Robert Wilson: The Quiet

Standing outside of Joel’s shed in the backyard, James stood smoking a cigarette, his body convulsing, his face red and full of tears. He couldn’t understand why he kept smoking but still couldn’t bring himself to put the cigarette out. He moaned in a miserable high pitch as he leaned into the front of the shed, weeping. When the cigarette ran its course and burnt his hand, James threw the butt on the ground and went into the shed. When he found Joel’s gas can, it was empty. Kneeling on one knee, he chucked it aside and wiped his face. It had been worth a try, but now he would have to figure out how to get gas from a gas station if he was going to have enough fuel to get wherever he was going.

As he walked back to his car, he thought for a long moment about taking the Corsica. Joel obviously wouldn’t be using it. But he knew that would only remind him of his loss. He got in his car, started it, and sped off, paying little attention to where the road took him. He drove around aimlessly for a long time, just taking inventory of his surroundings. Eventually, he came to a trashy little gas station, the only one that wasn’t crowded with cars and hadn’t exploded. He pulled the car into position beside one of the pumps. Without even thinking about it, he got out and swiped his card in the pump’s card machine. The small screen said, “Approved” and the machine beeped at him. He pulled out the nozzle and pumped gas into the car. Once the tank was full, he replaced the nozzle back in its holder and tightened the gas cap back in place.

At some point, James wasn’t really sure exactly when, he’d subconsciously decided he would head west until… well, until he found something, someone. And if he found nothing, then he would just keep going until he couldn’t go any further. When he got on the ramp for 70 West, he slammed on the gas, swerving to avoid random collided and burning cars. By the time the skyscrapers of downtown towered to his right, he was reaching 110 MPH. It didn’t feel good, exactly, but it relieved him a little somehow to drive so recklessly. But as he neared the west side of town, he quickly cut his speed. The amount of cars and pileups were staggering. The highway ahead of him looked like a war-zone with dozens of smoke plumes racing each other for the highest point in the sky. As he swerved around a couple of overturned cars, something occurred to James. Compared to typical daytime weekday traffic very few cars covered the road. Then he remembered how many cars still sat in driveways just about everywhere he had been.

Every house in his housing edition had garages, but most of them probably housed automobiles. The only time so little traffic came out was in the dead of pre-dawn, before the first daily traffic rush. It must have happened all at once and likely in the middle of the night. Out of habit, he looked at the time on his cell phone. 2:30 PM. He passed the Indianapolis Airport on his right. Nothing stirred there at all. He usually saw planes either landing or taking off constantly as he drove by.

He had been worried that, once the highway slimmed down to two lanes, he would encounter more trouble with stray cars, but he found that not to be the case. As he came farther and farther from the city, he saw less cars and accidents. The once-lush fields, now stripped of everything but dirt, appeared out of place under the clear, blue horizon. James flipped on the radio as he passed the exit for State Road 39. A high pitched squealing mixed with static shot from the speakers. He moved the dial up and down the frequency band. Various other pitches of screeching and static snipped in and out as he did this. He flipped it back off and tried to focus on the road ahead. Across the median, the occasional car sat waiting for the end of the world. Or had it already happened? He found himself getting drowsy from the monotony. His eyelids drooped heavily when out of the corner of his barely-open eyes, he saw a car zoom past on the eastbound side of the highway. He slammed on his brakes and began to swerve, the car tires screeching like a banshee as the car itself started leaning. When he regained control, James blasted over the median onto the eastbound side and sped after the car he had just seen.

James held his foot all the way down on the gas pedal. The car looked like a dot in the distance. Whoever was driving was in a hurry, that much he could tell. He felt equal parts relief and fear to know he had found someone else. The dot gradually became a slightly larger blur. He could make out its red color now. Whatever it was, it looked boxy, very European like.

As he came closer he recognized it to be an old Volkswagen van with two things tied down to the top off it that he couldn’t quite make out. A moment more of holding the gas pedal down and he could see they were surf boards, one bright yellow and the other a dull purple. When he got close enough that he could read the license plate, he saw the face of the woman driving the van. She looked back at him in a panic. He had thought that anyone he might find would be just as happy as him to see another human being. But here he had found one and she was running away.

They were in the middle lane of the now three lane highway as they passed beside the Indianapolis Airport. The lady took another look at James and then swerved to the right just in time to get on the 465 South exit before he could follow suit. Unconcerned with traffic as there was none moving, he slammed on the brakes, squealing tires louder than he could remember. Then he slammed the car into reverse, back into drive, and spun around toward the exit. When he got onto 465 South, he slammed the pedal down and drove for some time, no moving vehicles in sight. When he got to State Road 37, he took the exit and turned back the way he came from. He drove back to where he’d entered the highway, finding no sign of the van. He pulled off to the side of the road, put the car in park, killed the engine, and sat there staring into the distance for a few minutes. He’d missed his chance, he was sure of it.

After some time sitting and feeling sorry for himself, James started the car up and drove back to I-70. He pulled onto the ramp and headed west. The sun was setting up ahead and he tried to block out the worry in the back of his mind. He couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like in this desolate new world at night. The thought gave him goose bumps and he tried to bury it in his mind. He focused on the brilliant hues of gold and lavender. The farther away he got from the city, the more pitch black outside it became. But the clear skies littered with stars were a wonder to James. He’d forgotten how magical the sight was. He had decided to spend the night driving and sleep during the day in order to quell his fears. Just the thought of closing his eyes in the dark produced images of something animated and out of focus grabbing hold of his shoulder. He shuddered. A strong wind had been pushing on the car for some time now and it was unnerving to think that all there was consisted of him, one other person, some trees here and there, strong winds, and the leftover waste of a civilization. He tried to remind himself he still didn’t know for sure how far the effects of whatever had happened extended to.

Maintaining a steady 65 miles an hour, James watched the dotted lines of the highway blur past in single file. He’d been driving for three hours and by the clock on his radio it was now 9:47 PM. His headlights reflected off a familiar green sign. It was the State Road 46 exit for Terre Haute and Riley. He checked his gas gauge. Less than a quarter of a tank. He decided he would be better off getting gas somewhere he knew rather than trying somewhere completely unfamiliar to him. So, he swerved and took the exit. He almost couldn’t make it due to the semi jack-knifed into the curve of the ramp, but he managed to get around by driving over the curb on the left side of the ramp. He took a right on 46 and swerved another right into the Pilot station. There were cars pulled up to most of the pumps. He found one he could pull up to without having to parallel park and killed the engine. The inside of the gas station was well lit and just as empty as everything else. He tried his card again and this time the machine produced an error on the screen. He sighed and looked at the ominous building.