Swarm (Dead Ends) (2 page)

You’d see no patchouli air fresheners, Phish t-shirts, or 311 CDs anywhere. Those were products of the ignorant newbie stoner who almost seemed to crave that designation as a marijuana lover in order to define who he was as a person; perhaps fearing there would be no other aspects of his personality worth remembering.

My bong wasn’t exactly discreet but it was all I had – I didn’t carry a pipe with me because cops tend to be a little more aggressive when they think you’re a meth-head or a crack fiend. If they’re certain you won’t remember it in the morning, they won’t hesitate to knock you around a bit before they hastily shoehorn you into the backseat. Perks of the job, I suppose. But one furtive glimpse of that purple bong would confirm that I’m no threat. They’d generally let me off with a warning or give me a ticket for something I didn’t do just so they could punish me without having to waste the time to bring me in, knowing full well I’d sleep comfortably through the night until they let me go the next day. It was an acceptable trade-off as far as I was concerned.

It’s sad really, that it had come to this. Sitting in a parking lot of a store I would never be caught dead in, doing drugs by myself and contemplating joining some sort of support group for lovelorn twenty-somethings: “Hi my name is Sam and I’m a pussy ass bitch who keeps looking for love in all the wrong places. My grandfather fought in Korea and I listen to Emo and eat gelato when I’m sad because I’m too good for ice cream.” If you could somehow combine the words
demoralizing, gut-wrenching, pants-wetting,
and
go cry in a corner self-loathing
into a single word, well… that would be me.

With tears beginning to well up in my eyes, it was past time to kill a few more brain cells and hopefully push all of those painful memories to the unmapped recesses of my mind for a few more hours. With a bit of luck they’d get lost back there and never come back to haunt me again. I was almost too busy feeling sorry for myself to notice the unearthly calm that had set in around me. A huge parking lot filled with vehicles of all shapes and sizes but not a person in sight. The normal sounds of life – wind creeping through the landscape bringing with it smells of pine and exhaust fumes and maybe even perfectly crispy French fries; flocks of birds in a constant ebb and flow beyond the canopy of trees; the hum of cars pounding the pavement; the indefinable energy of a society always on the move – they were only noticeable at this moment due to their complete absence.

As I reached down to fetch the lighter I had dropped at my feet, I heard what sounded like a demolition derby getting closer by the second. The gradually increasing sound and reverberation of tires screeching and metal twisting and writhing as it tried its hardest to resist the forces of gravity and friction was almost paralyzing. The feeling reminded me of experiencing my first earthquake as a child and being able to do nothing but wait until it had ended, all the grade school training I had received about getting into a door jam or under a table seemingly forgotten in a moment of sheer terror. In an instant, what was once only a sound now became the most frightening visual I had ever seen and if I somehow survived it, the memory would no doubt be permanently deleted from my brain as a protective measure against complete and irreversible insanity.

Chapter 2

In a blatant disregard for the laws of physics, the 18-wheeler hurtled end-over-end towards my burgundy red bulls-eye of a car seemingly gaining momentum as it approached. Though the odds of this happening were slim to none, I still count it as yet another argument against having huge mega-store parking lots within pissing distance of a major interstate highway carrying all manner of sleep deprived truckers, pill popping soccer moms, and distracted teen drivers barreling along as if a tidal wave were gaining ground in their rear-view mirrors.

It was close enough now that I could make out the familiar black, red, and white Sea-Land logo on the sleeper cab. At least I knew who to send the subpoena to if I somehow survived this. I thought of many things I could do – get the car going and move out of the way hoping I would avoid the crash or at least put myself in a better position to absorb its full impact; get out of the car and get low to the ground; pray to God to save me despite my long list of personal failures; or my personal favorite, crap myself and curl up into a little ball. I of course did none of these things. I simply sat there. Horrified to be certain but also relieved that my mind was focusing on something other than lost love. It’s amazing how many thoughts the human brain can have in a matter of seconds. I didn’t have a “life flashing before my eyes” stream of consciousness as many people seem to report in these situations. Maybe the buildup of bong resin in my brain had messed with its internal circuitry but all I could think was that if this were a summer blockbuster, the daisy chain of destruction heading my way would inevitably hit an impeccably shiny new Honda minivan, the camera uncomfortably focusing on its silver “H” logo for what seems like an eternity, which would catapult the semi into the air, narrowly missing my sports car of which I have no business owning but absolutely destroying pretty much everything else in sight. Throw in a 20-something tit-stick with questionable acting ability and Michael Bay’s name would be plastered all over the movie posters.

Sadly for me this was not a movie. The last thing I remember was that damn Sea-Land logo, its wavy red “S” taunting me in what seemed like slow motion as Operation Rolling Thunder prepared to turn me into a blood puddle. The tunnel vision I had experienced upon first seeing the source of my demise was now slowly fading to black. My extremities devoid of feeling and my lungs audibly preparing to take one last breath before the words “game over” flashed on the imaginary screen in front of me. My last thought was more like a disturbing narration of what was going on in my brain than an actual lucid thought: “Another life lived half-assed and unfulfilled. He tallied up his regrets and compared them to his accomplishments and realized it wasn’t even a fair fight. Just another speck of dust in a world that will keep on turning just fine without him.” At least I got to know what I really thought of myself before I died.

When I came to, it was noticeably brighter in the car than I remember it being before Jim Bob decided to pop one too many Greenies and play Carmageddon with the lesser vehicles on the road; most likely in hopes of securing that “on time” bonus that would keep his world going for another few weeks. I’d ended up sitting upside down in the rear passenger-side seat with my long legs pointing straight up at what should’ve been the roof. But the semi had managed to peel it back like a can of sardines which left me looking at nothing but cloudy skies. I’d always wanted a convertible but this left me thinking of those old cartoons where a genie grants three wishes to someone who is regrettably unspecific about what
exactly
it is that they desire.

My brain slowly began to reboot itself, the haze of confusion quickly giving way to a searing, burning pain radiating from my left shoulder. With my vision still cloudy, it looked to me like my shoulder had fused with the door and become one. Skin, bone, shitty red felt, and cracked pleather all coming together to form something that was in no danger of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts. Judging from the position of my body relative to my shoulder, I’d say at the very least I had dislocated it. The throbbing pain confirmed that much. With the worst of it over, I decided to sit still for a while to get my bearings and hopefully muster up enough courage to pry my mangled shoulder from the door. I glanced underneath the front seat upon noticing the familiar holographic foil logo of my credit card; the same credit card I had accused my now ex-girlfriend of stealing and using for a shopping spree at a Joe’s Sporting Goods going out of business sale. I feel like an ass to say the least. If I had died today my tombstone would most certainly have an X-Files bent to it: “He Trusted No One.” Mulder would be proud.

At first it didn’t make sense that the card would even still be in the car given that
someone
had stolen it and racked up several hundred dollars worth of charges. But almost getting killed by 30,000 pounds of angry steel managed to shake a memory loose from a week prior that had somehow gotten lost. It involved chasing two Ambien with 5 fingers of Chivas and a gaggle of bong hits in hopes of sleeping for two days and erasing Melissa from my mind in the process. Clearly, instead of going comatose, I had decided to go bargain shopping. For a second, I forgot about the situation and decided to get up and go check the trunk to see what kind of crap I had bought, hoping it would still be in good enough condition to return seeing as how I was now going to have one hell of a car repair bill on my hands. The pain was so absolute that it only took about ten seconds to pass out again. But in those last few seconds I swear I saw a large man in overalls, complete with red trucker hat and mutton chop sideburns, reaching for me with an eerie expressionless look on his mangled face that filled me with dread as I fell back into darkness.

Chapter 3

I was jarred awake by a constant tugging at my feet, each forceful heave pulling me further and further out of the dark. I possessed only a mild awareness of the current situation. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been out but the hunger and lightheadedness I felt made me think it could’ve been hours, days even.

“Whoa, man!” I shouted painfully. “The danger’s over! It’s a car, not a burning building! I’m fine. Just open the damn door!
Jesus
.”

No response.

The wrenching only intensified with each word I yelped. The pain in my shoulder was steadily coming to a boil as I began kicking at the hands that were so intent on prying me out of this now useless piece of metal. For a second the hands receded from view to reveal the sun peeking through the clouds, temporarily warping my vision. In that same second all of the dread I had experienced pre-blackout had now returned as I recalled those last few moments of consciousness. Before I could dwell on it, a banging on the side of the car snapped me back into the moment. The hands crept back into view, revealing a wrist on one hand completely devoid of skin and sinew of any kind. Blood had long left the appendage, making the white of the bones all the more prominent. The face that had haunted my subconscious now returned to view.

Jim Bob wanted to make sure I was dead this time.

The right side of his face looked as if it had been melted on a diner-sized flattop grill then pounded with a hammer. Amazingly, his red trucker hat still clung defiantly to his oversized head, only slightly tilted to one side like some middle-class teenage wannabe who thinks he’s “gangster”. His eyes were a nightmare in themselves. The normally white parts of the eye had turned piss-yellow like a bad case of jaundice. The pupils were dilated as if he was attempting to read a book directly in front of his nose and his crystal blue irises looked as if they were in the process of being shattered like a piece of stained glass.

While I couldn’t make rational sense out of what was happening, it didn’t change the fact that it was in fact,
happening
. The pain was all but gone now. Survival was all that mattered. I kicked furiously at his hands and face while simultaneously attempting to free myself from this backseat prison.

I pushed against the door with my right hand, every vein in my forearm popping out as if trying to escape the confines of my skin and leave this nightmare in the dust. I shoved with enough force to dislodge my shoulder from the jumble of cheap plastic and ugly red felt that lined the door, causing it to miraculously pop back into its socket where it belonged. The sound was reminiscent of a large tree branch snapping from its trunk as it lost a battle with gravity. Yet still there was no pain. My testicles receding into my abdomen confirmed that the fight or flight response was in full effect. And I had no qualms about running. I rolled myself over to the rear driver’s side and attempted to stand up on the seat, forgetting that I had been upside down for quite some time. A moment of lightheadedness caused me to fall backwards over the side of the car. Landing with a dull thud, my cheek rested squarely on a polished chrome bumper which aside from no longer having a vehicle to call home remained immaculate in spite of the destruction all around it. The movement detected in its mirrored surface reminded me that rest was not an option. I had no time to lick my wounds. Every second counted.

I quickly pushed myself from the ground, my cheek reluctantly peeling away from the bumper’s cold surface as I prepared to run until my lungs collapsed, putting as much ground between myself and this parking lot of horrors as humanly possible.

Before I could look for a clear path of escape, he was on me. My stretched out frame, thin wrists, and long slender fingers better suited for the Information Age were no match for this rotund corn-fed caveman with a low center of gravity and bloodlust in his eyes. He barreled into me, almost surprised that he had caught me; like a dog who finally catches up with a cat and then has no idea what to do. His momentum pushed us backwards causing my heel to scrape against some unknown debris just enough to send us both tumbling to the ground. Instead of bracing for the fall, I extended my hands and feet in front of me in anticipation of him landing on me when the pavement jarringly broke our fall. I was able to use his downward momentum to flip him onto his back so the crowns of our heads now faced one another, our bodies forming a straight line as we lay on our backs trying to recover from the concrete stop sign that had undoubtedly left us seeing stars. The injured parts of my body now handily outnumbered the uninjured parts by a ratio of at least 2 to 1.

He began reaching for me, attempting to roll over on his stomach to get more leverage. I swatted his hands away as I leapt to my feet. I was prepared to run when a switch suddenly flipped in my brain.

I wasn’t going to let this abomination hurt anyone else.

His bloodthirsty moans slowly began to fade away as my hearing seemed to focus only on his movements and their possible effect on my well-being; almost like an auditory version of tunnel vision. I bent down and blindly rooted for the chrome bumper that I knew was somewhere near my right foot; all the while keeping my eyes focused on the shell of a man now making his way to his feet like a child who’s just learned to walk. Like the antennae of an ant, my fingers slowly recognized the familiar chill of the bumper. I wrapped my fingers around it and surprisingly brought it to my chest with one hand. I wanted to at least have it in front of me as a barrier until I figured out a way to use it effectively as a weapon. My hands searched carefully for a proper grip, finally finding one just as old Jim Bob managed to get himself fully vertical once again.