Lucky Strikes

A short story about a hitchhiker.

 

            He was walking down the side of the road with a crumpled pack of cigarettes in his hand and the moisture of the air settling into his clothes. His bag was slung over his shoulder. Originally green, it now showed the signs of heavy usage; bleached along the strap where he put his hand, threads starting to fray �" He knew that it would be giving out soon.

            There was a growl in the distance of a diesel engine, one with power, maybe a semi. He shoved the pack of cigarettes into his jacket pocket and stuck out his thumb. It was still early in the night, so there was no rush in finding someone to pick him up, but he’d been walking for hours.

            The semi truck drove past, honking its horn to acknowledge that the driver saw his thumb and chose not to pick him up. The man lifted his middle finger, showing it to the back of the truck, hoping that the driver might look back and see.

            It had been raining the past few days and only recently did the sun come out. Most of the wet from the rain was still on the ground and the bit that had evaporated clung to the air. Walking was tough; the mud was slippery, the humidity made him sweat, and the soles of his boots were almost worn through. He could feel the painful pressure of the smallest pebbles under his feet as he walked.

            The sound of another passing vehicle started to creep up on him and he threw out his thumb once more. This time the vehicle wasn’t as heavy or powerful; it was a much smaller truck, a red Ford with cream accents, and came to a stop ahead of him. The driver rolled down the passenger side window as he walked up beside it and shouted over the engine and across the cab.

“Where you headed to?”

            “Just north of here, gotta meet up with some family.” He left it simple, knowing that the driver had to be headed north also.

            The driver looked ahead of him and down the road as if searching for the family that this guy was supposed to be meeting up with. He shrugged his shoulders and rolled a piece of gum around in his mouth, chewing loudly.

“Well, hop in. I won’t be on the road for too long, but it’ll be good to have some company.” He reached across the cab and opened the door to the stranger.

            The inside of the truck was a bit too clean, as if it was used for show, not hauling things around. The seats were red vinyl and the cab had the stinging smell of a new car. The man looked down, thinking about the mud he’d track into the truck.

“Nah, don’t worry about that. She’s new and needs breaking in.” The driver seemed nonchalant about it, so the man threw his bag onto the bench seat of the truck before climbing into the cab and slamming the door shut. The driver put the truck back in gear and started down the highway.

            Trees along the road began to blend together, the sun painting the tips a golden yellow. The man looked out the window, feeling the silence in the cab grow heavy. He started counting down in his head, 10, 9, 8, 7… he’d done this before and knew that it would only be a few seconds before the driver tried to engage him in conversation …3, 2, 1�" he barely finished the countdown when the driver started talking.

“So, how long you been walking?”

            “Few hours, dunno. I try not to keep track of the time.”

            “Oh…” The driver chewed his gum loudly a few times and glanced over at his strange passenger. “Have you got a name, then?”

            “Allen.”

            “I’m Frank.” He kept his eyes on the road and the conversation drifted off.  The growl of the engine filled the cab and Frank’s chewing became louder, his eyes darting over to his passenger.

“So, this family you’re meeting with, where’re they from?”

            “All over the place. We’re just gathering.”

            “How long have you been travelling?”

            “I try not to keep track of time.”

            “You’ve got to know how many nights you’ve been away from home, though.”

            “I travel often.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the crumpled pack of cigarettes, “You mind?”

            Frank’s eyes rested on the pack briefly.

“No, no I guess not. Like I said, she needs breaking in.” He watched as a Zippo was quickly pulled from a jacket pocket and flipped open, its flame lighting the end of the cigarette. A puff of smoke was released into the cab.

            “Open the window,” said Frank, coughing a bit. “You shoulda done that part first.” He watched his passenger reach down and turn the knob that unrolled the window. The cab emptied of the whitish smoke but the lingering scent remained, overpowering the new car smell.

His passenger stared out as they passed a sign, LODGING NEXT LEFT, and Frank started to talk again.

“D’you know if that’s the last town for a while? I don’t know this place.”

            “Not sure. Like I said, I’ve been travelling.”

            “We’ll keep going then, still got some daylight left.” The sun was dipping below the trees, leaving the once illuminated tips in shadow. The sky was painted brilliantly with orange and red, almost like a fire on the west side of the road. The east side was starting to grow a dark blue, the first stars of the evening showing.

            Frank played with the gum in his mouth, rolling it into a little ball and putting it under his tongue.

“If you’ve been travelling so long, why don’t you have a car?” Frank asked.

            “Can’t drive.” The answer was punctuated by his disposal of the cigarette butt out the window before closing it.

            “Can’t? You mean you never learned?” Frank sat forward in his seat a little, leaning over the wheel while he glanced over to his passenger. His surprised expression made the lines under his eyes stand out more prominently.

            “Just can’t anymore. Used to, though.” Allen tried not to make eye contact; it was impersonal and therefore easier that way.

            “Oh, well ok. I was gonna say, driving is the best thing. You can feel the freedom when you leave the city and your car becomes home.” Allen nodded and the cab fell quiet again.

The sun was sinking below the horizon at this point, darkness crept onto the road and Frank switched on his headlights. They passed another lodging sign.

“I’ll be stopping there, I think. Want me to take you into town? Might be easier to find a ride.”

Allen glanced into the side view mirror of the truck.

“Yeah, sure. Just drop me off at the first gas station. Gotta be someone going north.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, slouching down and pushing the mud on his boots into the carpeted floors of the truck. His eyes were still on the mirror as beads of sweat started forming on his forehead. In the looming darkness of the road behind them there was another car. It was stark white and its headlights weren’t on. A red flashing light turned on behind them and the whoop whoop that broke the silence of the forest confirmed Allen’s fears �" it was a police officer.

“Wonder what they want…” Frank’s voice trailed off and his eyebrows furrowed as he slowed the truck and pulled it over onto the side of the road, the officer following suit. He reached down and started unrolling the window of the vehicle. The cool night air rushed into the cabin of the truck bringing in the smell of evergreen trees and mud.

Allen could hear the officer’s footsteps as he approached the window.

“Evening, folks.”

Frank nodded his head and Allen looked away, trying not to make eye contact.

“We’re looking for a guy around here. He was seen hitchhiking and carrying a green bag, you guys seen anything?”

Allen looked at Frank, his face was screwed up into a knot as if he were thinking really hard about how to answer the officer. He leaned forward in his seat, looking past Frank to the officer.

“Oh, I dunno,” said Allen. “There was a guy a while back near the lodging sign, but that was a long time ago.” His voice couldn’t hide his nervousness as Frank watched him speak.

“Why’re you lookin’ for him?” Frank asked, looking back at the officer. He wasn’t sure if he should help Allen escape or turn him in.

“He’s got a record.”

“Bad stuff?”

“Not good stuff, otherwise we wouldn’t be looking for him!”

Frank was now sweating around the collar and could feel his heartbeat in his chest.

“Can I have a word in private?” His voice was barely a whisper.

“Sure, you can step out of the car.” The officer stepped back, allowing Frank to get out of the truck. There was no hiding Allen’s fear at this point. His eyes were opened wide in disbelief, his palms sweating like mad. He could hear Frank’s voice through the window, but couldn’t make out what he was saying. Frank’s back was turned to the truck and the officer glanced over Frank’s shoulder at Allen.

It wasn’t a hard decision to make. Allen found that his hand reached for his bag automatically while his other hand found the door handle. He was out of the truck, stumbling and slipping as quickly as possible away from the road and towards the forest. The frantic footsteps behind him alerted him to the presence of the officer and he started running.

The forest was pitch black, and Allen could barely see where he was headed. He looked out for trees, avoiding branches and crushing brush beneath his feet. He didn’t care that a thorn was stuck through the sole of his boot and into his foot. Nor did he stop when the handle on his bag finally tore. He just grabbed it and kept running, the cold night air cutting into his face, his lungs burning.

After awhile, when he was thoroughly out of breath, Allen stopped running. The footsteps of the officer were long gone and he knew that for now he was safe. He didn’t know which way he was headed or where the road was, he only knew that he wasn’t sleeping tonight. The peaceful noises of the forest filled his ears as his breathing returned to normal and the thorn in his foot pleaded for attention.

He stopped and sat down on a fallen tree, pulling the thorn out of his boot. The hole wasn’t too big, but it caused his foot a lot of pain. No time to stop, though. He stood back up and pushed his bag under his left arm while his right hand reached into his jacket and pulled out the crumpled pack of cigarettes �" Lucky Strikes. He looked inside the pack; only two cigarettes left. Clutching the pack in his hand, he started walking. His eyes had adjusted to the dark and it was easier now that he wasn’t running to see that the trees weren’t too thick in this part of the forest. He hoped that there would be a road nearby so that he could hitch another ride to continue his trek north.

After walking for what Allen guessed was about fifteen minutes he noticed that the trees were starting to clear. He was coming out to another road. The mud was still thick and the cold temperatures had crept through his jacket, making him tremble as he walked. When he reached the road, he looked up at the sky, straining his neck and trying to find which direction he was headed. Still not knowing which way to go, he just started walking. He’d ask the first person who stopped.