Coal - Part II

The gritty desert wind carried a raspy, humming sound that tortured Michael’s imagination for half an hour before he finally came to the old aluminum street sign. The wind was playing it like a skeletal violin. In the sparse moonlight, he could only just make out “Old Highway Ten”.

No more, said a voice in his head, next time you see headlights, you have to stay in sight.

He would, he decided. But in the meantime, he would keep walking. He walked even though his feet were starting to catch on the road. He walked until the humming of the sign only came after him in derisive shreds. Then, he walked until those were gone, too.

If he had thought about it, he might have decided that moving felt better than standing still. But he didn’t think about it. He didn’t think about anything, until all at once, the horizon was glowing, and he had just a moment to wonder whether he had walked through the night, or he had fallen asleep on his feet, before headlights erupted over the crest of an invisible hill. They might have shone in through his eyes and clear out the back of his skull. He threw an arm across his eyes and instinctively stumbled towards the berm, but a voice shouted in his mind.

No. If you spend another night in a ditch, we will both die.

It was true, of course, but it still took all of his effort to stand still.

The vehicle slowly came to a stop some distance away – some tens or thousands of feet – unknowable in that liminal space made half of midnight and half of weapons-grade headlights and an engine idle that could only have belonged to a freight train.

The lights dimmed a little when the operator stopped the engine. Michael fought to see as much as he could through teary, squinting eyes, blocking the light with an outstretched hand. He heard a car door open and then close again, and after too long a silence, he felt a kind of claustrophobia set in. He was alone with some invisible stranger in a room that was at once infinite and too small.

“Hello?” Michael called out, when he couldn’t take any more of his nerves. Otherwise, he would have had to dash for the berm.

“Are you okay?” someone called back.

“I’m lost.”

And you’re thirsty.

“…and I’m thirsty.”

“Shit,” said the stranger, much closer now, “How long have you been out here?”

“Two days, I guess.”

“Come on. I got- shit, I don’t have water in the cab. Coffee would probably kill you right now. But I’ve got some carrots. Come on, I’ll call the police and we’ll see if they want me to take you somewhere. You’re a ways out from… well, from anywhere.” The driver’s indistinct silhouette passed in front of the headlights and Michael caught a flash of the desert around him – of sagebrush throwing long shadows far out across hardpack desert.

“No police. Please. I’m tr-AH!” A hand was suddenly on his shoulder, guiding him toward the headlights.

“You illegal?” Said the voice – a man’s voice. Maybe young.

“I don’t think so,” said Michael.

“Police will get you to your people. You don’t need to be scared.”

They passed out of the beam of the headlights and around to the passenger side of a truck outlined in a constellation of little yellow lights. Michael looked back to the illuminated wedge of desert and asphalt in front of the truck. He traced the light out along the road until it slowly gave way to dark. It was like staring down into an ocean, and the idea of wandering around in it was all at once terrifying to him. The man opened the passenger door, and Michael climbed up, hand over hand, into the cab.

The cab was clean. A sharp, chemical smell came up off of the seats and made Michael’s eyes water. But his seat was comfortable, and it was only seconds before his body remembered sleep. He blinked wide and sat forward on the edge of the seat. He would be able to sleep, soon, but not yet.

The driver side door opened and the stranger hopped up into the cab.

“Shoulda’ had the hazards on,” he said. He reached behind the steering wheel and the truck started flashing - ting tick, ting tick.

“I need you to take me to Salina,” said Michael, but the man was already reaching for his phone.

“Sorry, but I can’t take you anywhere. I’m sure the police will take you to Salina,” he said. He looked at the display on his phone and grimaced. “Shit. S’okay, I have a sat-phone in the sleeper. Hang on.” He started to leave.

“Wait,” said Michael. There was something ghastly in his voice. The air shuddered to carry it.

The man surprised himself when he froze – one hand on the grab rail. He convinced himself that it was silly that goosebumps had crawled up his arms, but he didn’t notice that he was also holding his breath.

“Please, I’m trying to get back to my parents. The police make me go to my aunt’s house, and she makes me work. I’ll run away again and maybe I’ll die. Please take me to Salina.”

The man sat back down and shut the door. He looked like he might say something, but he didn’t. He slowly drew his seatbelt across his chest, turned off the hazard lights, and started the truck.

“Let me know if you get cold,” he said. The brakes whined and the truck rolled forward.

Michael sat back into his seat and shut his eyes.