41 at Midnight - Part II

When the break-down occurred, two immediate problems faced us. Neither of us have great vision in the dark, so the first one was obvious. The other problem didn’t occur to us until Alicia climbed out of the car and reached back inside for her purse. I was already out of the car, waiting next to the passenger side, while she got situated. When she raised her head up to look at me from across the hood, she had a look of pure ecstasy on her face. Ok, I’m fibbing. Her expression didn’t remotely resemble ecstasy. It looked more like she wanted to smack someone and I was worried it might be me. I wondered at the possibility of it actually being my fault the car had died, and what she might have in mind to do to me for it. Alicia’s like our dad. She’s in habit of checking things on vehicles before trips; oil, gas, spare tire, those sorts of things. I just get in, turn the key and go.

She plonked her purse on the hood, and shrugged into her jacket saying, “Great! I didn’t bring my gun! I always bring my gun! The one time I leave it at home, and we have a break down in the middle of nowhere!” I speculated that she wanted to shoot someone, but she was only irked with herself and voicing it.

She stood there a short time wearing one of her looks (she has a few of them that are her exclusive expressive trademarks), then bent back into the car and started rifling around in the console. Shortly, she straightened up again, smiling and brandishing something shiny clutched in her fist.

“I found a nail file!” She looked so pleased with herself, like she’d just discovered a forgotten grenade stashed under her seat for a just in case moment like this one. With a proud smile, she stuck it point first into her jacket pocket. “If someone pulls up and gives us trouble, at least I have a weapon. Let’s go.”

My left eyebrow raised nearly two inches, but I managed to hold the thought for several paces before I simply couldn’t keep my mouth shut any longer. I really did try, but I couldn’t help it. She kept practicing pointing with it, her hand in her pocket, waving it like she had a cloaked revolver. I was thinking any minute she was gonna say that old movie line, “this is a stick up!”

I had to stop her before I collapsed with laughter. “So … if someone tries to get us, what’re you gonna do with that? Manicure ‘em to death?”

Alicia rolled her eyes, and produced another one of her trademark expressions. The one that makes me think she’s of the opinion that I have the I.Q. of a blonde-earthworm. She wears that look a lot. I think it’s one of her favorites.

“It’s better than nothing and it’s sharper than a rock.”

“You’ll have to get really close to use it. You better hope they don’t have a bigger nail file than you do.”

“It’s still better than nothing.”

“Only by a hair.” That was enough, and she was right. It really was better than nothing, but not by much. And since I try to pick my battles, I knew I’d not win one with her, so I dropped it and kept walking.

In the distance we could see the sky lighting up an area that looked to be the size of a large stadium. We had no idea what the place was. We only hoped there were people there, and that there would be a phone we could use to call home for someone to come and get us. It looked to be at least a mile away, maybe farther. And, while we walked, with the darkness pressing close, I began to get concerned. Not about crazies in cars, but about what might come at us from the field to the right, on my side of the road. It was fenced, but only three-wire fencing. Coyotes and wolves pay little attention to three-wire fencing. I’d seen enough of their carcasses on Highway 41 to know they came through these sorts of fences frequently.

While I walked, I kept scanning the ditch for a stick, or anything else I might be able to pick up that wouldn’t break if I needed to hit something with it. And, I was regretting the dinner because the food scent was clinging to both of us. My sister was worried about people who might try to accost us. I was worried about my last act in life being pounced by a furry four-legger with big teeth and ending up as coyote kibble on a lonely Indiana highway. I’d really hoped for something more impressive in my obituary.

I was brimming with anxiety over a possible coyote attack when less than half a mile into our walk a car slowed, and pulled up alongside us. The window lowered revealing a man and two women. They were polite and asked if we needed a ride. Alicia thanked them for the offer, assured them we were fine and that we didn’t have much farther to go. They accepted her reply and pulled away. In less than five minutes, another care pulled over, and the driver of this one wasn’t so quick to accept her refusal.

The car was black and had one occupant, a man. Alicia gave him the same story, but unlike the last driver, this one began insisting that we accept a ride. Next thing I knew, her voice got firm, and she was waving her jacket pocket telling the guy she was armed. She told him he needed to move out and keep going, that we weren’t interested in a ride.

This guy was probably a salesman. He was terribly persistent. I could tell his actions and conversation were getting Alicia excited, and not in a good way, and my anxiety climbed a bit higher. Not in fear of him. He didn’t worry me. She worried me. This one, he had no clue what sort of can he was opening, and if he pressed and did open it … there was gonna be a nasty mess to clean up. I figured mostly it’d be made up of bits and pieces of him. Even being an embalmer and med tech, my stomach has never been the strongest when it comes to handling those types of messes. I really hoped the guy would find some sense and leave.

From what little I could see of him, he was big. Big enough to be a little bit of a challenge. But, unless he actually had a gun, there were two of us, and only one of him. If he did have a gun, I hoped he was either a really good shot, or a really bad one. It also dawned on me that if their confrontation escalated into something physical, I’d not be able to save him. I was tired and my feet were in agony, and this guy … man! He was ruining my night even more than it was ruined already and he was on the verge of getting himself into all sorts of trouble. I began praying that God would move him to put his vehicle in gear and make tracks before he made my Anglo-Tribal sister, armed with her pointy nail file, mad enough to just climb in the car and get him.

Moments later, the man, for whatever reason, he gave up and roared off down the highway. I was so relieved to see his tail lights disappear in the dark. That little bit of diversion had meant that much more time in my boots. By the time he left, I was ready to take them off, wishing I could throw each of them at the cobbler’s head, and walk in my bare feet the rest of the way. The fact that the cobbler had been right only added insult to injury.

We crossed to the east side of the four-lane, and were now on the same side as the lighted complex ahead of us. Less than half an hour later we passed high fences on our left, with barbed wire wound across the top. Past the fencing, we discovered an empty guard shack near the open entry gate. The lights were on, but no one was home, and we needed a phone.

We only hesitated a few moments, there at the shack, wondering how much trouble we might get into if we headed onto the property. We didn’t see a sign telling us what the place was, but the high fencing iced with the fluffy barbed wire topping gave us the impression that they might not be keen on trespassers. The lot was bigger than a football field. The facility structure sitting all the way on the other side of it was massive and more than little intimidating.

We could either stand there and wait, or head in and hope to find someone who might let us make a call, or someone make a call for us. We decided to make our way to the big facility and hope for the best.

Either there really was no sign, or we missed it in the dark, or we didn’t walk far enough past the gate to see it. It’s also possible that our arrival caused the management at the Indiana State Penitentiary at Carlisle to decide one might be needed, and had it installed later.

The uniformed men, packing weapons far more impressive than my sister’s pointy nail file, sure weren’t happy to receive unexpected guests on their compound in the middle of the night.