Chapter the 4th
Michael was beyond swearing either at the Will o' the Wisp or at his own foolishness. He didn't feel anything but the cold sinking through his jacket into his bones. The Will o' the Wisp's laughter echoed in his mind in the quiet moments between the few cars driving by on the expressway. Michael began to wonder if World War III had taken place while he was on the bus and he was one of few left alive. He sniffed the air to see if he smelled any radiation, but he only picked up gas fumes. Then a long black car came by. Michael held out his arm. The driver passed him by.
"Sewerhead," Michael growled to himself.
Each time a car or truck came by, Michael held out an arm. Each time a car or truck passed him by, his arm ached a little more. His stomach complained of lack of food, but Michael had other things to think about. His tired head was such a jumble of images of what he had seen on the bus that he wondered if he was confusing dream with reality. There was a unicorn on the bus, and there was a dragon. The strange woman told him that the dragon was a kind creature but he still did not believe her. He had believed in the good will of the Will o' the Wisp only to be betrayed by him.
“Well fair is fair,” Michael muttered to himself. “I guess I betrayed Scott, so why shouldn’t I get a taste of my own medicine? I suppose it wouldn’t have hurt to let him come with me. He’s not so bad. Maybe we’d be together right now, walking through Carelin, trying to find my uncle’s place as the streets keep changing places on us.”
The grating squeal of a truck's breaks shook Michael's mind back to reality. He ran after the steel monster until he caught up with it. A grim face looked down from the cab and beckoned to Michael. So he climbed up into the cab. The driver watched a car go by before pulling into the right lane. He was a heavy-set man with cropped hair and a stubble of beard on his chin. With a start, Michael wondered if his father had just taken up truck driving and come after him. A second look made it clear it wasn't his father at all.
"Where you going?" asked the driver.
"Carelin."
"Never heard of it."
“Neither has anybody else,” Michael replied. “You have to be in the club to know about it."
"What club?"
"The Optimists for Our Washed Out Society Club."
"Hmm. Some club. Trying to overthrow the government or something?"
“Something like that."
The driver shifted into full gear and passed a small car that wasn't going fast enough for him.
“We're going in the right direction," added Michael.
“Right direction for what?”
“The right direction for Carlin.”
"Glad to hear it. I'm heading for New York."
"Sounds exciting."
“Road’s starting to look funny,” the driver mumbled.
Michael looked out the window and saw a field growing wild between the traffic lanes.
“I guess this is the kind of road you take to get to Carelin,” said Michael. “Otherwise, I guess any direction will do.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean all roads lead to Carelin.”
“Are you sure that this place exists?”
“Of course not. What does existence have to do with anything?”
“I don’t know,” said the driver. “If I see something, it’s there. If I don’t see something, it’s not there. Simple as that.”
“Maybe some things don’t exist until you think them up.”
“Sounds fishy to me.”
Michael tried thinking about the silvery bus that looked like it had wings on it. Something seemed to result from his effort. The driver gunned up his motor again and passed the black car that had been the first to ignore Michael's plea for a ride.
"Where you from?" asked the driver.
"Milton."
"Hmmm. Running away from home?"
"Looks like it, doesn't it?"
"Yep."
"Going to turn me in?"
"Nope. It's a free country. Supposed to be anyway. Shouldn't have to stay at home if you don't want to. Should be free to run away from anything you want. Should be free to run to anything you want.”
"Doesn't do any good if one place is a bad as another," said Michael.
"I suppose not."
"Maybe another world'll be better."
As he said those words, Michael was overcome with a desire to reach Carelin and see the town for himself. He tried again to think the bus back into existence but doubted that wishing was going to do any good.
"Maybe some other world would be better,” said the truck driver, “wouldn't count on it."
"I wouldn't either. Especially if the people are as crummy there as they are here."
Just as quickly, Carelin seemed further than any dream when Michael made that cynical reply.
"Getting away from school?" asked the driver.
"I guess so. Unless you got a school in this truck."
The driver chuckled ironically.
"You don't like learning either?" the burly man asked Michael.
"Don't even know Columbus discovered America. Don't want to know."
"Guess you just don't want to know anything, do you?"
Michael grunted and began to doze off. The offer of a cigarette revived him. Soon both were smoking away.
"Been to New York?" asked the truck driver.
"No."
"Nothing like it in the world. They got anything you want. Anything."
"Dragons and unicorns?"
"If there are any dragons or unicorns, I’m sure New York has them.”
"Glad to hear it. Sounds like New York is the city of my dreams."
"You could say that.”
"Does that mean I must be dreaming of air pollution and getting mugged?"
"Might. You want to keep on trucking with me to New York if we don’t find this Carelin you talked about."
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
"What were you going to Carelin for?"
"Don't know. Deliver more papers, I guess."
"You're a paperboy?"
"Was."
The driver grunted.
"You'll need a job, no matter where you go," said the driver. "New York's got lots of jobs for a kid like you. Jobs with tax-free income."
"Bully for New York. Milton's got no jobs. Just ask my old man if you don't believe me.”
"I believe you. Worked in a steel mill myself. Don’t anymore. You can get big money working with me. There's some real work involved, but it still might be better than some of the jobs you can get."
"What? Lifting weights in the nude in some nightclub?"
The driver's knowing chuckle disappointed Michael. He decided he should have known he couldn’t gross out a man like that.
"You're not so uneducated in the things that count,” said the driver. "I can save you from that kind of job. When I get to New York, I can use some help unloading. You'll have so much tax-free income, you can live high on the hog and have enough left over to send to your poor ol’ mamma.”
"Wouldn't send her a penny if you paid me."
"Then keep it for yourself. Just like everybody else."
"Will do. What've you got for me to unload?"
"Guns."
Michael gulped.
"What for?"
"Central America."
"They're fighting wars down there, aren't they?"
"You bet your last pair of boots they are. Might get your Dad his job back."
"How?"
"The guys we sell guns to blow up the governments down there. The blown-up governments can't keep factories going. New governments drive out Americans. No steel mills there. No more cheap labor. Have to open them up again in Milton."
"Serve 'em right."
"That's what I say. Every man for himself. They don't care about us. We don't care about them. Simple as that."
Michael finished his cigarette and threw it out the window. There was no civilization in sight. No road signs or anything. The grass on the median was at least kinee-high.
"What if the war gets bigger?" Michael asked.
"So?"
"WHAT IF WE BLOW UP THIS WHOLE STINKING ASSHOLE OF A PLANET?!"
The driver was unmoved.
"Not much of a loss, is it?"
The driver's logic chilled Michael. Michael thought the same way he did but suddenly, he didn’t like it. He stated thinking again about how badly he wanted to see Carelin and find out what his Uncle Martin was like. He pulled the crumpled letter out of his pocket and stared at the drawing of the dragon. This dragon almost appeared to be likeable. Michael began to imagine himself sitting on a park bench next to the unicorn with glittering eyes. What would they say to each other? After muffing his chance, would he get another one, or was he going to ride this highway forever and never see another exit? When the trunk just kept on rumbling along with no exits, no bridges, no cars appearing, Michael began to fall into a stupor. The truck bounced around a bit as the road got rougher.
“Wonder when they last fixed this piece of road,” grumbled the driver.
“Before the Indians came here, I guess,” said Michael.
The driver him spat out a profanity. Michael looked into the rear-view mirror on his side and saw a police car trailing them. Sweat formed on the driver's hands. Ahead, Michael saw a wooden sign announcing an exit for Carelin.
"Let me out," Michael demanded. "There's the exit."
"Ain't no exit."
"They're after me. Better get rid of me fast. Told you I was a runaway."
The driver sped past the exit.
“I asked you to stop,” said Michael.
"Can't stop. Got to get away," said the driver.
Up ahead there was a stranded car with a frantic woman beside it waving her handkerchief.
"Stop to help her," said Michael. "They won't think you're a crook if you stop and offer help."
Grunting at Michael's inspiration, the driver put on the breaks, pulled off the side of the road, and backed up towards the distressed woman. As soon as the truck stopped, Michael leaped out of the cab, and landed in the overgrown grass. The highway was gone There was no police car, no stranded motorist, no truck and no exit ramp. A breath of fresh air cleared Michael's head a little. He was standing in the middle of a field that seemed never to have been tended by human hands.