Manuscript: Wayside - Chapter 2, First Draft

      After about an hour driving around the town of Council, Grim realized that he didn’t really know how to get to Atlanta. He also didn’t have a map; he had checked the glove compartment and under the seats twice. He had never really paid attention to the school bus route, which at one point did hit a state road that led to I-75 and so to Atlanta. Other things had usually distracted him.

      There was also the issue of the truck itself, which was, of course, a manual transmission. Grim had often paid attention to his mother and step-father when they were driving. He liked how the gears shifted with a satisfying ‘thunk’, but watching a clutch in action and driving one were two very different things and Grim stalled and ground the gears for a good five minutes before he ever managed to get the truck moving.

      After a few frightening shutter-starts and once he figured out how to get out of first gear without the vehicle dying, it had been smoother sailing on the clutch front. He tried using landmarks to navigate his way to the interstate but got confused and ended up making several circuits around the Piggly-Wiggly. The owner peered out after the third time around and Grim ducked down to avoid him. Thankfully, on his fourth circle, he managed to break out of the loop. He didn’t think the store owner had recognized him.

      It took him a few more minutes to find his way out of town and onto state road 441, which blessedly had a sign that pointed the way to Pearson. Pearson was the next biggest town and he was sure he’d be able to find his way to the interstate when he got there.

      Grim finally relaxed a bit. He took a Swiss cake roll from his duffle bag, opened the pack with his teeth, and took a satisfying chunk out of the snack. With one hand on the wheel he tuned the radio to one of the two non-sermon radio stations that reached this far into the country. As Tom Petty’s “Running Down a Dream” portentously crackled into life, Grim smiled his first genuine smile in weeks and leaned on the gas. The yellow truck roared eagerly down the road with a puff of black smoke.

*     *     *

      Grim drove up to Pearson’s first stop light around one o’clock in the afternoon. He was hungry -- the Swiss cake hadn’t done much for his appetite. The truck was also low on gas. Pearson was sure to be safe. His step-father was at work and more than likely wouldn’t find out about his missing truck for another six hours at least. He pulled into the only place with a neon open sign lit -- a seedy looking shack with a peeling sign that read ‘Maybelle’s Pool and Eats’.

      Grim climbed out of the truck and took a deep breath. He remembered someone on television once saying that the trick to blending in was to look like you belonged wherever you were. This triggered an idea, and Grim reached back into the truck and searched around the glove compartment for a pack of his step-father’s cigarettes. There were still a few left. He took one out and put it between his teeth. He felt silly having it there, especially unlit, but he was sure he’d seen men doing that in Council so he went with it and opened the door to Maybelle’s.

      It was pretty dark inside, and pretty bright out. It took Grim’s eyes a moment to adjust, and when they did he saw that everyone in the bar was looking at him. Everyone consisted of a frowning old waitress with a beehive hairdo, an old yellow apron and a nametag that read “Betty”. There was also a lone man at the counter, nursing what looked like four inches of rye whisky. Grim nodded and tried to look like he belonged there. He sidled up to the bar and took a seat. He picked up a menu and in his gruffest voice asked the waitress for a light for his cigarette. “Betty” walked over and reaching into her apron, pulling out a lighter and a greasy pad of paper. She lit Grim’s cigarette. He pulled at it, making sure not to breathe the acrid smoke into his lungs.

      Betty smirked, lighted a cigarette of her own, and addressed Grim in a voice gruffer than his. “Whatcha eattin’, honey?”

      “Erm...,” Grim glanced over the small menu and picked something safe. “I’ll...have a Grilled Cheese, please, with fries and a side of mustard.”

      “Anything to drink?”

      Grim pondered trying to get a beer, but decided it wasn’t worth the risk. “Just a sweet tea.” Betty walked into the back where Grim assumed there was a kitchen. He swiveled around in his seat and took a closer look at the restaurant. It was certainly run-down, but the floors were fairly clean. The three pool tables in the center of the room had also seen better days but the billiard balls were racked up and waiting for their first customers.

      Just then there was a tinkle of bells as the door to the bar opened and three men in their mid twenties entered. They were dirty from a morning’s work, probably on one of the nearby farms and Betty came back out from the back to greet them.

      “Hey boys, I’ll get you some beers.” They were clearly regulars.

      “Sup, Chuck, ya ol’ drunk.” The man in front walked passed Grim and over to the man at the bar, who didn’t look up. “How’s ol’ Jim Beam today? Still friends?” The man looked up and over to his buddies for support. They laughed in response.

      Betty swatted the man with a menu and he danced away playfully. “Oh leave him be, Lyle, for goodness sake. Go play some pool while I get yawl’s order in.”

      “Oh, yes ma’am.” The man called Lyle said with a mock bow, which bought him another good laugh from his friends. Lyle looked up from his bow and seemed to notice Grim for the first time. Grim turned back to the counter and tried to find something interesting to read on the menu. “Now who might this be, Betty? Another contender for your affections?” Lyle sat next to Grim at the bar.

      “Just passing through.” Grim muttered nervously. He took another fake puff from his cigarette.

      “I’ll bet you are. I’ll bet you are.” Lyle laughed and slapped Grim on the back. Grim almost dropped the cigarette. Lyle leapt up and joined his friends at the pool table, where they had already grabbed cues and removed the triangle. They were waiting for Lyle to break.

      Betty returned with Grim’s order. Grim took a cautious bite from the sandwich. It was greasy but tasted good enough. He liked American cheese. Grim heard a sharp crack as someone behind him broke the formation on the pool table and the balls rumbled around the carpet-covered surface. Several short thuds indicated that at least some had found pockets.

      “Ya know, Betty.” It was Lyle’s voice; apparently his friends were mostly ornamental. “Craziest thing I heard today. Stopped at Hank’s for some gas for the tractor.”

      “Mmmhmm.” Betty, who was tallying something on her pad, seemed profoundly disinterested.

      “Yeah, well he said he’d heard on the po-lice band that some kid done stole his daddy’s truck and ran off with it and a bunch of his money, too.”

      Grim’s stomach flip-flopped and he almost spit out a mouthful of iced tea. He tried to remain composed, natural.

      “Ya don’t say.” Betty was still tallying. She didn’t look up at Grim or anyone else.

      “Oh yeah. Said the owner of the Pig down in Council had seen him drivin’ around with it. Said he might be headed this way and that his daddy was out lookin’ for him. The cops too. Some story, huh?” Grim hadn’t heard the click of anyone playing pool in the last minute or so and risked a glance. Lyle had taken up a spot by the door and his friends took seats at the bar. Grim swallowed his tea and stood up. He took out a five dollar bill and put it on the counter, then moved to leave.

      “Hey fella. Awful nice ve-hicle you got outside. No doubt your daddy’s missin’ it. Probably pay good to get you back too, I reckon.”

      “The truck’s mine. You’ve got the wrong guy, mack.” Grim tried to sound like an adult but his voice broke midsentence.

      “Naw. Don’t think so. You’re suckin’ on that cigarette like it’s a lollypop, and it don’t look like you’ve ever needed a shave. You’re the kid.” Lyle was grinning like a fox now. Grim could see a white scar pulling at his smile. This guy was trouble.

      “Just...let me leave.” Grim tried to push by, but Lyle grabbed his left arm and pinned it behind Grim’s back. Grim winced as he was slammed against the wall.

      “Yep. Should get some good money from your daddy for catchin’ you. Maybe he’ll give us that there truck. Sounds like a good trade, eh boy -- AH!” Grim slammed his heel down on Lyle’s toes and he spun in his grip. The other two men moved up behind him, but Grim took the cigarette from his mouth and thrust the glowing tip into Lyle’s face. Lyle gave a shriek as he leapt back and collided with the two men rushing forward. The three of them fell to the floor in a heap.

      “That son of a bitch burned my eye! I’ll kill him! I’ll kill him!” Lyle struggled with the other two men to get up. Grim threw open the door and raced towards the truck, not sparing a glance back at his handiwork. He saw the bar door burst open as he opened the truck and jammed the key into the ignition. He revved the engine on the first try and floored it. The truck peeled out and dust from the parking lot made a screen as the vehicle leapt back onto the road.

      Grim’s heart was racing now. He was in trouble. Those yokels at the bar were definitely after him, and the cops were looking for him too. He forced himself to keep the truck under control. He couldn’t go too fast or he’d spin right off the road, but he could just see the bar in the distance and the bar-flies were jumping into their vehicle to give chase.

      “Shit, shit, shit.” Grim cursed and slammed his fist on the steering wheel. How could he be so stupid? He should have got some gas and driven straight to Atlanta, not stopped in this two-bit town. He could see that the men from the bar were catching up. He didn’t think he could outrun them.

      In desperation Grim turned down the first dirt road he spotted and cursed again as he hit a huge pothole and slammed his head on the roof of the truck. The road snaked through a copse of slash pine and it took all of Grim’s concentration to keep from running headlong into the trees. He could no longer see the men from the bar behind him, but he was sure they were there, just around a curve. He raced on until the dirt road dumped out onto another paved road. As he turned, the truck suddenly lurched, gave a nasty knocking noise, and then spluttered to silence.

      “No, no, no, no.” Grim panicked. He turned the key and the engine turned over but didn’t start. He tried again. Nothing. He recalled how little gas the truck had had when he pulled into the bar. He remembered he was going to stop at the next gas station. “Damn it!” Grim grabbed his duffle from the passenger seat and spilled out of the truck. He stood up and looked around. A minute’s run down the road there was a wooden sign, but he couldn’t make out the words. He sprinted towards it.

      A few moments later the car carrying the three hoodlums from the bar burst out of the forest road. Grim ran as if his life depended on it, which he thought, it very well might. He could make out the sign now. It was a marker for a Georgia State Wildlife refuge. As he reached it he heard the jeers from the car behind him; they sounded angry.

      Grim veered off the road and leapt over the brush line, into the forest. The car of yokels screeched to a halt, but Grim dove into the woods and didn’t look back. He ran as fast as his legs could take him; branches scratched at his face and arms. He ran and ran until the blood pounding in his temples nearly blinded him. The crashing of the men behind him grew fainter with each moment, but he didn’t stop.

*     *     *

      After what seemed like an eternity Grim began to slow until finally he couldn’t run anymore. He looked around and, guessing he was safe, collapsed in the underbrush, heart pounding, lungs screaming. The canopy above him was an abstract pattern of light his brain couldn’t find any meaning in. All there was left in his world was the beating of his heart and the immediacy of breathing. In and out.

*     *     *

      After a few minutes Grim was sound enough to stand up. He stood very still for a moment, listening for signs that the men from the bar were still after him. He couldn’t hear anything in the woods save for the calls of some distant birds and the scuffling of squirrels in the high branches. It was probably close to three or four in the afternoon, though he didn’t know how far he had run and had apparently lost his watch somewhere along the way.

      Grim was completely turned around. He could still sort of tell the direction of the sun, and he assumed that was West, but he couldn’t recall where the road had been in relation to the woods. How far had he run, anyway? He decided to go east, away from the setting sun. That direction seemed right enough. Anyway, if he was truly lost, he’d eventually hit the coast, right? He thought he remembered seeing the coast somewhere several miles east of his town on a map at some point. Or maybe it was a lake...or something.

      He walked. He was thirsty after his manic running session, but he trudged on. Both his legs were bleeding, as there was a cut on his forehead. The bleeding would go away eventually though, and if he heard running water, he’d stop for a drink. No point in standing still.

      Dusk settled into the forest. Grim began to hear the familiar chorus of insects that beckoned evening in the country; they tuned their instruments all around him. To keep his mind busy, he tried to remember all of the animals that were native to this part of the state, tried to remember what they sounded like, what they looked like.

      “Possums...Armadillos...” He trudged on, but he was suddenly unsure whether he was headed east or not.

      “Marsh Rabbits...Gray Squirrels...” Branches snapped beneath him, and he tripped around in the dark, now that he could no longer make out the roots of the trees that reached out from the leaf-covered soil. “Red Fox...Weasels...”

      Grim stopped. This wasn’t productive anymore. The mosquitoes were eating him alive and he had no concept of which way to proceed. He sat at the base of a tree, stuffed his arms in his ragged t-shirt and stared out into the dark, clueless as to what to do next.

      “Black Bears...Coyote...Gray Wolves...” Grim leaned back against the tree and shut his eyes. “Gray Wolves.” He drifted.