Call Me Ishmael

Chapter 2

Author's note: You can buy the completed book at Amazon, B&N, and Smashwords  It is a free country after, all. 

The other truck came out of nowhere.  I have always been a careful driver, and hadn't had a speeding ticket since my high school days.  I had never been in an accident worse than a door smudge in a parking lot.  Now, there was time to hit my brakes, and the collusion was on me.  The crash was deafening, sickening, and immediate.  

I blinked, and pulled my face out of my deflated airbag with a groan.  I could feel my body, so that was good.  I tried turning my head to the window, and found myself staring into the muzzle of a very large, very powerful looking gun.  The man who held it was a perfect match to his choice of firearm.  That was not so good.  In fact, that was downright bad.

“Hi.”  I honestly could not think of anything more intelligent to say.  Surprises do that to me.

“Out.”  He spoke with a flat accent, as though he were using a voice-changing device.  Although his voice was toneless and almost robotic, it had my complete attention.

“Yeah.  Yeah, whatever.  Listen, you hit my truck here, and I need to get your insurance information.  There's no need to wave firearms around.  You have insurance, don't you?  Everyone does.”

He tapped the muzzle of the gun on my forehead, right in the center where I supposed all my brains would be.  “Out,” he repeated.  He paused, and seemed to be gathering his thoughts.  “Or I’ll blow your head off.”

By now, the shock of the accident had passed, and I developed a clear sense that this was not standard procedure.  No exchanging of insurance information seemed likely, but I was out of context.  I realized the danger of obeying the gunman, but at the same moment, I was afraid to flat-out refuse.  I tried to stall for time.

“Who are you?”

I watched in silent horror as one large finger released the safety on the thug’s handgun.  

“Okay, okay.”  I wrenched the truck door open and crawled out.  I felt a little shaky, but as far as I could tell, nothing was broken.  I slammed the door shut and it popped back open.  I tried again and failed, so I gave up and waited for instructions.  The gunman watched me with a silent look of amusement covering his giant face.  “What now?”  I asked.

“Walk.”

I considered my options and didn’t see any.  Still, I opened my mouth, and said,  “Okay.  Okay.  But can’t you tell me what this is all about?”

He gestured with the gun.  “Walk.  And I think you already know, don’t you, Ishmael?”  He said the last word with a grimace, almost spitting it.   

“Hey,” I tried, “My name’s not really Ishmael.  It’s…”

“Shut up, Ishmael.  Walk.”  

He pushed me this time, and I felt the hard muzzle press into my back.  I started walking.  “Should I put my hands up?”

The large man muttered a few words into his wrist.  I craned my neck to try to get a look at what he was doing, but he finished quickly and his sleeve dropped over the device before I could eyeball it.  

He answered me.  “Keep your hands down.  See that rock, up there?”

I squinted.  “The big gray one?”

“Yes.  That’s where we’re headed.  Get going.”

The rock he indicated was a bit of a much more substantial ledge of pale limestone.  I had been all through that area looking for arrowheads and fossils in my misspent youth, and I was well aware that there were any number of places perfect for corpse hiding.  This is not going to end well, I thought.