Code Junkie

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The hours are unbearable.

I am leaning forward, staring into the dark road, mechanically redialing my list of contacts. No one is answering. Jerry's stomach growls and he says nothing. I wonder what the man in the underground is doing now, if he gave up his search for intruders or if he's still fruitlessly poking around in the dust. Maybe he thinks it was a ghost, that my stomping feet were just whispers of the past. Maybe he'll use it as a marketing ploy and earn some money from the paranormal-loving demographics.

I think of the odd mental episode I had in the street, of the crowd of people in a place called Bannersville. This, of course, makes me think about old man Frinkman and his grandson. Why did we offend that decrepit old fuck so terribly? Why was it that he freaked out and had unnatural strength upon seeing the blue powder? What were they doing now? And why did he associate me with Joseph Banner?

We are about twenty minutes from home when Jerry takes the penultimate exit. We would take this highway, drive fifteen minutes, exit, and be nearly there. But as we prepare to enter the last stretch of road, we are affronted with the burden of choice. The highway divides into two four-lane portions: CARS and CARS, TRUCKS, AND BUSES. Both entrances have CLOSED signs in front of them and no sign of construction vehicles or police enforcers.

"What are we supposed to..." I question aloud.

"Well, whenever a road is closed, it's always marked 'open to local traffic' – I guess..." he inches the car forward and merges onto the highway.

"If we see land movers and lights and shit then we turn off. Last thing we need are cops and tickets and bullshit and..." I mumble to myself, anxious to get home and find everyone, safe.

We pass under the red blinking lights affixed to the CLOSED sign and cruise down the ramp and onto the interstate. There is not a single light or car for miles in either direction. We both stop at the merge lane and look either way. There's no one coming from the opposite side. Our decision is made for us.

"Well, fuck it," I shrug and Jerry speeds up to the normal pace.

I need a distraction. I turn on the car's radio and flick the option to CD. Jerry has the album OK Computer loaded in and the second track begins playing. I stare forward and tap the drum and bass section on the window.

"Jerry!" I put my hand out against his chest to brace for an impact, even though he is the one driving.

We screech to a halt.

"Dude," Jerry mutters, putting the car into park. We both look at each other and then what is in the middle of the road. We get out.

There, in the middle of the highway, is a waist-height carving of the folklore god Lenny. It is masterfully crafted and carved of a deeply shaded marble. The thing must weigh a ton. It is just Jerry and I standing side by side, staring at this carving. Easily could have destroyed the front of his car If we were to strike it at sixty-or-so miles per hour. We would have broken a few bones each and not died, but still. Close call.

"Who do you think moved it out here?" he asks.

"No idea, man," I put my hand on it.

It is cool against my skin, but leaves an odd tingling sensation. The car's headlights behind us is our only source of light on this Pacific highway. There is the light, our shadows, and the statue. Then, the headlights vanish and there is only darkness.

I turn towards Jerry and hear his breathing catch. We both turn back towards the car, but I hear a heavy, wet, thud and am lacking a Jerry-sized silhouette on my right. I look around, hear the same sound, this time amplified 120% and accompanied by a searing pain on the back of my head. We have both be beaten down by blunt objects. Consciousness fades and I feel blood on my neck.