THE CAR WRECK


It was Christmas Eve, and a blizzard whipped down the Tuna Valley, turning Route 219 into a Slip-’N-Slide. Swirling snow enveloped the little village of Limestone, dimming all but the brightest stage lights beaming through a barroom window. Rock ’n’ roll pulsed through the walls there, and a raucous crowd cheered and whistled between every song.
When the music finally ended at midnight, three inebriated long-haired teens staggered from the smoky den and weaved across the parking lot to their snow covered Ford Maverick. After brushing off the windshield with their coat sleeves, the drunks clinked beer bottles in celebration and squeezed into the front seat. Spraying other partygoers with slush as they fishtailed out onto the road, they howled with mischievous glee. Then, they blasted off for Bradford.
“Wow! Was the Nail packed, or what?” jabbered Eddie Miller, taking another swig of his brew.
“That’s ’cuz the Orbit rocks hard, Pie Man!” blared a short, sloshed, muscular dude. “All the groovy people wanna see that band.”
“Yeah, Gator, they played everything from Hendrix to Crazy Elephant. They’re outta sight!”
“An’ what a smokin’ version they did of Spirit’s ‘I Got a Line on You,’ ” yelped Willie Lockwood, the driver of the Maverick. “When the guitarist ripped into his solo, I thought his amp was gonna blow!”
“Yeah-h-h!” wailed the other boys in unison, again clinked their beer bottles together. “Yeah-h-h!”
The pals’ rousing cheer had barely faded away when the Maverick veered toward the oncoming headlights in the northbound lane. Just before they rumbled across the medium, Willie finally remembered to grab the wheel.
“Hey, watch what you’re doin’,” squeaked Pie Miller, yanking another Schlitz from the six pack in his lap.
“You mean ya don’t like my drivin’?” cackled Lockwood, punching the gas so the light rear end of his vehicle slid dangerously toward the guardrails.
“Naw, you’re doin’ fine!” howled Gator. “God pertects all drunks an’ fools.”
“Then, we should be doubly safe,” chirped Pie, glaring at the driver.
“Ah, lighten up, will ya? I’m jess havin’ a little fun.”
The storm suddenly doubled in its ferocity, and Willie completely lost sight of the road ahead. Instinctively, he pumped the brakes and slowed his Maverick to a crawl. Then, he madly tromped on the floor switch to cut his headlights to low beam. With the glare eliminated from the swirling snow, he spotted the ghostly gleam of taillights several yards in front of him.
Lockwood had just regained his bearings when out of the squall appeared a wispy figure hitchhiking along the drifted berm. After wiping the steam from the windshield, Willie bellowed, “Hey, ain’t that Jeff Green?”
“Sure looks like ’im,” affirmed Pie, “but I thought he was in Viet Nam.”
“Better stop ’n’ see,” urged Gator. “It’s a hell of a night for anyone to be out there.”
Lockwood decelerated the Ford and pulled alongside a tall, young man dressed in Marine dress blues. The soldier sported a buzz cut. He wore no gloves. He looked absolutely numb when Pie threw open the passenger door and invited him to squeeze in the backseat.
“Hey, good ta see ya, Jeffery,” said Miller, reaching to shake hands with his old pal. “Man, are your fingers cold!”
“And look at how pale ya are!” exclaimed Gator. “Get in here before ya freeze your face off.”
“Anything’s better than dodging through rice patties with Charlie blazing away at you,” droned the lance corporal. “It’s a jungle out there alright, and it’s filled with trip wires and buried explosives.”
“So you have been to Nam,” declared Pie. “It sounds like ya had a really rough time. How about a brew? That’ll take your mind off the war.”
“No, I’m still recovering from a stomach wound. That’s why I got shipped Stateside.”
“How’d ya get hit?” gasped Willie, gulping the Schlitz Eddie offered him.
“I was in a bunker when Charlie overran our camp. We were operating a few clicks from Da Nang in a clearing the flyboys napalmed just a few days before.”
“If I get shipped to Nam, I hope I get stationed at Duc Lo,” joked Gator, “’cause that’s what I’d do the first time the Viet Cong attacked.”
“That’s not funny!” snapped Green. “If our sentries hadn’t been trippin’ on acid, I wouldn’t have taken shrapnel from the grenades Charlie dropped on my squad. My sergeant wasn’t so lucky. He had both of his legs blown off.”
“What a bummer,” wheezed Pie.
“Hey, but at least you’re safe now,” reminded Gator. “And tomorrow’s Christmas!”
“Yeah, and you’re home with your old buddies, too,” slurred Miller with a maudlin smile. “You’re welcome to go to the Nail with us anytime to hustle chicks. Man, you had all the babes fightin’ over ya in high school!”
Willie was about to make a lewd comment about the girls Jeff dated when he saw emergency lights and red flares glowing on the highway ahead. Instead, he muttered to his passengers, “Better hide them beers.”
The driver exhibited surprising sobriety as he reduced speed. Alertly, he stared through the windshield until he spotted a demolished Chevy blocking the road. The car had obviously spun out of control, rolled over several times, and came to rest on its roof. Its wheels were now facing the sky and spun haplessly in circles.
Willie watched aghast as state cops and county mounties swarmed around the smashed vehicle like bees from a broken hive. Finally, his eyes widened in recognition, and he croaked, “Hey, Jeff, ain’t that your old man’s vehicle all smashed to hell? Jeff? Jeff?”
Lockwood glanced tentatively in the rearview mirror, and his hippie locks stood straight up on his head. After blinking in disbelief, he finally worked up the courage to turn and glance behind him. At that moment he heard Gator and Pie Man gibber in sheer terror. Then, he knew his eyes didn’t betray him, for Jeffery Green had vanished from the backseat.