Greg drove directly to the motel from the Truck Stop avoiding the diversion through Whitewater. He reduced speed and his brow furrowed in uncertainty on passing through the unusually deserted, unlighted town. Wayne shared his doubts.
“Where the hell is this you’re bringing me to; some kind of ghost town. Is it always like this?”
Greg laughed in an attempt to ease the misgiving he heard in Wayne’s voice and sensed, rather than saw him stiffen. The rain had stopped, leaving a low, threatening sky overhead instilling an eerie, oppressive edge to the atmosphere.
Greg cleared his throat before replying. “No it’s not: must be a power outage. It happens a lot.”
“You mean they all sit around in darkness or go to bed waiting for the lights to come on again. For Chrissake this is the twenty-first century. ...What about the businesses; how do they make out?”
Greg grunted. His mind was settled on Jess, expecting the boy to be at the computer and spoke his thoughts out loud.
“Glad I bought that battery backup and surge protector.”
‘What!... What’d you say, you’re not making any sense?”
There was an added anxiety in Wayne’s voice evoking a ripple of embarrassed laughter from Greg.
“I was thinking out loud about my computer. Sorry about that. The outage must have just happened. Most businesses have standby diesel generators. Takes a couple of minutes to fire them up and get going.”
Greg swung the wheel to the left to cross Main into Frobisher without slowing or giving any warning. The unexpected manoeuvre caught Wayne off balance, throwing him towards Greg in the driver’s seat.
“What the...?”
Wayne had not finished his question before Greg heaved the wheel heavily to the right to drive into the Motel car park; the momentum hurled Wayne against the passenger door.
“Shit, do you always drive like you’re at Coney Island?”
“Yup, mostly I do.” Greg chortled, swinging the vehicle around ready to reverse up to the boardwalk outside room 196.
The motel had not yet started it’s emergency generator and Greg had not seen any other parked vehicles in the beam of the truck’s headlights as they swept through the inky blackness of the car park during his manoeuvre. It appeared that Chandler had lied to him about taking other earlier bookings when he’d made Wayne’s reservation. He let it go; Greg was more concerned about Jess and expected the boy to be sat at the computer in his room. ‘I hope he found the flashlight beside the computer.’
Greg reversed slowly until he judged the truck was near enough to the boardwalk for unloading then snatched on the handbrake, shut down the engine and switched on the cab light.
“Welcome to Melody Inn Bamptonville, home sweet home for the weekend.”
Wayne was unimpressed; he sniffed to convey his disapproval, which carried through in the flat tone of his voice. “I just hope it’s better inside than out, that’s all.”
Greg chuckled. ‘’You go and check in at reception and I’ll see about unloading this stuff. I’ll catch up with you afterwards.”
Wayne sat stiff and upright in his seat plainly advertising his lack of enthusiasm for the accommodations. He nodded before asking;
“How’d I get there?”
Greg slapped his friend’s shoulder as he gave instructions.
“If you follow the boardwalk you’ll come to the back door of the office. That’s also reception...”
YOU ARE READING
The 'Cousins'
General FictionEnglishman Greg Mitchell has served only two Gods in his lifetime- Making Money and Himself. Now at 35 years of age and after his second divorce and loss of his business he faces a future with no family or friends- he does have some money in the ban...
