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On U.S. route 62, just south of the Southern Tier Expressway
exit between Salamanca and Jamestown, New York, Ian pulled the Kenworth over and
used the portable bathroom in the truck’s sleeper to relieve himself. It was
the first time—and well needed—since the truck stop in Boston that morning. It
also gave him a quick chance to stretch his weary legs and back. More
importantly, though, he wanted to check his map again.
After doing his business, he reclaimed the driver’s seat
and muddled around for the cabin light. Finding it, he turned it on and sprawled
the map out onto his steering wheel. As he had done earlier, he found the
coordinates for Oil City from the map’s index. Funny, it was in the same place
it had been in when he’d found it the first time, but he took nothing for
granted anymore—not his buoyed faith, not his love for Fiona which he’d once
tried to repress, not the dedication to his priestly vows, not his devotion,
which he thought had waned but, while driving, had plenty of time to rekindle,
and especially not the gravity of what he needed to do and what he was up
against.
Talking with that Heaven-sent grave keeper had lifted a great
burden from him. He felt a renewed vigor, a profound confidence course through
his body, once again. God had smiled upon him, given him the help he’d need in
finding Amos Walker and the key. Now he felt as though not even the forces of
Darkness could stop him in his quest, even though the purely evil power of the
Watcher was a sobering thought, and he was still not sure just how it could be
stopped.
He ran the course he’d plotted with his finger, taking
notice to where he now was. It was a direct route south into Oil City. Having
satisfied himself that his directions were sound, he refolded the map and placed
it on the passenger’s seat.
It was then that something caught his eye in the splash of
the cabin light. It was fastened to the center console just below the
radio-cassette player with a coiling cable running into the dash. Something
he’d noticed earlier but had since forgotten because it blended well in the
cabin’s darkness and with the myriad of gauges and knobs and dials surrounding
it. It was a cell phone.
He quickly retrieved the paper with Amos Walker’s
information on it and unfolded it. The worn piece of paper seemed to be getting
more frail as time went by, and now the information was barely legible. He
squinted for a time to decipher the telephone number then committed it to memory
for fear the next time he referred to the paper, it would be completely
unreadable. He picked up the phone and dialed the number. His hand trembled
slightly, tapping the earpiece against his ear. He wasn’t sure what to say
once someone answered. It rang—and rang—and rang. No one but the answering
machine picked up. He hoped that it wasn’t a bad sign.
Ian sighed but
didn’t curse. He’d just keep trying until someone did answer, all night long
if need be. He was sure that the sky would forewarn him as to whether or not he
was indeed too late, and any change from its natural state would not be well
received. He figured the Fires of Gahenna would claim the heavens first, the
world shortly afterwards. Right now darkness ruled. Natural darkness.
Placing the mobile phone squarely in his lap, he turned off
the overhead light and brought the Kenworth back to life. But as he pulled back
out onto the highway, a renewed look of concern stole his thunder of confidence.
When he glanced down at the glowing lights of the dash board, he noticed for the
first time that he was beginning to run low on fuel, and he had no money. There
was probably over an hour’s drive yet to be made. Would there be enough fuel
in the tanks to make the rest of the trip? If he ran out of gas, then what? A
blanket of unsettling quiet that seemed to follow him like an obedient dog
covered him once again.
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
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