by N.W. Harris
After the scorching August sun passed its peak, it shined directly into Shane’s eyes, making him squint so hard his face hurt. Perspiration soaked his white, button-down shirt and rolled down his cheeks in little streams. The muggy heat demanded shorts and a T-shirt, and the thick, black slacks made his legs feel like two suckling pigs being slow roasted in a barbeque pit. Sweat drenched his stiff, leather dress shoes as well, and his useless polyester socks kept sliding down into them.
Within ten minutes, painful blisters swelled up on Shane’s ankles. He stopped in the shade of an old oak tree growing in an empty field alongside the road, its gnarled branches reaching well across the fence. Four miserable miles stood between him and Granny’s house, an easier walk if he had his sneakers and if he knew she’d be there to greet him.
He settled on a large clump of grass, crossed his arms over his knees, and rested his head on them. Closing his tired eyes, he contemplated hiding under the protection of the oak for the rest of the day. If he sat there long enough, the sun would be lower, and it would cool a bit. But the low, drawn-out rumble of thunder off in the distance warned he’d better keep moving. They’d had a lightning storm every afternoon for the last month, typical for North Georgia in the late summer. The rain would feel good, but he doubted his slacks and dress shoes would be any easier to walk in for it. And he didn’t relish the idea of being struck by lightning, a likely occurrence if he stayed out here in the open and even more probable if he sat under the tree for too long.
An ominous humming caught his attention, and Shane looked up to see a beach-ball-size hornets’ nest engulfing several branches about ten-feet overhead. The black-and-gold hornets were three times as big as a normal wasp, and they looked angry, buzzing around as if someone had thrown a rock at them. Shane stiffened. He’d been stung by one of the massive insects once when he was little, and it had left a welt as big as a golf ball on his arm that took weeks to heal. He slowly rose to a crouch and slipped out of the shade of the tree, not daring to breathe until he was twenty feet away. Once he no longer heard the threatening drone of their beating wings, he stopped and glanced back.
They acted crazy agitated, swarming around the oak’s canopy in a threatening way. A stray one buzzed past his ear and he ducked, then turned and hurried down the road, not risking another look.
After a few minutes, the adrenaline wore off, and the heat made Shane worry less about the hornets. His pace slackened. He gave up on walking on the gravelly shoulder, finding limited relief for his blistered ankles on the flat surface of the asphalt. Shane raised his hand, attempting to shield his face from the blistering sun, though even more heat seemed to be reflecting off the blacktop.
A sudden roar came from behind him, accompanied by the blare of an air horn. Shane leapt off the road onto the shoulder, hurdled over the ditch, and then landed next to the fence. A semi loaded with ill-fated chickens barreled by in a blast of wind, no doubt headed for the processing plant. It disappeared around the corner, leaving the grass dancing and little, white feathers floating down in the black diesel smoke of its wake.
Shane’s pulse raced from the near miss. In his rush to get out of the big rig’s way, he’d almost fallen onto the heavy gage electric fence containing the Douglas’ pasture. Down the hill, he saw the cattle stampeding around in a peculiar way. Usually, during this hottest part of the day, they would find shelter under a tree or wade in the stagnant water of their pond. Instead, they ran in wide circles as though a pack of wild mutts nipped at their heels, but he didn’t hear any barking and couldn’t see a single dog. They came up the hill and charged at the thick, aluminum cables of the fence, heading straight for Shane with such fury that he expected they would plow through it and trample him. He tensed, ready to sprint across the road and jump in the opposite ditch, but the cattle changed direction abruptly and headed the other way, down the hill toward the barns.
Stunned, Shane watched the herd rumble away. He figured a few would die of heatstroke if someone didn’t calm them soon. Because Kelly Douglas—the hottest girl in the twelfth grade and his future wife when hogs learned to fly—might answer, he entertained the temptation to go down to the palatial farmhouse and knock on the door to offer his assistance. A glance at his sweaty, dirt-covered clothing made him decide against it. He’d have to make the varsity team before he’d have a chance with Kelly anyway. Not to mention, it was unlikely she’d give a junior the time of day. And there wasn’t much he could do to help with the cattle dressed like this.
Thunder boomed, and mountainous purple clouds moved in from the west. The wind started to blow harder, and he hurried down the road with more haste. The approaching storm must’ve been putting the cattle on edge. Shane knew that sometimes animals acted rash before a tornado struck. The notion of being stranded outside in a twister put even more speed in his pace.
Not more than ten minutes had passed before a rustling sound in the deep grass on the left side of the road startled Shane again. Hundreds of rats leapt out of the ditch and scampered onto the scorched asphalt a few feet in front of him, stopping his progress. They paused in unison and all turned their beady eyes toward him, raising their noses and twitching their whiskers as if to smell him. A sudden rush of fear caused him to freeze. Before he had a chance to take a step back from the abnormally bold rodents, they continued on, vanishing as quickly as they appeared into the cornfield on the other side of the road. Angry hornets, stampeding cattle, and now this—one heck of a storm was surely brewing. Or, he feared, the heat was getting to him, and he was starting to hallucinate.
The sky took on a light green hue, a sickly color that preceded really nasty weather. With a mile and a half to go until he made it to Granny’s house, Shane started a limping sort of jog, knowing he’d better get into her cellar soon or he could be in big trouble. Sharp pain exploded in his feet and ankles with each step, and he expected half of the moisture in his shoes might be blood. He didn’t dare stop and look, knowing the pain would only get worse once he exposed his ruptured blisters to air.
The sound of an engine downshifting behind him made him run off onto the shoulder. The car’s horn beeped, and he turned to see his aunt’s rental slowing down as it approached. Relief flooded through him, and his legs suddenly felt too rubbery to keep him upright.
“What in heaven’s name are you doing out here?” his aunt asked once she came alongside him. Her eyes were red and moist, likely from crying over her mother’s death.
“Dad kicked me out,” he replied, immediately wishing he’d lied and said he just thought it was a nice day for a stroll.
“Oh Shane, I’m sorry to hear that,” she said with an unsurprised, though compassionate tone. Smiling kindly, she had the decency not to pursue the issue. “You’d better get in, looks like we’re in for some inclement weather.”
“It does, don’t it?” he said, rushing around to the passenger side.
“Where are you heading?” she asked once he’d climbed into the car and buckled his seatbelt. She didn’t have the thick, southern accent everyone else Shane knew did, having escaped hickville to go to Yale just after she’d graduated from high school. She sounded so proper and intelligent to him.
“Granny’s,” he replied, leaning closer to the air conditioning vent and peeling the saturated, button-down shirt away from his chest to dry it.
His aunt gazed thoughtfully at him for a long moment, her sad, brown eyes so much like his mother’s that it made his chest ache. “That’s where I was going too.” She shifted the car into gear. “I have to help settle her estate before I return to New York.”
It was hard not to stare at his aunt while she drove; she reminded him so much of his mom. She had the same wavy, black hair, pointed nose, and always-tan skin. But his aunt had a more sophisticated and well-traveled air about her. Shane had always been in awe of her and found it hard to talk to her because he felt ignorant and backwoods in her presence. Wisps of gray twisted through her hair now that he didn’t remember seeing when s
he visited last Christmas. He wondered if his mother would have some too if she were still around—though his aunt was two years older than his mom, who would’ve been forty-five this year.
She glanced over, and he looked out the window. His mother’s death still hurt like it happened yesterday. Adding the pain from losing Granny made him expect he’d never smile again. How the heck do people ever get over stuff like this? he wondered. Maybe they never did. Maybe they just acted like they did because it was what was expected.
The car weaved through the curviest part of Rural Route 2. He always felt a little carsick when he passed through here.
“You’ve grown so much since the last time I saw you,” she said. “You look just like your grandfather.”
It was a nice compliment; the pictures he’d seen of the wiry Green Beret soldier impressed him. Granny said he was a stern man who didn’t smile much, and Shane reckoned his grandfather must’ve seen some things in the wars he’d fought that would kill the joy in anyone.
“He was tall, with a darker complexion too. You have his brown eyes and his dimpled chin.” She retrieved a green, glass bottle from the center console and took a sip of water from it, and then offered it to him. “Good thing. Not to sound rude, but I never thought your dad was overly handsome.”
“It’s okay,” Shane replied, graciously accepting the bottle. “I’d have to agree with you. Dad’s not much of a looker.” The carbonated water tasted bitter, but he was parched. Not wanting to look unsophisticated, he tried not to grimace after taking a sip.
He wished he had met his grandfather. Granny told Shane lots of stories about him. He was a real, live war hero—had even won the Congressional Medal of Honor in Vietnam.
“It must be hard for you, losing your mom and now Granny,” his aunt said distantly.
Tears flooded Shane’s eyes again. He nodded and looked out of the window, so his aunt couldn’t see his face. He was used to being strong and stoic around everyone except his grandmother, and his aunt’s pity made him uncomfortable.
“You know I’m always here for you if you want to talk,” she said. “You can call me anytime.”
“Thanks,” Shane replied.
He wished he could talk to her, now more than ever before, but he couldn’t relax around his aunt, no matter how hard he tried. The closest they’d ever been was that night in the hospital, when his mom passed. Since then, he and his aunt hadn’t really bonded. Loneliness settled over him, a dark cloud pressing him down into his seat.
His aunt chuckled. “Remember that time when—” She cursed and slammed on the brakes, turning the wheel hard to the left.
Shane glanced up at a fat dairy cow standing in the middle of the road. The little rental car’s tires screeched, and it slid at an angle toward the animal. The car slammed into the cow with a sickening thud and a metallic crunching sound. Split seconds seemed long as minutes, and the hood pressed into the animal. Then, its soft belly rebounded as the sharp metal made an incision. Shockwaves emanated from the impact, rippling across the flesh of the cow’s hip and shoulder. Its head whipped toward the car, and then away, its dark, blue-black eye wide with shock. The hood folded as Shane’s face approached the windshield. Time made a sudden return to the normal pace, and the seatbelt punched into his chest. The airbag exploded with the sound of a shotgun going off, smashing Shane back into his seat.
