Twenty miles after starting this road trip, I entered the small town of Lincoln. I gave thought to going around the town as I knew the police there would have been alerted to look for the truck, but since the gas gage was now hanging well below the "E" I had little choice but to go into the town and look for gas. Minutes after entering the town a cop spotted me. Fortunately, he was on the opposite side of a divided four lane stuck in traffic. There was even a barrier between us so he'd have to go to the red light to turn around and give chase. The second I saw him look at me I floored the accelerator.
The old Ford jumped forward for about two hundred feet then the engine died. I flipped to the second tank and the engine engaged again without having to restart it. I didn't think the cop could still see me so I took a right turn. The road I was on had a hair-pin turn a block ahead, which I took too fast and clipped a mail box with my left mirror. I drove two blocks then at the cross road turned right. Still driving as fast as I could I was now looking for a place to get out of the truck. I loathed the thought of being on foot again. Twenty minutes earlier I had sworn to myself that I'd not leave the truck to hoof it again, but it was either that or give up, and that wasn't something I was willing to do either. I was doing about 70 mph when it ran out of gas again. I yanked the wheel back and forth, trying a "wiggle the wings" trick I had learned for when a plane runs out of gas. Nothing. I switched the other empty tank and wiggled the wings again. Still nothing. It was bone dry.
I looked everywhere for a place to hide the truck and had decided on a church parking lot when I spotted a gas station ahead of me. By the time I reached the gas station I'd slowed so much I didn't think I could reach the tanks. But I did. I barely had to tap the breaks to stop. I put it in park and jumped out and grabbed a gas pump handle. I could hear police sirens from the south and west. I was happy to see two gas tank access doors on the driver's side and immediately rammed the nozzle in the closest one. I turned on the pump and pulled the trigger on the pump. Nothing. I looked at the gas pump and saw a sign that said, "Pay First." This was a problem. I looked up at the small enclosed area where a young guy watched me. I held one hand in the air as if to say, "Ah, come on." He must have turned it on because the gas started pumping.
I watched the gallons tick by as I heard the sounds of multiple police cars getting closer. When I couldn't stand to wait any longer I pulled the nozzle out and threw it on the ground jumped in the truck and started it. I put it in gear and drove about a foot when two police cars blew by without slowing. I hit the brakes and looked up at the guy in the booth. He was watching the police cars so I backed up and continued filling the tank. When the next police car came blasting by I demonstrated my "nerves of steel" by standing there and filling the tank. When it was full I filled the second one. With both tanks full I drove off without paying. I am sure you get that I didn't have any money at all. That's not allowed in jail.
I knew the police would be called and immediately turn around so I drove the opposite way from the police cars that had passed. As soon as I was clear of the gas station attendant's view I started making turns that would take me out of town to the west. With two full tanks of gas I now had considerable range. For the first time I felt like the odds had shifted in my favor. All I had to do was get out of the area without a police officer seeing me and I had an excellent chance of getting clear and truly being free.
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A Life Wasted
Non-FictionWATTY 2016 WINNER of the HQ Love Award! With national focus on Islamic terrorism, few noticed when "Domestic Terrorist" Clayton Waagner was added to the FBI's Ten Most Wanted List on September 21, 2001. How did a software developer become the 467th...