Philipp Meyer - American Rust

The land was very flat, mostly agricultural. A few scattered housing developments, but mostly broad rectangles of tilled soil, separated by narrow treelines or old fences. Everything in neat grids. Stick to the roads. Planting time, don't get caught trespassing. Course you might get a meal out of it. Or at least a drink of water out of someone's hose.

Around noon he came to a large river that stretched on forever in three directions, as far as he could see. Or it might be Lake Erie. That would be close to here. Wonder if it's safe, just to wet the mouth. No don't try it. End up even worse off. To his left there were houses along the water, a large gated community, to his right, farther away, was a small marina, just open land beyond it. He made his way toward the marina. As he approached he saw an overflowing trashcan by the gate.

Will you? But there was no question. He looked around for witnesses, then picked through the trash as quickly as possible. There was uneaten and unspoiled food, he could smell it intensely, more strongly even than the rot of the trashcan. No he thought I'm not there yet. He dug through paper bags of fast food, wine bottles, empty beer cans, water bottles. That one is heavy. Nearly full. Water or something else? Make sure it isn't someone's piss. He was up to his shoulders in the trashcan and he retrieved the bottle and held it up to the light. Clear and cold. Hope they didn't have anything. Better than lake water — share with one stranger instead of a few million. He drank half the bottle, which had a faint taste of cigarettes, then capped it and put it into his pocket. There you go. Feel better already. Hope no one saw.

He continued to walk, following the contour of the shoreline. There was a nuclear plant in the distance, the tall cooling towers by the lake. Where are you headed? I don't know. Just walking now. What is Poe doing? Probably not eating out of trashcans. Probably taking a nap. Drunk and asleep in his hammock. Except that is not the only possibility. There is still a dead body they found and his coat. He will not be able to get away from that.

When do I stop being the same person? In other people's minds or your own? Mine, he thought. I don't know. Something's wrong, you're getting farther from the lake — on some sort of tributary. Keep following this and it'll get you all turned around. Pick a direction and stick to it. Alright, west. But he knew that it didn't matter. There was nowhere he was going, and no one waiting for him, and it no longer mattered where he'd been.

— —

A few hours later he passed under an interstate and the land became more open, woods and fields. He allowed himself one small swallow from the water bottle every so often. Sooner or later you'll come on something else. Bucket of fried chicken. Steak and eggs. The road dead-ended in a patch of woods so he went into the woods. Still going west. This makes no sense. It doesn't make sense to be here and it doesn't make sense to be on the road. Just keep walking.

It was alternately a forest, the edges wide enough so he could not see the end of the trees, and a narrower boundary between farmland. By late in the afternoon he was getting the sensation of being followed. Stupid to come here, you are not going to be able to find anything to eat. The ground was wet and riddled with deer tracks. His pulse was beginning to speed up. Paranoid is all. Ignore it or you'll go crazy. Mental health your only health. He continued to walk but the feeling didn't abate. When he got to a natural choke point in the trail he crouched down behind a rock outcropping and waited.

Three dogs soon appeared, strays, trotting quickly along the path, and then the lead dog stopped suddenly to sniff the air. The dogs were thin and filthy, missing patches of fur, mixtures of various farm dogs— border collies, shepherds, it was impossible to tell.

A shiver passed through him as he watched. A fourth dog soon caught up to the others, and as he got Isaac's scent he stiffened and turned toward the rocks where Isaac was hiding. Can they see you? Probably not. But that is not a friendly interest. He glanced around him and found several large rocks. You moved — now they see you. The lead dog started forward, hesitantly and slightly crouched, ears back, and Isaac stood up and hit it in the chest with a rock. He had not thrown the rock very hard and the dog only skittered slightly before resuming its approach. The second rock Isaac threw much harder, clipping the dog in the nose, and then hit it a third time as it bolted and ran. The other dogs looked unsure until the rocks began raining down on them as well. He continued to pelt them as they ran.

Was that cruel? Don't know. Get going, he thought. Cross that field and find a road. Sorry, pooches. Except they knew you had nothing to eat. They weren't coming looking for a handout — they were testing. Strays worse than coyotes — less fear of people. Reason farmers shoot them. Still.

Near sundown he stopped to rest under a wooden bridge. The sun was large in the sky and low over the fields and lines of trees. Pretty. He took a sip of water but the bottle was nearly empty and his stomach ached from hunger. If you had more water you'd be fine. Should have kept looking in that trashcan, found a second bottle. No you should have gone along that interstate. Need to stay near food and people. This was stupid.

I am trying to get away from people, he thought. He felt tears of frustration coming to his face. Need to get back to that interstate. Probably five or six miles. Get up. Soon as it's dark you won't be able to navigate. There's a state highway back there somewhere. That will intersect the interstate at some point.

By dark he'd reached the state highway trekking across the fields. His feet felt heavy with mud, he'd been making slow progress. Far enough, he thought. This is far enough for today. If I see a stream I'll drink out of it. How long did I walk? Twenty miles? Your headache is dehydration. Won't kill you. Need a meal and a bed, another sip of water. Save the rest for later. An ounce or two left. Pines over there — should be soft underneath.

In the far distance he could hear dogs barking. Need a good stick. No, need a sleeping bag. Cold coming up through the ground. Let me sleep. When he closed his eyes he could see the figures standing around the fire but when he opened his eyes the figures were still there, up in the trees. The Swede smiling, his face lit orange from the fire and all the shadows behind him. Poe was standing next to the Swede. Tired people hallucinate, he thought. So do hungry people. Just let me sleep.

No, tomorrow you will have to do something. Steal again, probably. Fine. Nature of nature, take what it needs. Feed off others. Like old Otto — down for good, a dirt sack. Scarecrow bones. Wonder where he is now. Any family to claim him. Empty as any other dead thing only he's a man, name and a story, child of two others, a girl who loved him. Human nature to come in for the dead ones and the weak ones. Animal nature the opposite. Comes out when you're alone. Your higher values lose their color.

His mouth was dry. Get up you can find a faucet at one of those barns, a garden hose or something. Do it now while it's dark. Think — if your mother could see you. Stake through her broken heart. The family disease, her quiet moments. Lee didn't catch it. Old man thinks you did, but he doesn't know better. Wanted a different kind of family, himself at the head of the table.

How long ago was that? A month. Feels like a year. That was when you decided to leave, seems pointless now. Sitting with him out back, wearing your coats and grilling, listening to the radio — spring training highlights. Reds over the Pirates. Zach Duke, he said. Get him up to the majors — that's the guy who's gonna bring us out of this slump. What did you say back to him? Can't remember. You wonder what it'd be like to be someone like that. A guy who's gonna matter, basically. He looked at you. You know what I mean? Then he goes on: Course, for a person your size, you always had a hell of an arm.