(Follow a short story a half chapter at a time. Approx 500 words.)

End of the Line   Chapter One Part A

Sometimes you must go-it alone.

            The thought came like some aphorism of hope. It felt like a big gaping hole. More sayings came scrolling though. 

            It’s always darkest before the dawn.

            Never ever give up.

            Today is the first day of the rest…

            The soft ding of the low-fuel indicator brought Mark back to the here and now. “Oh, for the love of…” He drove the afternoon away, and drained the tank, which is hard to do with a Miata.

            “Hey, Siri, where’s the nearest gas station?”

            “Okay, on it…There is one in Shawquist. Twenty-three miles. Would you like directions?”

            “Sure.”

            “I didn’t get that.”

            “Yes. I meant Yes.”

            “Okay.”

            Twenty-three miles was a crapshoot, seeing how flat the needle was laying down. His apathy was thrown to the back seat as the new mission was making it to Shawquist. He tapped at the gauge, like they do in airplane disaster movies. The needle didn’t budge. He eased up on the accelerator and coasted when possible. His thoughts fought between ‘making it’ and ‘who cares’.

            That’s how he sealed the deal with Jen. On their second date he ran out of gas. She raised an eyebrow. It took an Uber ride to calm her suspicions. They chit-chatted their way to the filling station and back. The conversation settled her eyebrow back into resting position. In fact, her smiles synchronized both eyebrows. As they traded stories, a plethora of facial expressions were tossed back and forth. From then on when the gas tank got low Mark reached for Jen’s hand and  double pumped their grip.    

            Now, like a lava-lamp, a knot crept up his throat. He blinked hard as he checked the needle laying prostrate on the bottom leg of the ‘E’. He couldn’t reach out to entwine his fingers with Jen’s. This time running on empty felt empty.

             So, this is where the middle of nowhere is. I lost my best friend. I have one bar of cell service. The fuel pump is lapping up the last of the gas. Is the dead deer on the shoulder some kind of sick message? Lord, what’s going on? Part of me cares about making it, and yet without Jen, what’s the point? Help.

            He was gliding, and ever-so-slightly pressed the gas pedal. The engine sputtered out. He heard only tires on the gravel. The pinching and popping slowed to a stop. Mark glanced upward “Thanks for the help.”

Like a stressed-out smoker, Mark drew air through his mouth and exhaled hard through his nose. His phone didn’t die, but no longer had service, so he shut it down to conserve the battery. Maybe the top of the hill would pick up a signal.

He was thankful he had pickleball sneakers on. Lucky it wasn’t wingtips from the office.  He threw valuables in the trunk, grabbed a windbreaker, the last of an iced tea, and a revolver from the glove compartment.