Dennis Yates - Minus Tide

You’ve got water in the car. And food.

It was hard to spot the drifting logs before crashing into them. She couldn’t see very well back next to the motor where she needed to steer. Each time she heard the boat scrape a log she held her breath, waiting for a sharp branch to gore through the aluminum bottom. Sometimes there was so much driftwood that she couldn’t even see the bay and she’d have to look at the dark contours of the shore to remember where she was.

You’re as much to blame as James for all of this, she thought. Don’t pretend you didn’t want the money. You thought you had the right to rip off Duane for what he did to your life.

“Don’t you understand? It’s over James. This has blown up on us. We’re not in control of what’s happening. If we get off this rock alive we’ll have to tell somebody.”

“Of course we will. But that doesn’t mean we have to bring up the money to anyone.”

“They’re going to find out. One way or another.”

“Not if we keep our cool they won’t. Not if we tell the same story every time they ask us.”

“Look what’s happened to us. This isn’t worth it. We’ll be running forever.”

She’d started to feel as if she were drifting off, was surprised how quickly the whiskey carried her away. Time had begun to slow. She’d laid her head in his lap as if it were summertime. Waiting for clouds to pass so the chill would go away one more time. Better than being trapped on a rock by angry men who were trying to kill you over some money you stole from your jail bird piece of shit stepdad.

“Tell me something else I don’t know,” she asked.

“You’ll just get more upset. You should be taking it easy. What’s the point in bringing up the past anymore?”

“Because we could die here. The waves could come in and sweep us off. That’s the point, James. I want to know.”

“Okay. Remember that guy that you said came by the place looking for me? God knows what would have happened to both of us if he’d been able to get in.”

“You said you didn’t know who he was.”

“I lied.”

“Why?”

“Because I could. Because I knew you trusted me.”

“What did you do?”

“I broke a rule Duane hadn’t warned me about. I was new. I got caught selling in this other guy’s territory and he wasn’t happy and he’d sent someone to deliver the message. But it wasn’t until later that I figured out why I’d almost had my head caved in. Duane hadn’t told me anything because he’d wanted to find out what would happen. The bastard was chumming the waters. He was using me to draw out the sharks. He wanted to know where they were.”

“You should have told me. If you’d told me we could’ve run farther away from everything instead of coming back here. I think we’re doomed to die in Traitor.”

“No way. Not if I can help it.”

“It’s already too late, James. This isn’t small time stuff anymore. These guys…”

“What?”

"They’re serious…”

“You’re going to sleep, Ann. I’m sorry about everything. I really am.”

And James was right about her getting sleepy. She felt as if she were falling back onto a cloud of cottonwood down. Sinking further down with every exhale. She thought she was still talking to him but she wasn’t.

James stomped the gas and headed south down 101. He kept checking the rearview mirror but saw only trees and an occasional house. The power was still out and the windows that weren’t shuttered were all black and reflecting stars. He couldn’t shake off the feeling that the sheriff was going to be coming up behind him some time very soon. It was impossible of course. He’d seen him lying on the ground when he’d driven off, felt like he’d passed through another door that was bolted behind him. There was no returning to the place he knew. Or even a normal life again.

The Skylark purred. It didn’t broadcast itself like the muscle car he’d driven up from San Diego. James allowed himself to marvel over his good luck although the course he’d taken was far from over and was really only beginning. Except for what happened to Cuke, he was having no regrets. Besides, it was the sheriff’s fault for letting the old man come along in the first place. What the hell was the idiot thinking?

As he passed through town he wondered how many times he’d sat next to the highway on his bicycle, watching people come and go, guessing where they might be headed. The tourists weren’t hard to spot and the locals and the truckers he knew by heart. There were others, however, that never seemed to fit. They’d mostly stare ahead as they drove by but sometimes they’d look at him and he’d see something in their eyes that was too much, like having the sun reflected back in your face from a mirror. Their thoughts had been made visible in a flash, yet too fast for him to comprehend. But he understood them now. They were people much like he was. In a hurry to get away from something. Seeing potential terror wherever they turned, even in boys sitting on their Stingrays watching them from the roadside.

Whatever happens you don’t stop. You don’t stop until you’re in Twin Falls. Or even further away than that if you need to.

He came upon some work crews dressed in orange that were cutting up some downed trees with chainsaws. One of them waved at him as he went by. James thought he might have been yelling something about going too fast.

Near the edge of town he looked for his parent’s mailbox. His mom had painted it fire engine red. It wasn’t hard to miss but somehow he had. Then he saw it was on the ground. The post it was attached to had been knocked down by the storm. He turned the car onto the shoulder and slowed up next to where it lay and turned off the car. His parent’s house was up a graveled drive and hidden in trees. No one inside would see him on the road.

The mailbox was twisted some and he imagined his mother throwing a fit and going straight to the hardware store in Buoy to get a new one. She’d bought the first one when the trouble had started with his father. To show a proud family face to the rest of the world. He’d never asked her why she’d painted it red.

The post was not damaged but hard for him to lift. He’d had to lean it on his good shoulder before picking it up and walking with it to the misshapen post hole. It went in and he stepped on the loose earth around the edges until he thought it would hold. He stared at the mailbox one last time. It looked more twisted at this angle than before, like he was looking head on at a fish swimming toward him. He lit a cigarette and inhaled. A smile broke his mouth apart and he laughed until he was overcome by a coughing fit.

He got back into the car and began to drive fast up through a curving section of the highway. The Skylark couldn’t take the curves very well and the tires skidded and he almost went off the road twice before deciding that he was going to have to slow it down until he could trade it out for something that fit his needs. He cursed himself for being seduced.

After he got over the first hill he began to make out the bridge that spanned the bay. Then it struck him. If the power was still out than why was the bridge lit up like a birthday cake?

As he got closer he saw a glowing road sign telling him that the bridge was closed. Orange barrels with reflective tape blocked the entrance. He could see the shiny tops of hardhats and the play of flashlights. The movement of the lights ticking up and down made him think of insect antennae.