“Hey Walt, check this out.”
Marco was rummaging around in a shopping cart. Both men had moved from their place in the sunny Sheetz parking lot nearby to their shaded secondary location behind the Exxon.
Marco help up some tactical body armor and modeled it like someone who holds a shirt in front of them in a store, suggesting what it might look like on the wearer.
Walt looked over and raised his eyebrows.
“Bulletproof vest. Got it off this dude who was sellin it. Ex-military. He was the real deal. Navy Seal or some shit.”
Marco took off his tank top and donned the vest. He fumbled with getting it on for a moment, momentarily getting lost in the gear. It finally slipped over him and fit snugly around his body. He fiddled with some straps then grabbed his faded Chicago Bulls fitted and put it on backwards.
He raised his arms and flexed his biceps.
“I’m invincible bro. Let a motherfucker try me. Can’t even die anymore. No matter fact I’m immortal. Yeah, that’s it. Immediately too.”
He changed his pose then started checking himself out in his phone’s camera.
Walt made a noise and rolled his eyes.
“Ok bro,” his head nodding up, down, left, then right. “What if I shot you right now? See how immortal you really are. Right in the head. Or maybe just the leg.” Walt gestured with a gun comprised of his thumb and first finger.
Marco wore a pained expression on on his face.
“C’mon man, you know that ain’t fair. There’s no protection anywhere but here.” He tapped his torso with his hands.
“Fair? What if you get shot anywhere else?”
“Nah that ain’t gonna happen. Got my immortality vest on.” Marco was dismissive. “Only place I can get hit is here,” tapping his chest again. “Plus I’m immortal, remember? I really can’t even die. And did I tell you I was almost in the Army once?”
Walt wasn’t listening as Marco droned on. He stared into space with a tense, vacant look on his face. His body was heavy and something he wasn’t aware of was happening in his head. About half the sky was covered with clouds now and it looked like a midday thunderstorm might be approaching.
Last night Marco and him spent the night in a drainage ditch behind a truck stop off 81. They befriended a trucker there who let them get high with him. He was en route from New Orleans to Boston and stopped there to ‘refuel,’ he said with a wink. As his truck idled in the parking lot he produced a bag filled with off-white colored crystals from a back pocket and held it out in front of them to see. He loaded up a pipe and handed it to Walt.
“Hit this reptile armor bro. Shit will have you revved up in no time, trust me. Hell you might get to Boston before me.”
Before Walt could respond that they weren’t going to Boston a wave of euphoria picked him up and carried him off at top speed. Things were getting blurry as life heightened around him. The response was abandoned as a feeling of invincibility set in. He looked over at Marco who nodded back as the trucker laughed. “You might wanna take cover. Ya’ll don’t look so good.”
The night was a foggy memory for Walt. When the high subsided Marco and him laid down in the ditch to try and catch some sleep. About half an hour later they were awakened by a truck stop employee who emptied out a full bucket of dirty mop water on top of them without realizing it.
Walt woke up instantly and started screaming at the employee who also freaked out, not able to see either of them in the darkness. Walt began threatening him and the employee threw both bucket and mop in his direction then turned and ran back toward the building, shouting about calling the cops.
The mention of police caused both him and Marco to spring into action. Walt knew there was at least one warrant out for him in North Carolina. Time to move. They grabbed their duffel bags and set off down the shoulder of 81, maintaining a pace that was somewhere between a stumble and half-run.
About a mile down the road they saw a pickup truck with its hazards on parked on the shoulder. The pair approached cautiously from the rear. There was no driver inside or anywhere nearby.
Walt and Marco glanced at each other with the “should we” look.
As they started towards the truck there was a sound from the tree line.
“Get the fuck away from my truck.” The voice was deep and slow. “I’m already drawn. Try anything and you’re both dead.”
Walt and Marco looked at each other and both slowly, almost instinctively, sank to their knees and put their hands up.
A moment later a figure emerged from the darkness and stopped in front of both men, about ten feet away.
“Who are you and why are you by my truck?”
Walt did the talking. “Hey man, we don’t want any trouble. No sir, just a ride, that’s all, just a ride.” He paused. “It’s been a long night for both of us.”
There was a short silence.
“I’m going to Waynesboro so now you are too. Get in the bed. Lay down and be still. Try anything and I’ll fill both of you with lead.”
Walt and Marco nodded silently and tossed their bags into the bed then carefully climbed in and laid down.
The night air was cool upon their skin as they made the short drive into town. The truck came to a stop beneath one of the overhead lights of an empty parking lot. The driver got out and walked a short distance away then spoke.
“Ok you two, get up, grab your things, and start walking away from me. I wouldn’t cause any trouble here if I were you.”
Walt and Marco obeyed the man’s instructions and immediately set off in the opposite direction, not turning around.
A different set of friends began walking down the street from their hotel. They kept to a path where a sidewalk should have been but wasn’t. There was a hard packed dirt trail instead that ran parallel to the road and was about as wide as a person. Stiff knee high grasses grew up alongside the path and sometimes tried to snag you.
It was the kind of weather that encourages walking. It was the kind of town where almost everyone owns a car and never walks. It was about that time of midday where one might be inclined to patronize a local business, in this case a convenience store at the nearby Exxon right off the interstate.
The sign beneath the tall logo had missing letters that were likely cannibalized for a different sign. The spaces in the words looked like missing teeth or an incomplete crossword puzzle.
A well-kept but old Chevy S-10 was fueling at one of the pumps. The bed sagged under the weight of the rusted husk of a riding lawnmower and unidentifiable scrap metal. An older gentleman with a wrinkled face surveyed the road. He appeared to be absorbed in thought.
The two friends walked toward the door of the convenience store. As they opened it to walk in a woman wearing a red polo shirt walked out.
“I quit,” she announced plainly and without emotion or theatrics. Then, looking down as she walked past the two friends, “nice tattoos.”
The friends looked at each other and laughed, shrugged, then walked in.
As they walked up to the register to checkout, an older woman with graying hair and facial features arranged around a permanent smile looked up and nodded.
“I guess your coworker just quit?” The woman behind the counter had the same red polo shirt on.
“Huh?” She picked up a snack and scanned it.
“There was a woman who walked out when we walked in. She said she quit.”
“Oh her,” she smiled while hunting for a button on the screen and shaking her head.
“She’ll be back.” The reply was drawn out and the tone was a generally unconcerned mixture of amusement and disinterest.
“This happens all the time.”
The two friends started laughing.
“Really?”
“Yeah, she leaves, goes out there and has her cigarette or whatever, sometimes drives off, but always comes back. She’s actually a pretty good worker when she is here. It just that the tradeoff is you don’t always know when that will be.”
The lady behind the register grinned.
“The manager who makes the schedule always put her on with at least one other person, that way if she leaves, there’s still someone to run the store.”
One of the friends nodded.
“How does she not get fired though? I can’t think of a place that would tolerate something like that more than two, maybe three times.”
“Well, you’re right. The manager isn’t too fond of her unscheduled breaks. But he puts up with it because good help is hard to find these days. It’s like no one wants to work anymore, although in some ways I don’t blame her. Sometimes you get people in here that’ll abuse you and cuss you out for no reason at all. Just because they think you’re nothing because you work at a gas station. As if that says something about who you are as a person.”
The two friends nodded again.
“Well, it was nice talking with you today.”
As they reached for the bag on the counter one of them stopped the other.
“You hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Is someone yelling out back?” One of the friends turned toward the lady at the cash register. “Someone is really screaming about something out there.”
Everyone exchanged confused glances and unconsciously tensed up.
A muffled voice could be heard through the convenience store wall.
AHHHHHHH! “I’m gonna save you! I’m gonna save America!” Four shots rang out with the unmistakable bang of gunfire. There was a short pause then two more went off.
Inside the store the woman behind the counter looked at the two friends and wordlessly picked up a phone and dialed 9-1-1. The friends looked at each other with shock and laughed. What the fuck is going on out there?
Marco was screaming at the top of his lungs. “Why the fuck you shooting at me man? What the fuck bro? You’re wasting your bullets. Can’t you see I’m immortal? Fuck is your problem?”
Walt was trying to shout over him. “Stop moving or I’ll accidentally hit you. I’m trying to help and you’re making it harder. Do you wanna get killed by Osama bin Laden or not?”
“By who?”
Walt noticed some movement in the corner of his eye. Someone was climbing out of a hole in the ground. Fuck. No way. Was it—yes, yes it was. It was bin Laden bro. Fucking Osama bin Laden just emerged. I gotta call the president, he thought. He pulled out his phone. Wait. Maybe not. Hold on. Why’s he look like that? bin Laden’s face was misshapen and distorted. Part of it looked like it had been caved in at one point and someone had tried to pop it back out like a dent on a car. It had a weird bluish gray color to it as well. And the eyes. Orangey red like glowing embers. There was no question about it. He was a demon.
Demonic Osama pulled out a phone. He spoke briefly with someone for a moment then put the phone away. Walt was stock still and held his breathe. He couldn’t give away his position and risk tipping him off that he was here. Who knows what would happen then.
Now there was movement from the corner of his other eye. A tank was driving across at full speed and bounced up and down over the sand of the desert like a cork in the ocean. It stopped right in front of bin Laden and the hatch on top popped open. A whole bunch of creatures rushed out and took up positions around their leader.
Walt tried to make out what they were. Some kind of demonic, undead creature. Bipedal and vaguely human yet sinister looking. Exhibiting malevolent intent. Rallying around their leader, as if preparing to attack something.
Walt jolted then froze again, fearing he gave himself away. The group did not appear to notice him watching them. His eyes quickly shot over to Marco. He was posing and flexing with the bulletproof vest on, like an old school bodybuilder. If he saw these demonic entities assembling he did not let on. He must not be able to see this, Walt thought.
There was a commotion in the group. Osama had pulled out a sword and was waving it around, then pointed it in Marco’s direction. A cold sweat and feeling of terror broke out in Walt. They were going to attack Marco.
He tried waving his arms to get Marco’s attention. Nothing. Then whispering so as not to blow his cover. Yo. HEY MARCO. MAARRRRCO. He raised his voice a little to a hoarse growl through clenched teeth. His teeth were bared and veins bulged in his face. His body was leaning back somewhat at an unnatural angle and he appeared stuck, though was rocking back and forth slightly.
The demons broke into a dead sprint now, charging straight towards an unsuspecting Marco. America’s most wanted terrorist was in the front and screaming something unintelligible. They would be there any moment.
Walt had to think fast. His mind went into overdrive. He had to do two things. First was protect his friend. He couldn’t just stand there and let Marco die. And the second was save America. We had been looking for bin Laden forever and now he turns up here, right behind an Exxon in Virginia of all places. Who would’ve thought? You couldn’t put it past him though, he was a crafty fellow, that bin Laden. Eluding America and her allies. Fuck it. This was it. Time to put a stop to this madness once and for all. The hour of the patriot was at hand. Everyone was counting on him. Everywhere he looked he saw American flags waving and heard the screech of a bald eagle as it soared overhead. Pride filled his heart as foreign agents surged through his body towards the blood brain barrier like an angry river reclaiming a dried up water way.
His hand went for the .22. It was in his hoodie pocket. But he paused for a moment and thought. Hold on. I need more stopping power. He glanced over at his duffel bag. It lay in the dirt several feet away. Damn. Out of reach. In it was a Mini-14 which he had accepted as payment from a friend who owed him money. He glanced back at Marco. bin Laden’s sword was raised and the demons were now climbing onto his body and running up his legs. Marco was dancing and playing some music from his phone. There was no time to lose. It was now or never.
Walter lunged for the duffel bag and awkwardly fell down on top of it. He struggled to get it open and wrestled with it aggressively for a moment. The zipper was stuck. He managed to get it open and frantically scrambled to find ammo. The Mini-14 was now loaded and in hand. He whirled around and lunged toward an oblivious dancing Marco about 20 feet away when he tripped and fell over a tire. Precious seconds wasted, he thought. Sweating profusely and with cuts and clumps of dirt stuck to his face and body, he struggled to his feet, ready for action.
MARCO, hold still bro! I gotta shoot these demons off you. They’re trying to kill you man! But you’ll be good, don’t worry! I never miss! I’m gonna save you. I’m gonna save America. Yeah, he thought. Yeah, that’s it. He raised the Mini-14 and took aim directly at Marco. His friend just continued to dance.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”
“Hi, yeah, someone is shooting a gun behind our store. I don’t know what’s going on. There’s shouting and screaming.”
“Someone is shooting? Ok ma’am, what’s your location?”
“Waynesboro Exxon, Rosser Ave, right off 64.”
“Ok ma’am, first responders are on their way. Stay on the line with me…”
Terror’s iron grip seized Marco and paralyzed him for a moment. His best friend Walt was literally shooting at him. What kind of best friend does that to another?
He looked at Walt a dozen feet away. He was fumbling with the rifle, which had jammed on him. He was frantically trying to clear it and kept looking up at Marco, muttering and babbling something.
Marco snapped out of his fear and immediately patted himself all over his body. No wounds. Miraculously, Walt had somehow missed him even at such close range. How…could…
The vest. Oh my god, he thought. It’s the vest. I really am invincible. Wow. That vest saved me. Maybe the bullets just bounced off. Unbelievable. I told him though. I told him and he didn’t believe me. Wait till I tell him he’s wrong bro.
Then Marco remembered his situation.
He took off running at top speed as Walt started chasing him with the rifle, waving his arms and shouting nonsense.
A blue Camaro coup from the last five years was exiting off the interstate and headed toward the Exxon. The windows were down and music blared from the vehicle. A woman in a red polo shirt was behind the wheel, wearing sunglasses and smoking a cigarette.
The vehicle was now on Rosser and slowing down to turn into the gas station when out of nowhere there was a heavy thud and a man’s body hit the hood of the car and rolled up the windshield. She screamed and slammed on the breaks. The car skidded and popped up a curb just past the driveway. Someone was pulling on her driver side door.
Get the fuck out, a man was screaming. He wore a pair of dirty jeans, tactical body armor, and a backwards hat. He managed to get her door open and dragged her from the car while she screamed. Give me those sunglasses too, he yelled as he ripped them off her face. He put them on and there was a brief struggle as he forced his way past her and into the vehicle. He immediately accelerated wildly and went straight toward the S-10 that had finished fueling, sideswiping the vehicle with a loud scraping crash before driving off erratically.
The two friends watched this scene unfold from inside the convenience store, shocked at what they had just witnessed. Suddenly a man with a rifle ran into the street in front of the gas station, breathless and tottering on his feet.
Walt stared in the direction that Marco drove off in.
“They got him, they got hum, thay gad um, Marco…arcah…”
Walt’s speech was slurring and his body began shutting down organ by organ. He looked around uncertainly and saw flashing lights somewhere behind him, appearing as out of focus red and blue splotches.
The rifle slipped out of his hands and clattered to the pavement. Horns were honking behind him. All sounds began blurring and blending together, and something was scrambling his vision. He took another couple steps which resembled the movements of a new born fawn learning to walk for the first time, then everything began to fade out as a childhood memory flashed across his mind of when he yanked out the power cord for the family TV from the wall.
He collapsed in a heap on the pavement.
Later that night, after all the protocols and due diligence had been conducted, after the swarms of police and media crews had come and gone, after the locals had gathered and dispersed, shaking their heads and talking amongst themselves about the state of the world, the two friends felt hungry for a snack so they decided to take the warm summer night’s walk up the road to the nearby Waffle House.
No one knows anything about life.
The meal was enjoyable, in the way that late night meals can be. Sometimes extra possibilities seem available at night. Sometimes you can glimpse something by sensing it, which is a different type of sight. The way a tractor trailer outlined in light goes under an overpass, momentarily disappearing then reappearing, gliding out the other side as you stare down at it, continuing to cut its way through the night like a rocket fired from an unknown origin to an invisible target. It was there, and now its not, and even though you saw it, it’s as if it was never there. The world will go on as if you were never here. Not that you can’t do things. Not that you should or shouldn’t. Not anything you’ve ever heard or been told. You can do anything you feel moved to do. There are no rules.
Towards the end of the meal the waitress came by the table and place the check down in the middle.
“Take your time.”
One of the friends picked up the check to see the total and absent mindedly turned it over. There was something written on the other side.
psalm 32:8
Sam