Mile 15

Chapter 3: In which Bill and Marty pick up Hitchhiker Number One

An endless length of double yellow lines ran ahead of Bill's car, leading the way to Marty's glamorous future. Outside, the sun was finally setting, casting golden shadows along the passing trees. Inside, Bill had his sun visor pulled down so he could see the road. His knuckles were flushed white from gripping the steering wheel and eyes were half-closed, freezing his face in a permanent glower. In comparison to Marty, who was riding shotgun, he looked ready to drive the car off the nearest cliff.

Of course, Marty was grinning like the idiot he was. Practically bouncing up and down in his seat with a childish sort of giddiness, he knew that he was pushing poor Bill to the edge of his wits. But he just couldn't help it with all the excitement of the day. Although the warm hum of the car motor calmed him down slightly, his mind kept swirling with thoughts of Beverly Hills, private jets, and golden records.

"You're insane," Bill told him, after several minutes of silence.

"I'm ambitious! There's a difference," Marty replied.

"I'm only doing this because you're my best friend and I owe you," Bill said, more to himself than to Marty. "What would you have done if I wasn't there to save your neck?"

"Dunno. Walked?"

"Yep. You're definitely insane,"

"Maybe. But you love me anyway!"

Bill didn't deny this. He just let out an exasperated sigh and continued driving forward.

A short while later, the sun disappeared behind the hills for good. The deep blue of twilight settled in, before gradually fading into a proper state of darkness. Of course, nothing changed inside the little car. Everything was shielded and quiet, with only the sound of the buzzing engine hovering in the dark air.

Bill wasn't speaking, so Marty took it upon himself to fill the silence. Reaching over, he flicked on the radio. Because they were still in the middle of nowhere, the fuzzy sounds of static crashed like a tidal wave over the seats of the car. Marty had to do a significant amount of fiddling before he managed to find a radio signal anywhere. When the warm, whimsical, music of old strings and horns finally buzzed through the speakers, a bright look of childish excitement lit up his face.

"OH WE KNOW THIS SONG!!!" he told Bill, "You remember?"

Bill took his eyes off the road for just long enough to offer a nervous glance in Marty's direction.

Of course, as soon as the chorus rose up, Marty had to join in.

"Give my regards to Broadway!
Remember me to Herald Square!
Tell all the gang at Forty Second Street
That I will soon be there!"

The situation could have been a whole lot worse if Marty wasn't actually good at singing. His voice blended with Judy Garland's immaculately, raising the roof of the little car to the highest heavens. He only paused briefly to poke at Bill's shoulder playfully during the second verse.

"C'mon Bill, sing along or else!!!"

"Or else what? I can't sing, remember?"

"So? It's just you and me in the car,"

But not so much as a peep came out of Bill. Thus, Marty could only let out a dramatic wail of a sigh and continue his spectacular private performance.

"Wish you'd call on my gal,
Now remember, old pal when you get back hoooooome-- DUDE, HITCHIKER!!!"

The shout caused Bill to instinctively hit the breaks. Judy Garland continued singing through the radio, but Marty's focus had already vanished away. Standing ahead by the roadside, about two or three hundred feet away, was a dark humanoid figure. The person was dressed almost entirely in black, and if not for Bill's high beams, they may have been entirely invisible amidst the dark backdrop of the night. From this distance, their features were still indistinguishable, but it was clear that they had an arm out, asking to be picked up.