(Chapter 14: A Rest Stop)
Rudy Williamson woke up on the nineteenth of December tired and sore, contorted inside of a double-wide sleeping bag on the ground of some motor court halfway between Vegas and Los Angeles. It was the scenic route, bypassing the desert and going through some mountain ranges, so the scenery was more green than brown, the air more cloudy and gray than musty. Barely clothed, he tried to exit the sleeping bag without disturbing Katie.
Slipping out, he grimaced as his bare feet caught themselves on the gravel, pain searing through his legs. Stepping from the sleeping bags, the large youth felt the cold air hit him like a freight train, and he visibly grimaced.
"A little cold there John Henry?" a voice asked sarcastically.
Looking up to where the sound came from, he saw Clinton sitting on top of the van with a portable radio, a hot thermos of coffee and a cigarette. He was dressed warmly in a leather jacket and jeans, rightly so too, as it was freezing out. As Rudy stumbled about, he fumbled for his pants, shoes and sweatshirt, trying to put them on as he talked low to Clinton.
"A little bit, I never got out of California before, this is a little new to me," Rudy said as he noted that his breath came out steam.
"Well, like coach says," Clinton said as he took a drag off the cigarette, "it builds character."
Finally dressed, Rudy walked gingerly around the separate sleeping bags that held Lori, Mike, Nick and Sarah, climbing up on the hood of the van and eventually on the roof. Clinton for the first time as long as Rudy had known him, was being considerate, as the volume of the radio was turned down to barely audible levels, letting those still sleeping sleep. With his friend on the roof of the van with him, Clinton offered Rudy some coffee. The big man politely declined.
"Clinton, coach says everything builds character. Breaking a leg builds character. Diarrhea builds character. Dying builds character."
Clinton shot Rudy an evil gaze, a look that frightened even the gentle giant.
"Sorry, sorry, poor choice of words," Rudy conceded.
"Yeah, poor timing too," Clinton said.
As the two men sat on the vehicle, they looked back and forth silently, not sure of what to say or who should say it.
"So, you do believe in this curse?" Rudy asked skeptically.
"I'm not sure," Clinton responded, "I'd like it if I didn't. Mike, Mike's a creep, and every time he speaks I'd like to beat the crap out of him. However, everything he said turned out like it should, the boat, Mr. Christy, people dying like they should have on the boat. I think he might be doing these things, killing these people if you want my honest opinion. He coulda tipped the machine over on Darwin, he coulda scared Rhonda, he coulda started the fire at Mr. Christy's place."
"What about Tina," Rudy said, "you were there."
"Just luck," Clinton responded, "Mike might have taken the chance for what he had and pushed Tina into that falling glass."
Rudy let out a low laugh and responded, "You're sounding more paranoid now than Nick."
"Yeah," Clinton said as he threw his cigarette butt into the wind, "I know. What's your thoughts?"
"Like you, I don't know. The evidence points towards either a string of bizarre coincidences, or a legitimate phenomena going on here. As Mike and Sarah said, if this design is real than I am next in line. I will admit it, I am not afraid of dying either. I am not going to go through with the usual arrogance of the American teenager, much like yourself, and say that I am bulletproof and that I am going to live forever. If it is my time, it is my time, though as I've been told my time, and yours, and the rest of ours for that matter, was really a month ago on that boat. Death happens, it is just another part of life, in fact I believe they walk hand in hand," Rudy responded, feeling that he was talking a bit too philosophical for even himself.
"What about your life," Clinton asked, "aren't you afraid of what you're going to leave behind?"
"I got nothing really to leave behind," Rudy said bluntly, "I live with my grandmother, a kindly old woman who has seen enough death in her time to not have a problem with one more dead relative. Mom was killed in a car accident when I was three, dad killed himself after my stepmom died of cancer, so no parents, and my half-brother Eugene was killed in some hospital fire in New York a year or so ago, so you see I don't really have much to miss."
"What about your woman? Your team, your life?" Clinton asked.
"Katie, she's a strong girl, it'll be hard for her, but she'll make it by. She may not look like it, but she could take on the world if she wanted to. The team will get on fine without me, and I don't have too many friends to leave behind."
"Sounds like you want to die," Clinton said.
"Me, no, I don't WANT to die, but in case I am really the next, I'll just say that my bags are packed. I've had a good run, I've had fun, and I have the love and friendship of a girl who likes me because of who I am instead of the fact that I'm on the team," Rudy said. Finally, he took the thermos of coffee from Clintons hand and took a sip.
"This is good coffee," Rudy said.
Clinton laughed resignedly at his friends remarks, wondering if the man had a death wish, yet proud of his friends steadfastness nevertheless, "Yeah, it's the best that rest stop down the road had to offer."
"They have food too?"
"Trucker's choice," Clinton responded.
"Let's get some breakfast when everyone's up," Rudy said.
Taking a sip of coffee, Clinton said, "That sounds like a plan."
Like that, the two men sat silently, watching the sun rise over the horizon. Trying to break the solitude, Clinton turned up the radio a bit more and surfed the stations. After a half dozen radio evangelists and four commercial breaks, they hit music. Blue Oyster Cult's "Don't Fear the Reaper" was playing energetically. Hearing this, they both shared a hearty laugh.
Rudy Williamson woke up on the nineteenth of December tired and sore, contorted inside of a double-wide sleeping bag on the ground of some motor court halfway between Vegas and Los Angeles. It was the scenic route, bypassing the desert and going through some mountain ranges, so the scenery was more green than brown, the air more cloudy and gray than musty. Barely clothed, he tried to exit the sleeping bag without disturbing Katie.
Slipping out, he grimaced as his bare feet caught themselves on the gravel, pain searing through his legs. Stepping from the sleeping bags, the large youth felt the cold air hit him like a freight train, and he visibly grimaced.
"A little cold there John Henry?" a voice asked sarcastically.
Looking up to where the sound came from, he saw Clinton sitting on top of the van with a portable radio, a hot thermos of coffee and a cigarette. He was dressed warmly in a leather jacket and jeans, rightly so too, as it was freezing out. As Rudy stumbled about, he fumbled for his pants, shoes and sweatshirt, trying to put them on as he talked low to Clinton.
"A little bit, I never got out of California before, this is a little new to me," Rudy said as he noted that his breath came out steam.
"Well, like coach says," Clinton said as he took a drag off the cigarette, "it builds character."
Finally dressed, Rudy walked gingerly around the separate sleeping bags that held Lori, Mike, Nick and Sarah, climbing up on the hood of the van and eventually on the roof. Clinton for the first time as long as Rudy had known him, was being considerate, as the volume of the radio was turned down to barely audible levels, letting those still sleeping sleep. With his friend on the roof of the van with him, Clinton offered Rudy some coffee. The big man politely declined.
"Clinton, coach says everything builds character. Breaking a leg builds character. Diarrhea builds character. Dying builds character."
Clinton shot Rudy an evil gaze, a look that frightened even the gentle giant.
"Sorry, sorry, poor choice of words," Rudy conceded.
"Yeah, poor timing too," Clinton said.
As the two men sat on the vehicle, they looked back and forth silently, not sure of what to say or who should say it.
"So, you do believe in this curse?" Rudy asked skeptically.
"I'm not sure," Clinton responded, "I'd like it if I didn't. Mike, Mike's a creep, and every time he speaks I'd like to beat the crap out of him. However, everything he said turned out like it should, the boat, Mr. Christy, people dying like they should have on the boat. I think he might be doing these things, killing these people if you want my honest opinion. He coulda tipped the machine over on Darwin, he coulda scared Rhonda, he coulda started the fire at Mr. Christy's place."
"What about Tina," Rudy said, "you were there."
"Just luck," Clinton responded, "Mike might have taken the chance for what he had and pushed Tina into that falling glass."
Rudy let out a low laugh and responded, "You're sounding more paranoid now than Nick."
"Yeah," Clinton said as he threw his cigarette butt into the wind, "I know. What's your thoughts?"
"Like you, I don't know. The evidence points towards either a string of bizarre coincidences, or a legitimate phenomena going on here. As Mike and Sarah said, if this design is real than I am next in line. I will admit it, I am not afraid of dying either. I am not going to go through with the usual arrogance of the American teenager, much like yourself, and say that I am bulletproof and that I am going to live forever. If it is my time, it is my time, though as I've been told my time, and yours, and the rest of ours for that matter, was really a month ago on that boat. Death happens, it is just another part of life, in fact I believe they walk hand in hand," Rudy responded, feeling that he was talking a bit too philosophical for even himself.
"What about your life," Clinton asked, "aren't you afraid of what you're going to leave behind?"
"I got nothing really to leave behind," Rudy said bluntly, "I live with my grandmother, a kindly old woman who has seen enough death in her time to not have a problem with one more dead relative. Mom was killed in a car accident when I was three, dad killed himself after my stepmom died of cancer, so no parents, and my half-brother Eugene was killed in some hospital fire in New York a year or so ago, so you see I don't really have much to miss."
"What about your woman? Your team, your life?" Clinton asked.
"Katie, she's a strong girl, it'll be hard for her, but she'll make it by. She may not look like it, but she could take on the world if she wanted to. The team will get on fine without me, and I don't have too many friends to leave behind."
"Sounds like you want to die," Clinton said.
"Me, no, I don't WANT to die, but in case I am really the next, I'll just say that my bags are packed. I've had a good run, I've had fun, and I have the love and friendship of a girl who likes me because of who I am instead of the fact that I'm on the team," Rudy said. Finally, he took the thermos of coffee from Clintons hand and took a sip.
"This is good coffee," Rudy said.
Clinton laughed resignedly at his friends remarks, wondering if the man had a death wish, yet proud of his friends steadfastness nevertheless, "Yeah, it's the best that rest stop down the road had to offer."
"They have food too?"
"Trucker's choice," Clinton responded.
"Let's get some breakfast when everyone's up," Rudy said.
Taking a sip of coffee, Clinton said, "That sounds like a plan."
Like that, the two men sat silently, watching the sun rise over the horizon. Trying to break the solitude, Clinton turned up the radio a bit more and surfed the stations. After a half dozen radio evangelists and four commercial breaks, they hit music. Blue Oyster Cult's "Don't Fear the Reaper" was playing energetically. Hearing this, they both shared a hearty laugh.