Lunacy

Lunacy Dale Cusack 2001-1-31 ?

The summer sun beat down upon the miles of maize and cornfields that
patch worked the landscape. Crows flapped from corn to maize feasting
on the sun-ripened kernels and fighting each other needlessly for
possession. The scene, repeated for miles, was cut only by a thin red
line rolling in from as far south as could be seen to as far north as
could be made out.

The truck bounced its way between deep wheel ruts on the dusty clay
surface. Its once shiny red exterior, long since succumbed to the sun's
glare, was a pale pink. Its sleek curves, however, remained as an
exciting reminder of the exotic designs of the past. A time when, style
and looks, meant more than wind tunnels and efficiency.

Inside, the cabin was littered with yellow burger wrappers and half
eaten crusts, dried hard in the sun. All this rested upon a large,
overly stuffed, leather bench seat. The cracked leather browned with
age, strained under the weight of the driver, whose overly stuffed bulk
oozed through his dungarees. A fly drifted aimlessly above his matted
hair before finally coming to rest upon the stitching of the leather
seat. The driver shot out a chubby fist swatting at the fly. Wrappers
tossed up in the violence of the swat, blew about the cabin with one
catching on the driver's face.

***

Grimy sweat traced glistening snail trails from brow to chin, as the
hitchhiker lumbered slowly on under the midday sun. His huge rounded
shoulders held an equally large head. Every other feature was lost
within the folds of an enormous grey coat. The dry stillness was broken
by the sound of an approaching vehicle. A large thumb projecting bolt
upright from a huge fist crept out of a shabby grey overcoat. Not
stopping to look the hitchhiker plodded on, sweating under the weight
of his coat.

***

Peeling the wrapper from his face, the driver looked back to the road
in time to see a giant grey figure plodding along the roadside. The
driver, swerving up out of the wheel ruts, over compensated, and
fishtailed across the road before finally regaining control amid a
cloud of red dust and face reddening curses. Looking in his rear view
mirror, he scanned for the huge man he had almost hit.

***

The sound of the engine drew nearer, then the sounds of straining
suspension and dirty brakes followed. An oxidised pinkish red object
flashed past the hitchhiker, hurtled up, and over the center mound,
then banged back down into the wheel ruts to straddle the road again.
The wind, catching up, enshrined the truck in a reddish dust.

***

"Dang!" "A frikken hitchhiker in the middle of godforsaken nowhere."
The driver slowed. His conscience pricked by nearly running this
hulking giant over and his curiosity piqued as to what he could be
doing way out here, he stopped, leant across the bench seat and opened
the passenger side door. Swooping the wrappers and a dead fly out onto
the road with one hand he honked the horn with the other.

***

Dust clung to the sweat caking the hitchhiker's face. He wiped at his
brow with his cuff smearing it all over his face. He lumbered forward a
little faster and stopped at the open door of the truck. The truck
laboured dangerously sideways under the weight as the hitchhiker
climbed in.

The driver grunted greetings at the hitchhiker as he pulled himself
inside. His glassy reddened eyes, leered over the stranger as he
settled into the seat. The giant's grey overcoat was covered in red
clay dust, his tangled black hair, now caked with red dust, had dried
to his skin.

The hitchhiker didn't return the once over, choosing instead to
concentrate on the road, as the driver put the truck back to its
journey.

Worn out after his long drive, the driver turned to the hitchhiker for
conversation. Without turning to look at the stranger he asked "Where
ya headin?" His words as tired as he felt, hung in the air amidst the
cloud of bad breath that exuded from his unwashed mouth.

Yet, no answer was forthcoming from the hitchhiker who merely gazed
woodenly forward.

Unperturbed, the driver continued. "I'm goin as far as Merville."
Still, the hitchhiker made no reply. The driver's eyes narrowed a
little and he tried again "The name's Harv." This time the hitchhikers
silence angered Harv. He slammed his hand down upon another fly running
across the dash. Still there was no response from the Hitchhiker. "Wad
you say mista? You godda name?"

Now Harv was angry, he reached over and prodded the stranger in the
shoulder. "I'm talking to you bud!" his voice harsh and dry. If the
hitchhiker was startled by Harv's punch he didn't show it. He merely
continued gazing vacantly out through the front window. Fresh sweat
dripped down his chin and fell onto his lap.

Why is he wearing that damn coat in this heat? He must be insane. Shit,
that's it. He's a loon. Harv scratched his belly with his yellow
fingernails. Bits of tomato sauce collected under the nails and he
chewed it out with the edge of a tooth.

Slowly the hitchhiker turned to face Harv. His eyes were wide and
bloodshot from the dust. The sweat, mixed with the clay caked to his
face was oozing viscously down his chin. A broad grin parted his
cracked lips and he reached inside his great grey overcoat.

Harv's throat got drier. He couldn't tear his gaze away from those moon
shaped eyes. The hitchhiker's face was covered in blood his hideous
grin betraying some cruel intentions buried in his mind. He was
reaching inside his coat for a knife and was going to slash him and
drink his blood too.

Harv's eyes watered as he dry coughed on his own spit. His leg, finally
wrought into action by his dim brain straightened and the aged break
pads clamped onto the drums. The truck squealed and slid across the dry
clay road. Harv felt under the seat for the old Smith and Wesson he had
taped there. His fingers touched the cold steel and he withdrew the
revolver.

The hitchhiker had had one hand on the dash as he reached inside his
greatcoat. The driver's rapid application of the breaks caused him to
fly forwards but he was buffeted by his other hand. He glanced his head
off the dash but was only slightly grazed. The hand that was reaching
inside his coat had removed something but it was thrown free in the
force of the stop.

"Out! Out! Before I shoot ya down here ya monster!" Harv's usual drool,
now replaced by a high-pitched squeal.

The Hitchhiker, wild with fright, swung wide at the gun in the drivers
hand. The gun hit the window and fell to the dash before slipping onto
the floor and out of view. The hitchhiker seizing this opportunity
fumbled madly at the door catch and finally sprawled out onto the dusty
clay below.

Harv squealed as the punch that knocked the gun from his hand connected
and he closed his eyes for the deathblow to follow. When he opened them
he found he was once again alone in the truck. Harv wasted no time in
stamping the accelerator and popping the clutch. The force of Harv's
egress dislodged something from under the seat that caught his
attention. He slowed and leaned over to grab what had fallen from the
hitchhikers hand.

***

The Hitchhiker had half fallen half leapt from the truck and now lay
sprawled in the ditch between the road and the maize fields. He heard
the truck accelerate away. He was still grinning as he wiped his brow
and picked himself up setting himself once again upon the road.

***

Harv pulled the object from the floor. It was a laminated plastic card,
like a library card, with some writing upon it.

Introducing
George

I'm deaf and mute.
If you find me, please
call my Mum.
15 Knoakes Lane, Oakville
Phone (098) 55 457 619

The truck bounced on through the maize. The sun continued to fade the
paint on the trucks roof and the crows still scrapped over the
corn.