Rain pounds around me. The noise is loud. Unbearable. I open my eyes to look outside. The dim light pierces the clouds and hits the window of my car. I’m at the side of the road. I must have pulled over to take a nap. So close, yet so far. I can’t quite say what’s wrong. But something is hounding me. Hunting me.
I turn the key in the ignition. The engine sputters to a start. I need more gas. Where’s the gas station? It must be nearby. I just got gas yesterday. Or was that today? Time blends together sometimes. I don’t know. Maybe I should drive. Yes, I should drive. I need to get out of this state. West. I should head west. It comes from here, from inside my land itself. It shouldn’t be able to follow me if I just head west. I think.
I turn to check my blind spot. I feel a pinch, on the back of my neck. It hurts to turn my head. Why does it hurt? Did I cut myself. I touch the spot. There is no blood. But it hurts. And it feels wrong. Like there’s something that should be there, but isn’t. What’s wrong? Am I safe here? No. Something is still hunting me. I can feel it. It’s starting to loom behind me. I need to drive.
I put the car in drive and merge into the road. No one is driving on this road. But it’s daytime. I’m in a suburb during the day. Why is no one driving here? I feel it coming closer. I press the accelerator. The car speeds up. No, not a car. It’s too slow, too clunky. A truck? Why am I driving a truck? Where’s my car? No GPS on the truck. Lots of maps. Where am I, though? I don’t recognize this road.
I check for my phone. It’s not in my pocket. I always put it in my pocket. Why isn’t it there? It, whatever it is, grows nearer. I need it to stop. I see a gas station in the distance. The gas is on empty. The truck continues lumbering on. Stupid dials. They never are completely accurate. I need to get all the way there before it finds me. Before it catches me. Maybe that place will be safe.
I quickly swerve into the gas station. No one is there, save a single employee. She looks surprised that I’m here. But this is suburbia. People must always be coming here. I get out and look around. There’s no one else on the road. It must be elsewhere. I place the pump into the gas tank, and head inside. Checking the price before I enter, I furrow my brow. Gas is less expensive than I remember. Odd.
I walk inside the shop. It’s well stocked. As though no one had bought anything in a long time. I grab one of the wraps and walk to the counter. “This, a coffee, and fifty bucks of gas for pump #2,” I say, calmly. I pull out my wallet. It is in my pocket. Finally something is where it’s supposed to be. And it is full. Plenty of cash. More than I would’ve guessed. “Actually, can you make it sixty on pump two?” I ask.
The woman looks at me, confused. “Yeah, of course,” She says. Her accent was wrong. Midwestern. But I’m in Pennsylvania.
“Where are you from?” I ask.
She shrugs. “A farm, about a mile and a half east of here. Lived in this area my whole life.” Another odd thing. A mile east of here is the edge of Philly’s development area. How is there still a farm there? Doesn’t matter. My hairs are starting to rise on end. I pay quickly. She smiles. As I leave, she asks, “Where are you going, might I ask?”
I smile. “You just did. And I don’t know. West, I hope. Away, mostly.”
“Can I come with you?” she asks, “I really need to get out of this place.”
She doesn’t know what that means, what that entails. “I’m not the safest to be around. Something evil is after me, I think.”
She grabs her coat and hops over the counter. “Then you’ll need all the help you can get.” That’s odd. It’s early fall. Why would she worry about her coat?
“Aren’t you worried about someone coming by?” I ask. It seems irresponsible to leave a gas station unattended, after all.
“No one ever drives through here. That’s why I was so surprised when you did, and why I haven’t managed to escape this place, yet.”
I look at her, curiously. Everyone travels every road around here. I know this. I’ve personally driven through most of them. But I don’t recognize this road. “Where is here, exactly?” I ask.
Now she looks confused. “You drove here, and you don’t know where you are? Now I know you need someone to help you travel. Welcome to Nowhere, South Dakota, population, seventy people and over a thousand animals.” That’s not right. This was Pennsylvania. Something is very wrong here.
I shake my head. “If you say so,” I say, then I go and remove the gas pump from my truck. Something is coming. I can feel it. “Come on. If you’re coming, hop in,” I say, getting into the driver’s seat.
She hops into the passenger’s seat, and picks up the maps, sorting through them. She finds the one for southeastern South Dakota, and begins to give directions. I ignore them, and just drive West. She doesn’t know where we are. I do. And I need to get out of here. Something is coming, and fast.
After hours of driving, she shouts, “Get off on the next exit.”
I look at her, confused. “Why?” I am outpacing it. I know. But it still hurts to turn my head. She looks so helpless there, beside me. I need to protect her from it.
“This road’s about to turn and head North, into Canada.” That wouldn’t be good. I don’t know what’s in this truck. It could be full of hidden drugs. I nod, and focus on the road again. There is an exit. Night is coming. Hopefully, I can find somewhere to stay before then. Somewhere it won’t find me. I take the exit. It leads to a much larger highway. Highways are good. Maybe the additional people around will distract it from my scent. But no one was around. I turn to my passenger again. “Why is the highway empty?” I ask.
She laughs. It’s a pleasant laugh. She replies coolly, “No one really ever comes around here.”
I smile. “Right,” I say, “Because this is South Dakota.” I almost forgot my compatriot was delusional.
“Nope,” she says back. Perhaps she is finally recognizing the reality of the situation. “Now we’ve already passed into Montana.” No such luck, I suppose. It was getting late. I need to find a place to rest for the evening. There must be a motel near. It is a highway, after all.
“Keep an eye out for a place to stay the night,” I tell her. She nods, and pulls her focus from her maps to the road signs. The rain pounds louder, now that I am driving so fast. The pounding is overwhelming. Why is it pounding so loud? Why can’t it just stop? But it isn’t raining anymore. No rain is hitting the windshield, or the roof, or the truck bed behind me. SO why is it still pounding in my ears?
My navigator taps my arm. A motel, with a glowing open sign, is off the road at the next exit. I take the exit, and park in the motel parking lot. “Stay here,” I say, “I’ll get us a couple of rooms.”
“One room is fine,” she says, “Just make sure it’s got two beds.”
I nod. Good. One room is cheaper than two. I need to save money. After all, I’m only in Ohio, and I need to make it all the way to the west coast. It won’t come near Portland. I hope. I approach the counter and ring the bell.
A man walks up. Mid seventies. “We don’t get many people around here,” he says. The accent is all wrong again. I don’t even bother asking though. I’m too tired.
“I need a room with two beds,” I say, mustering a smile. I’m inside. It shouldn’t be able to find me here. But that doesn’t mean that it won’t.
“Of course. You and your sister can have a room.” He is oddly happy. No one forced to live in the state of Ohio should be that happy. He must be insane. He hands me a key. It has the number three on it. He doesn’t even bother to say enjoy your stay. I pay in cash. He smiles and nods.
I return to the car and toss my passenger the key. “Go, get some rest. I’ll lock up the car.” She nods and heads into the room. I look around, making sure it wasn’t nearby. I couldn’t feel it. Then again, I never could feel it, save the times when it wanted me to. I lock the car. My neck itches. I scratch it. Once again, I feel that place that is off. That place that is missing something. But it’s fine. There’s no blood. I scratch harder. There is still no blood. No scab there either, then. So why is it bugging me so much? I shake my head and walk into the room.
My passenger is already fast asleep in one of the two beds. In the time it took me to lock the car, she seems to have been able to shower, change, and fall into a deep sleep. I go and lie down in the other bed. I feel as though I haven’t actually slept in days, weeks even. I have, of course. I napped just this afternoon, and slept last night in my own bed to boot. But this being hunted, this thing chasing me, it wears me down. It is exhausting, and I really don’t want to deal with it. Not any more than I have to, at least. Hopefully tonight’s night of sleep will make me feel better. And getting far enough west will bring me to safety. Curling up slightly, I pass out on top of the sheets, without even changing my clothes.
***
Rain pounds around me. It’s loud. Unbearably so. I open my eyes to look outside. I’m at the side of the road. I must have pulled over to take a nap. But something is wrong. Outside, it seems sunny. If it’s not rainy, why is it raining? No. Wrong thought. Something is out there. It is hounding me. Hunting me. I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it coming.
I turn the key in the ignition. The car roars to life. That’s the sound I like. I need to get out of the state. I need to go west. It comes from here, from deep under Pennsylvania. It shouldn’t be able to follow me if I just head west. I hope.
I check my mirrors, then turn to look in my blind spot. I feel a pain in the side of my neck. It stings. Why does it sting? I don’t remember it stinging. I touch the spot. No blood. But it still stung. The hair begins to stand up on the back of my neck. I need to move. Something is coming. I need to get out of here.
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