On Friday afternoon as the Memorial Day weekend began, eighteen-year-old, Carol Mercer, traveled alone up the Natchez Trace Parkwayreferred to as just the Trace by most people in the area. She had turned north onto the highway just outside of Jackson, Mississippi, and was on her way to Nashville to spend the holiday with her parents. She had been expecting to arrive in Tupelo, Mississippi, before night fell over the Trace. Not many people traveled the Trace after dark. There were no lights along the road, and depending on the weather, fog would accumulate in the low areas, so that when night fell, it was a dark, lonely, often foggy highway. One never knew who might be traveling on the Trace or what might be lurking in the swamps and the dense woods that lined the highway. The driver always had to keep a watchful eye for deer darting out of the woods and across the road to avoid what could be a fatal accident. If something were to happen to the car, it could be a long time before a Parkway Ranger came along.
The Natchez Trace Parkway stretched four hundred fifty miles from Nashville, Tennessee, south to Natchez, Mississippi. The modern highway, constructed in the 1940s, ran parallel to the historic road that lay, in most places, just walking distance over in the woods. The old Trace, originally a path cut by migrating buffalo then used by the Indians, was known as the Path to the Choctaw Nation and the Chickasaw Trace. Later, the Trace became a road used by post-riders, settlers and other travelers who were often robbed and murdered. Meriwether LewisLewis and Clark Expeditiondied while traveling on the Trace. Some believed that he was murdered.
In some areas, the once wide, wilderness road had gone back to nature and left only a sunken, narrow foot-path cushioned with patches of green spongy moss, pine straw, and dead leathery leaves that had accumulated over the years. Gnarled tree roots protruded from the banks where torrential rains had eroded the soil. Long, black, twisted vines ran along the ground, circled up tree trunks and draped from limb to limb. Thick underbrush with tangled thickets and briars covered the ground between the trees.
Except for the historical signs with brief descriptions and history, the road hid its secrets from the casual traveler. Surrounded by natures beauty and bright sunshine, it was a very pleasant drive during the day, but at night the darkness seemed to draw the trees closer to the highway leaving the driver with limited vision and alone with his imagination. Many of the locals having grown up hearing the stories of the Traces dark history, believed the Trace to be haunted and avoided a nightly drive.
This was not Carols first time to travel the Trace. Over the years, she had made many educational trips with her parents up and down the highway. Her parents were great traveling companions and were never in a hurry as they followed the deep forestover a hundred species of treeslined highway that would occasionally open up to fields of wildflowers or growing crops. They would stop at every historical marker and sign that told the history of the area sharing with her their own familys history and their connection with the Trace. Her dad made every stop an adventure, as he left the car parked along the highway and led them into the woodsback in historyfollowing the old Trace and stopping to take pictures of wild flowers, woodland creatures, caves, and water falls. She had always loved traveling the Trace, but this was her first time, alone.
Remembering that the service station at the Jeff Busby Park was the last chance to fill her gas tank on the Natchez Trace Parkway before reaching Tupelo, she glanced down at her gas gauge. There wasnt enough gas in the tank to make the last sixty-nine miles, so she pulled into the station and parked along side one of the gas pumps. She saw the pay phone on the side of the building and thought about calling her parents but decided against it knowing that her Dad would fuss at her for not waiting until morning to start on her trip. He had warned her about traveling alone on the Parkway at night.
Carol pumped her gas then went inside to pay. As she opened the door, the smell of food stimulated her appetite. The growling in her stomach reminded her that she had not eaten since breakfast. She picked out a soft drink, a chicken sandwich, and an assortment of snacks. As she waited in line, she felt anxious. Now she wished that she had listened to her dad and not let her emotional feelings about the fight with her boyfriend dictate her action. Rather than sit around the apartment crying, she had hurriedly packed her clothes plus the clothes that her mom and dad had left the last time they visited and started out on her trip that afternoon.
After she had been waited on, she hurried to her car. With all the negative thoughts racing through her mind and wanting to put as many miles as she could of this road behind her before the sun went down, she turned her car onto the highway and with a heavy foot forced down the accelerator.
She was in too much of a hurry to notice the man leaning against an older model, faded blue car. He had seen her come in alone. The strangers eyes followed her car until it disappeared around the bend. He looked around to see if anyone was watching him then slid into his car, started it quickly, and headed toward Tupelo.
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