Where the Highway Ends

By Jim Garrison

David Edward Trench was seventeen and hitchhiking across western Texas. He had ten dollars in his pocket, and everything he owned was in his backpack. He was wanted by the law in three states for small-time robberies, but none of that was going to matter to him after tonight. In three hours David would be dead.

David looked up at the dark and threatening sky and moaned, Oh, man. Im going to really get soaked this time.

A brown, long-horned steer in the pasture across the road looked up at the sound of his voice. For a brief moment they stared into each others dark eyes. The bone-thin steer quickly lost interest and went back to searching for something edible among the cacti and the west Texas dirt. David saw a jackrabbit scampering through the scrub brush. The steer ignored the long-eared creature as it hopped past.

David looked in both directions of the narrow straight road. He could see from horizon to horizon, and there wasnt a vehicle of any kind in sight. There hadnt been in hours.

His brain teased him with a list of what-ifs. What if the world had ended and everyone but him was dead? What if this was a dead-end highway and he was the only person on earth that didnt know it? What if he was headed straight toward some military test sight and was about to be blown up? He knew they still did nuclear testing someplace out west. He had read about it in the Enquirer. Any minute now a hydrogen bomb was going to explode, and he would disintegrate before he even had time to piss in his pants.

David tried telling himself how crazy this kind of thinking was. There was just a temporary lull in traffic. That's all. This road he was traveling went to El Paso and then on to New Mexico and eventually would take him to California. There wouldnt be any bombs going off like in all those fifties B movies or killer viruses making him puke his guts out and maybe not dying but wishing he could. No. This was just a regular two-lane highway across a really big state that didnt seem to have a whole lot of people in it, at least not west of Dallas and Fort Worth. No. This highway went all the way to California, and that was where he was headed. He was going to make a new life for himself there, maybe even change his name, and no one would ever find out about his past and all those robberies.

He had had two short rides today. With the luck he was having if a car did stop it would probably be a cop. Wouldnt that just take the cake?

How had it come to this anyway? How did he end up on the wrong end of the law when he had started out with nothing but good intentions? He had always tried to be good. He respected the law. His foster parents, the Millers, were good Christian people, and they had tried to raise him in their good Christian home. They had always taught him that stealing was wrong. A person wasnt supposed to steal, cheat, lie, or kill. So, why was he wanted in Missouri, Arkansas, and Oklahoma? All he ever wanted to do when he set out was just to go to California and start a new life. He hadnt started out with any bad intentions. Committing those robberies had never entered his mind.

David was sixteen and had two hundred and seventy dollars in his pocket, a full tank of gas, and lots of food in the back seat of the old blue 1968 Ford Falcon when he started out. He had gone as far as Knoxville, three hundred and fifty-five miles, when the fan belt broke. That hadnt been so bad, and there had been a gas station across the road from where he had coasted to a stop. He pushed the old car across the road and fifteen dollars later he was on his way again. A tire blew just outside of Nashville. He didnt have a spare. That had been somet

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 24, 2001
• ISBN: 9781462806348

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

David Edward Trench was seventeen and hitchhiking across western Texas. He had ten dollars in his pocket, and everything he owned was in his backpack. He was wanted by the law in three states for small-time robberies, but none of that was going to matter to him after tonight. In three hours David would be dead.

David looked up at the dark and threatening sky and moaned, Oh, man. I’m going to really get soaked this time.

A brown, long-horned steer in the pasture across the road looked up at the sound of his voice. For a brief moment they stared into each other’s dark eyes. The bone-thin steer quickly lost interest and went back to searching for something edible among the cacti and the west Texas dirt. David saw a jackrabbit scampering through the scrub brush. The steer ignored the long-eared creature as it hopped past.

David looked in both directions of the narrow straight road. He could see from horizon to horizon, and there wasn’t a vehicle of any kind in sight. There hadn’t been in hours.

His brain teased him with a list of what-ifs. What if the world had ended and everyone but him was dead? What if this was a dead-end highway and he was the only person on earth that didn’t know it? What if he was headed straight toward some military test sight and was about to be blown up? He knew they still did nuclear testing someplace out west. He had read about it in the Enquirer. Any minute now a hydrogen bomb was going to explode, and he would disintegrate before he even had time to piss in his pants.

David tried telling himself how crazy this kind of thinking was. There was just a temporary lull in traffic. That’s all. This road he was traveling went to El Paso and then on to New Mexico and eventually would take him to California. There wouldn’t be any bombs going off like in all those fifties B movies or killer viruses making him puke his guts out and maybe not dying but wishing he could. No. This was just a regular two-lane highway across a really big state that didn’t seem to have a whole lot of people in it, at least not west of Dallas and Fort Worth. No. This highway went all the way to California, and that was where he was headed. He was going to make a new life for himself there, maybe even change his name, and no one would ever find out about his past and all those robberies.

He had had two short rides today. With the luck he was having if a car did stop it would probably be a cop. Wouldn’t that just take the cake?

How had it come to this anyway? How did he end up on the wrong end of the law when he had started out with nothing but good intentions? He had always tried to be good. He respected the law. His foster parents, the Millers, were good Christian people, and they had tried to raise him in their good Christian home. They had always taught him that stealing was wrong. A person wasn’t supposed to steal, cheat, lie, or kill. So, why was he wanted in Missouri, Arkansas, and Oklahoma? All he ever wanted to do when he set out was just to go to California and start a new life. He hadn’t started out with any bad intentions. Committing those robberies had never entered his mind.

David was sixteen and had two hundred and seventy dollars in his pocket, a full tank of gas, and lots of food in the back seat of the old blue 1968 Ford Falcon when he started out. He had gone as far as Knoxville, three hundred and fifty-five miles, when the fan belt broke. That hadn’t been so bad, and there had been a gas station across the road from where he had coasted to a stop. He pushed the old car across the road and fifteen dollars later he was on his way again. A tire blew just outside of Nashville. He didn’t have a spare. That had been something he had always meant to take care of but just never got around to it. He jacked up the car, took the flat tire off, and rolled it along the side of the road for nearly two miles to a gas station. It couldn’t be patched so he purchased a re-tread for twenty dollars and by nightfall he was on his way again. He crossed the rest of Tennessee without incident and was feeling pretty good about everything when the engine started to overheat. On the West side of Memphis, just before crossing the Mississippi river, the engine blew in a great white cloud of steam.

He got out, opened the hood, and stared at the steaming engine. He had a hundred and twenty dollars left. That sure as hell wasn’t going to fix this. He thought about dumping the old car and taking a bus the rest of the way. Surely he could buy a ticket to California for a hundred and twenty dollars. He stared out across the wide, muddy river and thought about it for a long time. What was the hurry anyway? California was always going to be there. What were the chances of it sliding into the ocean before he got there? Memphis wasn’t all that bad. After all, wasn’t it the home of Elvis? He decided to stay for a while, get a job, and make enough money to fix the engine or even buy something better.

Later he would realize that had probably been the worst decision of his life.

David heard something. Could it actually be a car? He looked back, putting his hand above his eyes and straining to see. Yes. The setting sun was at his back and reflected off the windshield of the distant car.

David hadn’t prayed in a long time. God had stopped listening in a little one-horse town in Missouri when his money had run out and he hadn’t eaten in two days. An Exxon station had been the first place he had robbed. He took seventeen dollars from the cash register, a carton of Cokes, a handful of candy bars, locked the old man that ran the place in the storage room, and stole his ancient Chevy pickup. How was he supposed to know that old geezer had a bad heart? The newspaper said he was murdered. That was a load of crap. He had never killed anyone. The truck came to a sputtering stop ten miles down the road. Apparently the gas gauge was one of several things on the old wreck that didn’t work. Out of gas, he was on foot once again. It was the next day when he read about the old man’s death.

He prayed to the god of the highways the car would stop.

As the car got closer he seriously considered standing in the middle of the road but decided that would be the height of stupidity. He waved his arms frantically and hoped the driver had enough compassion to stop.

The car was going too fast. It wasn’t going to stop. It wasn’t even slowing down. He waved his arms back and forth, but in the end it blew past and quickly disappeared in the distance. He just stood there, his shoulders drooping, and stared at it until it was out of sight.

A horn blared, and he jumped off the pavement, tripping and tumbling into the shallow ditch beside the road. His first thought being that he was going to be splattered across the front of the car like some insect. David sat up and discovered he was shaken but otherwise uninjured. He stood and looked up at the bright yellow Corvette. The thing was sitting there, its engine rumbling and growling like a wild animal that wasn’t happy sitting still.

The driver, a young man close to his own age, he saw, had shaggy brown hair and was wearing a yellow shirt with flowers on it and dark sunglasses. He was half standing inside the car with one knee in the driver’s seat and looking down at him.

You’re one lucky bastard. You know that? He took off the sunglasses and laughed.

Why? Because you missed hitting me?

Naw. I saw you in plenty of time. You’re not hurt, are you?

No thanks to you. David dusted himself off. He looked around for his backpack. It had come off when he fell. What few possessions he still owned were in that backpack.

Sorry, man. Hey, it’s over there. The young man pointed. Guess I scared the shit out of you, didn’t I? Sorry about that.

What makes you think that? David tried to make his voice sound as sarcastic as possible.

"What do you want, man? I said I was sorry. The name’s Blake,

Blake Curtis. You can call me Blake." He laughed again. David guessed that this guy didn’t have a care in the world. The car was probably a gift from his old man, and he probably had a wad of cash on him too.

David began to formulate a plan to steal the car and any money Blake had on him. He convinced himself Blake was going to get what he deserved. This could be that elusive ticket he had been looking for. He would ditch this guy someplace out here in no man’s land, and it would be days before anyone would find him. By then he would be through New Mexico and halfway across Arizona.

A vision of the old man in the back room of the Exxon briefly flashed through his head. It wouldn’t be like that, he told himself. This guy was young and healthy.

David retrieved his backpack and climbed out of the shallow ditch. He knew what he would like to call this guy, and it sure as hell wasn’t Blake.

Be nice, David. Remember, you need this guy. You need him real

bad.

You sure you’re okay? Nothing broken?

What do you care?

I guess I got that coming, but I didn’t know you were going to jump like that.

I’m fine. David answered as he walked past him. I sure could use a ride though. I think you owe me that much.

Sure. That’s why I stopped. Hey, I really didn’t mean to scare you like that.

What makes you think you scared me?

Okay. Let’s drop it. I’m on my way to San Diego. You’re welcomed to join me if you like. I mean, it gets pretty boring traveling by yourself. I could really use some company.

What other choice do I have? David turned and forced a grin. He hoped it didn’t look as fake as it felt.

Whatever, but it’s the least I can do. He grinned. There was something about Blake. David was having a hard time not liking him. As much as he would like to hate this guy he found himself liking him. He reminded himself again of the plan. It was going to be a lot easier to do this if he kept reminding himself of all the things about the guy that he didn’t like.

Don’t get too friendly. Remember, the first opportunity you get, you’re dumping this guy.

David walked around the yellow Corvette, admiring it. Nice car. Not stolen, is it?

Hell no. I paid cash for it.

How much? He stroked the chrome roll bar behind the seats. He had never seen anything like that on a Corvette before. Curtis must have added it.

Probably a lot more than I should have, he laughed. It was a present from my old man. Blake held out his hand. As they say out here in the old west, what’s your handle, partner?

David accepted his handshake, finding it stronger than he would have thought.

David Trench. He answered without thinking. Now, that was really stupid. Why don’t you just tell him about the robberies too? That way when they finally do find him he can tell them all about you. I’ve never ridden in a ‘Vette before. All I ever owned was a ‘68 Ford Falcon. Another stupid confession. The cops had found the Falcon a few miles from the Exxon station. They had gotten his name from the registration he had left in the glove compartment. Why didn’t he just come right out and tell him the cops in three states were looking for him?

Well, let me tell you. There’s nothing like a Corvette. Them foreign sports cars might cost more but this is the one, baby. American born and American made. Take my word for it. Toss your bag behind the seat and hop in. I’ll give you a test run.

David had barely closed the door when the Corvette took off like a rocket.

Wow! That’s some acceleration.

So, where you going in the big C, partner?

Where?

California, man. You know. The big C.

Oh, I get it. I don’t remember saying I was going to California.

Guess you didn’t at that. Well, Amarillo is the next town. It’s about ninety miles up ahead. There you could go north to Oklahoma or south to Mexico. But who wants to go to Mexico, and I hear Oklahoma sucks. They say that’s what keeps Texas from sliding into the Gulf. Get it? Oklahoma sucks. He laughed.

David didn’t think it was very funny and didn’t even crack a smile. That joke was already old when he was a little boy.

"Okay, so it wasn’t much of a joke. So where exactly are you headin’?"

Hollywood. David stated without looking at him. Why not tell him? Like they would ever find him out there anyway. The first thing he would do when he got there would be to dump the car and change his name.

Hollywood? Well, I’ll be damned.

What’s so funny?

Nothing. Hollywood, huh? You going to be in the movies? No. I bet you’re a movie star in disguise.

Not likely. San Diego, huh? David changed the subject. You going to be in the zoo? I hear there’s an opening in the monkey house.

Good one. I deserved that. You know, I like you Dave.

The name’s David.

Whatever, laughed Blake. You know what I think? Of course you don’t. I think you’re a lot like me, David. You’re looking for something. You just don’t know what it is yet. Am I right?

Whatever. David used Blake’s response.

I’m going to school at UCLA. My parents idea, not mine. This ‘Vette was a present from them. I call it a going away gift.

Where you from? David asked.

I’m not from around here, that’s for sure. Was from Tennessee, McMinnville. It’s a crappy little town in the middle of nowhere. You probably never even heard of it. It’s about sixty miles southeast of Nashville. For the first time David saw a shadow cross Blake’s face. My parents were killed while I was in Florida on Spring Break. It was hit and run. Cops never caught the person. I don’t think they tried too hard. My old man wasn’t the town’s favorite son, if you know what I mean.

David had an idea. Sorry, man.

That’s okay. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Damn bugs. They took real good care of me though. Left me a chunk of cash and a trust with the stipulation that I have to go to UCLA and hold a 3.1 average. In return I get a nice monthly allowance and a hundred grand at graduation. If I don’t graduate then the hundred grand goes to charity.

Bummer.

Tell me about it. I never wanted to go to college, at least not right away. Hiking across Europe, that’s what I had in mind. But that takes money, and I lost my meal ticket. No way am I letting a hundred grand go to charity.

They were your parents, man. You lost your parents. That’s got to be tough.

For the briefest moment David thought he saw a shadow cross Blake’s face.

Don’t get the wrong idea. They were great people, but we didn’t get along very good. I put up with their rules and pretty much did what I was told. I think of this as getting what I deserve.

David checked the speedometer. They were going over a hundred and Blake was still accelerating.

Don’t you think you should slow down?

Not scared, are you?

Me? David heard his voice crack. He hoped Blake hadn’t heard it also. Course not. I love to go fast.

Great. Cause that’s the way I drive. What do you say we see how fast this baby will really go? It’s about time she was blown out anyway.

S—Sure.

Blake pressed on the accelerator and the needle swung past one hundred and twenty. David searched for and found the seatbelt.

He snapped it on just because it seemed like a good idea. He saw that Blake wasn’t wearing his.

Don’t you think you should put on your seatbelt?

Blake looked at him and grinned. I don’t believe in seatbelts. Seatbelts are for sissies.

Then call me a sissy.

Okay, sissy. Blake looked at him and grinned.

David would always remember that look. It was the last time he ever saw Blake alive.

Blake! David screamed above the wind noise. There’s something in the road!

What? He turned his head and jerked the wheel to the left.

David was pointing, but Blake had already seen the jackass and had locked down the brakes.

Holy shi—! He never finished.

The Corvette hit something in the road, maybe a pothole or a rock. It flipped, rolled several times then flipped again. The last time it left the pavement, skidded through the dirt and brush for several more yards before finally stopping. At the end it rocked back and forth, upside down, as the dust settled.

The jackass casually strolled past them, continuing down the center of the deserted highway as if nothing had happened. Any other time it might have been funny.

Blake? David shook him. Blake? You okay?

Blake wasn’t okay. He hadn’t been wearing his seatbelt. His chest had broken the steering wheel, and his head the windshield. There was blood everywhere. Himself, he hadn’t been hurt as far as he could tell, but Blake wasn’t breathing. The roll bar had kept them from being crushed and now allowed just enough clearance for him to squeeze out of the car between the top of the door and the ground.

When he finally got out and found he could stand on his two wobbly but otherwise able legs he walked around the car. The fiberglass body was broken in several places. A rear wheel was missing. Luggage and pieces of the car were strewn everywhere.

The car began to smoke. That couldn’t be a good sign, he thought.

David sank to his knees on the driver’s side, then to his stomach. He shook Blake and called his name, but Blake didn’t answer. David felt his neck for a pulse. The skin was already cold to his touch. He was amazed how fast the body cooled off once a person was dead.

Oh, man. He got up. Oh, man. He repeated, turning around and around. This wasn’t part of the plan. He wasn’t going to kill Blake. He didn’t want him dead, just out of the way for a while. He had never killed anyone. I can’t stay here, man. I got to get out of here before the cops show up. He looked at the smoking car again; fell to his knees once again. You got to understand, man. If they find me I’ll go to jail. I can’t stay.

He looked around for his backpack, didn’t see it anyplace, but did see Blake’s bags. He remembered what Blake had said about a trust and UCLA. This was just the ticket he needed. This was better than stealing the Corvette. An opportunity like this was just too good to let pass.

He turned to Blake again and somehow managed to get Blake’s wallet out of his back jeans pocket. He stood shakily again and checked its contents. There was over five hundred dollars in it, some travelers’ checks, a social security card, a gas card, and a bankcard for a bank in San Diego. He took his own wallet out of his back pocket (In it, was his West Virginia’s drivers license, his social security card and not much else.) and pushed it behind Blake’s blood-soaked back.

He and Blake looked a lot alike. In fact, they looked so much alike they could have been brothers from the same parents. He was sure he could pass for Blake in California. Maybe he should report the ‘Vette stolen. Let the cops think David Trench was killed in a stolen Corvette. Yes, this was just the opportunity he needed to start over again, a clean slate.

Blake’s two duffle bags lay a hundred yards from where the Corvette had ended up. As he was picking up the bags he thought he heard something. A twig breaking? Rocks falling? He looked around but didn’t see anything. There was a pile of boulders maybe a hundred yards from the road, some cacti holding up their prickly arms, and one old naked oak, long dead. Nothing moved. There wasn’t even a breeze.

He slung one bag over his right shoulder and started walking. He guessed that he had been walking for maybe fifteen minutes when he heard the explosion. The night sky behind him lit up like it was daylight and the ground vibrated.

Once again the memory of the old man in the back room of the Exxon flashed through his head.

Oh, man. He should have tried to get him out. The guy didn’t deserve to end up like that. He tried reminding himself that Blake was already dead. It wasn’t like that other time. He was just as dead in that burning car as he would have been lying next to it. This way no one was going to be able to tell who he