The Last One Home

Part 5

Scanning the street, Max desperately tried to locate his small civic coupe. Outside of the party it suddenly seemed unnaturally quiet. His pulse pounded in his head. The alcohol caused his vision to blur. He had no idea what time it was even though he had just been staring at his phone.

He pushed past a group of students walking with their heads down against the chilly air. He was so amped up that he felt like he could jump out of his skin. He strained to see down the block which just caused his eyes to water more.

He didn't remember their being so many cars on the street when the party started. Dozens of cars lined the street, all parked bumper to bumper. A few careless partiers had decided in their futility to make their own parking spaces in front yards.

Scanning the crowded street, Max could see his breath outlined under the glow of the streetlamp. Breathing raggedly, his pulse pounded in his temple.

Finally, he found his car. A pickup was parked just inches behind his rear bumper and there wasn't much more room in front of his car. Max frantically grabbed at the door handle before realizing it was locked. Once inside, he groaned at the frosted windshield. The car protested as it cranked slowly, but soon idled smoothly with a large plume erupting from the exhaust. He cranked the defrost as high as it would go and grabbed the small ice scraper from under the passenger seat.

For a fleeting second, Max considered the possibility that the messages were a joke. The problem with that theory is the fact that his sister would never joke about something like this. He could imagine himself pulling a stunt like this, but never his sister.

He thought of his mother. The strong woman who seemed to be built of granite throughout his childhood, had begun to allow cracks to show through the facade. Since the death of his father, his mother seemed more vulnerable, more withdrawn. It was this tonal shift that made visiting so difficult. There were just too many reminders of the silent void his father had left behind him.

It all came down to the messages. The urgency and terror in those three short texts pushed all other thoughts out of his mind. Max knew he had to get home as quickly as possible.

He chiseled a small opening in the thick frost on the windshield, just enough to see through. Pulling on his seatbelt, he inched the car back as far as he dared, cranked the wheel to the left and pulled out onto the street. The car surged forward as his foot sank to the floor.

Max knew that it normally takes him close to twenty-five minutes to get home. He was going to try to make it in half that time. Undoubtedly the looming holiday would mean more cops on the road. He planned on driving as fast as he could and asking for forgiveness later.

There were three stop signs on the way to the main drag in town and he didn't stop at a single one. Between the stop signs he looked down to see that he was driving 60 in a 25. He knew that he was screwed if he got caught, but continued to push on anyway.

Arriving on Main street, he came to the first of several stoplights and this one glowed an angry red. There were no other cars on the street. Max suddenly felt very exposed in the large downtown intersection. The steering wheel felt cold and lifeless in his hands. He glanced quickly to his right and left, and pushed through the red light. Glancing in his rear view mirror he was relieved to see no traffic behind him. The next two lights were green but his luck wouldn't hold.The last traffic light out of town was red. Max gritted his teeth and pushed the accelerator to the floor.

It was just over two years ago that he first saw the shiny coupe sitting on the dealer lot at the edge of town. His father was so excited that he actually missed a half day of school to look at it, and eventually buy it. The car was 10 years old, but the mileage was low and the price fair. Max couldn't imagine a better first car.

Now he cursed himself for not getting a faster one. The engine droned as he asked the tiny four cylinder to get up to highway speed. The transmission seemed hesitant to upshift as if confused by the hurried acceleration. The suspension even seemed to be protesting as a minor vibration had suddenly set in as the speedometer crept up to eighty miles per hour.

He had made it to the highway. This would be the longest leg of the trip, but also the place where he would be able to keep his speed up. The speedometer now read eight seven miles per hour. The vibration in the suspension had intensified as if begging him to slow down.

Flashing yellow lights swathed the interior of the car as he passed a slow moving plow truck lumbering along in the right lane. The plow was still up against the front of the truck, but a fine spray of antifreeze chemicals was releasing from the rear. Max didn't remember hearing anything about possible snow tonight, but it was certainly cold enough for it.The last thing he needed was a snowstorm to slow him down.

The gauge needle on the speedometer quivered as he pushed the car to ninety miles per hour. He risked a quick look at the screen of his cell phone. No new messages. When he looked up he realized that he had drifted towards the center line. He quickly corrected back into the center of his lane and checked his mirror to make sure that their wasn't a car coming up behind him. There was one set of headlights, but they appeared to be at least a half mile behind him, and they sat up too high to be a patrol car.

Max sighed in relief and relaxed into his seat. He could finally feel his heart leaving his throat to return to his chest. He briefly considered slowing down, but knew that he couldn't. He would drive as fast as he had to, to get to his family.

A large tractor trailer became visible in the distance. The four red taillights glowed softly in the cold night. The faint outline of the trailer took up the entire right lane. Max was coming up quickly on its left. Suddenly the big rig cut into Max's lane forcing him to slow down. Max pounded the steering wheel as his speed dropped to just sixty miles per hour. The truck was struggling to pass another truck and had succeeded in causing a rolling roadblock. Max considered laying on his horn but knew it would be futile. The two trucks paced each other with neither willing to give an inch. Max stayed close to the rear bumper of the truck in the left lane. He flashed his high beams a few times but was ignored.

"Come on! Move! He shrieked, and pounded the steering wheel again. He wanted to call the highway patrol and scream his lungs out, but what would he say? Make the truckers move so that he could speed home and break every law in the book? That woudn't go over very well.

The truck in the left lane had gained several feet on the other truck but was still less than a third of a truck length ahead of it. Growing more frustrated by the second, Max inched his car to the left as far as it would go. He stared at the narrow breakdown lane and wondered if he could make it. If he wasn't over far enough he risked hitting the truck, and if he was too far he may drop a tire into the soft median and risk losing control.

Before he even realized he had made a decision, he was passing the slow moving trailer on the left. He had slammed the accelerator to the floor and was surprised when he was rewarded with an abrupt downshift and a surge of speed. He was laser focused on the narrow lane he was using, trying to ignore the soft shoulder just outside his window. The truck listed towards the car with a change in the wind. Max found himself subconsciously moving away from the truck and towards the edge of the road. He felt the telltale vibration as his front wheel left the roadway, he heard a spray of gravel ricochet off the bottom of the car like a thousand pellets. Miraculously, he slowly maneuvered the car back into its lane. Soon he was past the big rig and he jerked the car back into the correct lane. The truck driver angrily layed on his horn.

Max was so distracted by the horn he didn't notice the vehicle idling silently in the median, only its parking lights illuminated. He must've been doing at least eighty when he passed. He would get another half mile down the highway before red and blue lights cut through the darkness.