity—the thought that maybe they could talk it out. He could get out of the still-running Cat and talk to them and stop what was going to happen.

  But the men had not come to talk. Waylon put his guitar and pack down near Baby and moved to stand next to Wayne, slightly to his left and rear, and set one foot in back slightly. Wayne did the same thing, one foot back, and then the men were on them.

  Terry tried to watch, tried to break things down in some order, but it looked more like slow motion dancing than fighting. Four of the eight men were slightly ahead and came in with fists clubbed, like they were trying to chop Wayne and Waylon down.

  Wayne seemed to bend, push back on his rear leg, and when he came back up one of the men was down, holding his throat. Waylon swiveled at the hips, turned on his rear leg, and his arm floated out and another of the young men went down, his face a mass of blood and his hands hanging at his sides.

  The other two hit Wayne and Waylon. Terry saw Waylon take the blow high on the right side of his head and rock with it, then come up with both hands in front, somehow swinging back and forth slowly and there was a meat-chunk sound and the man went down on top of the first.

  Wayne was hit hard, low, in the groin, and even over the sound of the Cat’s engine Terry heard him grunt. He started down on one knee but as his leg bent his arm came up and the man who had hit him seemed to lift a foot in the air, hang there, and then drop unconscious.

  All this in seconds, two, not more. Terry raised in the seat and had opened the door—he thought to help, to stop it—and there were four men on the ground and Wayne and Waylon were still standing.

  But they had been hurt and the blows slowed them and the next four, all in a pack, were on them almost at once, hitting and kicking them down.

  Terry was out of the Cat now, gathered himself, and in one long jump piled in. He hit one man, used his knee to half kick, half push another off Wayne and then something hit him in the stomach—either a fist or a boot, he couldn’t tell in the pile—so hard his whole life seemed to stop dead.

  “Uummmppph!” He turned, holding his stomach, sucking for air in a world suddenly gone airless, but his action had given Wayne time to chop up twice with his hands clubbed and another man was down, and then Waylon used a backhand blow to take down the sixth, and the seventh and eighth men were suddenly standing alone, facing the now-erect—though weaving—Waylon and Wayne.

  Terry caught some air, held it, then a little more. Time stopped, held the four men. Wayne looked at Waylon, who was standing holding his left arm in place with his right, and he smiled.

  Terry shook his head. Smiled. Crazy.

  “Not bad for a couple of old farts,” Waylon said. “Only two to go. . . .”

  “Not us,” one of the cowboys said. “We’re whupped. I think you might of killed Carly this time—God knows he had it coming.”

  Waylon looked down and shrugged. “He isn’t dead. . . .”

  He was going to say more but a new sound came, keening, flat, and faint in the dusk.

  Sirens. Somebody driving by had called them. Probably on a CB radio. The state police.

  “Now you go,” Waylon said.

  “You come with me.”

  “No. They’ll need someone here to talk to, tell our side. If we run they’ll come after us and then you’ll be part of it. You cut out now or they’ll have you and that will be it. Go now. . . .”

  And Terry could see he was right. If he stayed it would help nothing. Then this is it, he thought—this is all of it.

  He jumped in the Cat without using the door, looked once more at Waylon and Wayne standing in the pile of moaning and groaning cowboys, and snapped the clutch, throwing sand and dirt in a circle as he wheeled around and back out to the highway to hang a right and catch second, then third and fourth, and away, letting the Cat take him up the road into the Bighorns.

  A mile. Then another and another, not looking back, remembering them standing on the hill next to Baby and the downed men and the trucks, and another mile, and three more.

  West alone, he thought. I’ll find the uncle, see how that goes. I’ll head west alone. I’ve got plenty of money and time, just head on out and see the country.

  And for a time he actually believed it. Five more miles passed and he kept making his mind believe what he was thinking. But it didn’t work.

  As if on her own the Cat slowed. Not to a stop but came off seventy, then down to sixty and fifty and forty and thirty, cars passing him while he kept saying to himself, I’ll head west alone, see the world alone. No problem.

  And the Cat stopped. In the middle of the lane it came to a dead stop, looking up at the Bighorn Mountains, summer snow catching the last of the evening light, and he knew then that he was lying to himself.

  He checked the mirror, pushed the shift into reverse, swung around, and aimed the nose back down the mountain. Let the speedometer come back up to fifty, sixty, sliding along in the evening air.

  The police would take them all back to town. That’s how it would play. He’d move into town and watch, sleep in the car, until the police were done, and then pick them up again. It wouldn’t be difficult to stay low and find them in the small town.

  Alone, he thought, snorting. Right. Who would teach him to truck if he went alone? Besides, they owed him a choice day since they boogered his up with the fight.

  He snapped the Cat into fourth and let her growl before he brought her back down to the speed limit, heading back into Buffalo.

  If he worked it right this wouldn’t set them back more than a few hours. . . .

  Reader Chat Page

  How do you suppose Waylon and Wayne’s experiences in Vietnam affected them, and how did it influence the way they chose to live their lives after the war?

  In this story, food and sleep are often forgone—both intentionally and unintentionally—when the excitement of learning takes over. It happens when Terry is first assembling the Cat, and several times throughout his journey with Waylon and Wayne. Have you ever been so absorbed with something that you forgot to eat or sleep?

  Waylon tells Terry that Robert E. Lee once said, “It is well war is so terrible, we should get too fond of it.” What do you think this means, and how does it apply to Waylon’s life?

  When faced with confrontation, neither Waylon nor Wayne shy away, but they sometimes regret the way they handle things. How would you have reacted if you had encountered some of the problems they did? For instance, what could they have said or done differently when approached by Carly the cowboy that might have changed the outcome of that situation?

  Terry is surprised that even as adults, Wayne and Waylon are still learning, still evolving, and still figuring things out. Ask an adult in your life to tell you something he or she has recently learned. Does the answer surprise you?

  Before Terry embarks on his trip, he must essentially teach himself to drive. Luckily, he turns out to be a natural. Think of a skill or talent you naturally possess and how you could further develop it.

  At the beginning of his journey, Terry is rather cynical. But as time passes, he is more open to new people, new ideas, and new experiences. Describe three of Terry’s experiences that might have changed his perspective, and why.

  If you could travel anywhere, where would you go? What kind of transportation would you like to use to get there? What would you hope to see and do?

  About the Author

  GARY PAULSEN has written nearly two hundred books for young people, including the Newbery Honor Books Hatchet, Dogsong, and The Winter Room. He divides his time between a home in New Mexico and a boat on the Pacific Ocean.

 

 

 
;