For distraction, I concentrated on watching the road unwind ahead of me and tried to will any missiles away from the area. I was beginning to relax a little, enjoying the scenery as much as possible under the circumstances. Even the grief that had constricted my chest all day began to ease as I watched the trees go by.
Before long, I was entertaining myself by searching for wildlife along the roadside. I had seen a few squirrels and a dead armadillo, when a Rabbit whipped around the curve ahead, coming straight at me. The tires and Volkswagen emblem on the hood were a dead giveaway that this was
I veered right and laid the motorcycle on its side, feeling my jeans shred as I came to a stop. I saved myself from an impact with the trees, but scraped my right leg from hip to knee. The Rabbit veered to its right, hit the opposite embankment, popped up on two wheels for a heart-stopping moment, then swerved back onto the road and nearly clipped the van before running off down the road.
Struggling out from under the motorcycle, I heaped curses on the driver, his mother, and father; I even threw in a few reproductive suggestions that, unless he was extremely well endowed, would be anatomically impossible.
Debra and Megan reached me at that point, with Zachary close behind them.
“Are you all right?” my wife and I asked at the same time. We chuckled for a second. Comic relief was wonderful medicine. Then, I repeated, “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “Missed us by at least six inches. You’re the one that wrecked. Are you hurt?”
“Just a little scraped up.” My leg began to throb.
Debra sent Megan for the first aid kit, then she examined my leg.
Zachary tugged on my sleeve to tell me in all seriousness, “You shouldn’t say asshole, Daddy. It’s a bad word.”
At first I couldn’t wipe the stupid grin from my face, giddy as I was with adrenaline and relief, but I quickly got myself under control and agreed that it was indeed a bad word and apologized.
Megan saved me from a further lecture from the perspective of a confused and nervous eight-year-old by returning with the first aid kit and another pair of jeans. Debra sprayed my leg with an antiseptic.
“Ow!”
“Oh, don’t be such a baby.” She slapped an adhesive bandage on the worst of the scrape and smirked when I jumped.
“Hey! You know, that bedside manner of yours could use a little work. That freakin’ hurts!”
She stood and planted a quick kiss on my lips. “You’ll be fine.”
“Thank you, Florence Freaking Nightingale.”
Limping slightly as I walked back to the bike, I pulled it upright and checked for damage. It appeared the soft grass on the shoulder had saved both the motorbike and my hide from any serious damage. I was lucky the shoulder hadn’t been gravel. Now that I had time to think about it, the whole situation could have been much more serious.
What if the driver hadn’t regained control before he hit the van? What if I had been about ten feet closer to the curve that had so unexpectedly produced the speeding automobile?
Paranoia again. But who could blame me? In the last six hours, I had witnessed a mass exodus from the city of Houston as her citizens, myself included, abandoned ship. I had seen that most of those refugees were armed with deadly weapons. Worst of all, I had seen my father die and had been forced to abandon my own mother, not knowing where she was, or if she was even safe.
“Debra, I think maybe we should be a little more careful.”
“No kidding.”
“No, I’m serious.”
Waiting to hear me out, she arched an eyebrow. I felt a little silly, but I was already committed. “You and the kids need to stay further behind me. That way, if another idiot comes around the corner like that last one, you’ll have plenty of space to maneuver. And I’ll slow down before I top any hills or round any corners in the road. All the trees and brush out here muffle most of the sound, so I can’t count on hearing oncoming traffic before it’s right up on me. Especially through my helmet.”
I paused. This next one sounded crazy even to me. I could imagine how it would sound to my wife. Nevertheless, I added, “I also think we need a few hand signals. You know: stop, slow down, hurry, hide.”
“Hide?”
Again, I paused. “What if that guy had come flying around the corner ready to blast anything in his way?”
“Oh, come on! Don’t you think you’re getting a little carried away?” She laughed nervously.
“Not with everything that’s at stake here. What if he’d wrecked into the van and hurt the kids?”
She was silent, thinking. I could see the conflict on her face. Pacifism was her chosen point of view, but threaten her children at your own risk. She would use any and all means possible to defend them. We’d had enough “what if” conversations in the past for me to know this about her, much like I had gone through with Megan. “What if someone kidnapped Zachary, raped Megan, hurt or killed any of us?” I knew from her answers that her point of view took the form of shades, not blinders.
She finally acquiesced. “Okay, but we’ll also need a signal to ready the rifle.”
We settled on six basic hand signals: stop, forward, slow down, hurry, hide, and danger. Megan already knew those signals. They were the same ones we used when she and I played paintball once a month.
Upon seeing the “danger” signal, Megan would ready the rifle, and Debra would pull over, perpendicular to the road and ready to turn around if necessary. Zachary was to stay down and under no circumstances let himself be seen.
We went over the signals a few times, making sure Debra knew them as well as Megan and I did, then continued on our way. According to the map, we had just over an hour’s drive.
As we traveled, the van about a hundred yards behind me, I began to feel a little better about our situation. We’d had a frightening brush with disaster but, other than my scrapes and bruises, no one was hurt. And it had served to make us a little more careful. Besides, the odds of another accident occurring on roads as deserted as these had to be astronomical.
Fifteen minutes later, I topped a hill in the road and stopped. In the little valley below, it looked like someone had beaten the odds.
June 13 / 4:56
The road down the other side of the hill was long and steep, one of those lengthy slopes that thrill children. It dropped nearly two hundred feet before rising again. At the bottom, two vans, a pickup, and a station wagon were scattered all about the roadbed. They were accompanied by six bodies. The whole area looked burnt, as if the vehicles had caught fire after the wreck.
Shocked, I barely had the presence of mind to signal for the van to stop before removing my helmet and scanning the carnage below. There was enough room on the right side of the road for the van to pass, but I didn’t want the kids to see the bodies if it could be helped. I finally turned the Suzuki around and headed back to where my family waited in the van. Pulling up to Debra’s window, I suggested we stop for a break.
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s a pretty bad wreck over the hill there. Six-car pile-up. I need to see if I can find a way to get the van through.”
“Let’s just take the van down and push them out of the way.”
I shook my head. “Too much glass,” I lied. “Megan, would you and Zach make us some sandwiches, please? I’m starving. Your mom and I are going up the hill.” Without giving them time to object, I hustled Debra out of the van and up the hill. “Come on, I’ll show you why you can’t use the van to push.”
As soon as we were out of range of the kids’ hearing, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t want to mention it in front of the kids, but there are some bodies down there. I need some time to move them out of sight.”
