Route 95

Story

  Route 95

  By Samie Foster

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and events are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely fiction.

  Route 95

  By Samie Foster

  Copyright 2016 By Samie Foster

  ISBN: 9781370109425

  Author’s Notes

  ……………………………….................................................................

  A long time ago before I started actually self-publishing and taking my hobby more seriously, I used to write more comedy pieces. I’m not sure what happened between then and now, but I thought I would experiment a little bit and try to recapture that the spark I had way back when. So I hope you enjoy.

  ………………………………..................................................................

  Route 95

  There’s a set of unwritten rules. A secret code live our lives by. You know, the things no one should ever do. Things like never drink orange juice right after you brush your teeth. Never try to eat that chicken in can from the local dollar store. And if Jimmy is sitting all alone in the break room, never ever try to be his friend. That’s a long story and please just take my word for it, and never do it. But the most sacred of all of them is to not ride a bus after ten at night. It’s like an unwritten law of common sense that has been passed down through generations. And here I was, breaking that law.

  With a storm brewing around me, I found myself standing alongside the world’s longest highway with a car that decided it just wanted to combust that night. The car was puffing smoke and smelled of burnt plastic. The remains of my burning cell phone sat in the pavement under the pouring rain as nothing more than a shadow of its former self.

  I wanted no more bad news. I just wanted the bus to come down the damn road and get me somewhere else. A town, with people, and phones and motels and mechanics. Anywhere besides the stretch between Davey Crocket’s motel and a roadside Piggly Wiggly.

  The bus came putting down the road with a busted headlight it. Smoke whirled around the bus creating a through the roof carbon foot print. The tires were patched. The green and white city transit paint was flaking off to reveal steel underneath. I cringed at the sight of it. It was like a discount special I’ve seen at Rust Bucket Dave’s Auto Sales. I have never seen a bus this bad before. No wonder they only drive it at night.

  The doors opened with a loud squeak and a man with a handle bar mustache gave me a tobacco yellow grin.

  “Where ya heading lady?” he said.

  “Carlton.”

  “Well hop aboard pretty lady. We’ll get you there.”

  Okay. So I stepped up placing the debit card in the slot. I heard no beep.

  “It’s broken. Doesn’t accept cards,” the man told me.

  Okay. No problem, I figured. Some of the machines are fancy. So I looked to the dollar slot. Pulling a dollar bill out, I began to flatten it to place it through.

  “Doesn’t take cash either. Only change.”

  Really? It sounded ridiculous, but I went with it. I had just a few quarters. As I dug them out of my purse I started to count the quarters, I noticed he was giving me a funny look.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Doesn’t take quarters either.”

  Bullcrap! “What the hell does it take?”

  “Nickels and some pennies that were made after the 2006. You know the ones with Lincoln sitting on a log with an axe. Only those ones.”

  “Look, I can’t pay in nickels or the 2006 pennies but-“

  “The Lincoln ones.”

  “They’re all Lincoln ones.”

  “But these have logs and-“

  “Yes. I know what the pennies look like!” I blurted. “But I’ll pay whatever in cash to you so I get somewhere okay. So how much?”

  “Twenty?”

  “That’s like ten times the bus fair.”

  “Twenty firm,” he repeated.

  I scowled at him knowing well that this was a scam. But I sure the hell wasn’t hiking fifty miles in the rain. I gave him the damn twenty and boarded the bus.

  I passed a skinny cigarette salesmen at the front and the love affair in the middle. I really think there were other places to make out than across the seats of a bus that was just little less rotten the nightmare realm of Silent Hill.

  I found a seat next to a nerdy fellow who seemed normal. At least normal compared to all the rest on the bus. I sat down quietly. The ride out of Timbuktu was going to take at least three hours. So I figured I might as well get comfortable. I leaned back with the thought that I could sleep through the trip. But just as I laid my head back felt a sharp jab to the back of the shoulder. I immediately turned in my seat to find out what the hell it was. Something shouldn’t have been jabbing me in the back. I felt the back of the seat. Then I found it. It was a needle. I pulled it out carefully and examined it. My question as to why it was there left me when I discovered it was an empty hypothermic needle rather than a sewing needle.

  Oh joy. I guess I was going to get a blood test when I got back to town.

  “Hey Becky can I have that needle?” a man said.

  I looked up to see shaggy red haired man with a serious case of straying eye syndrome. He was pale and had a slight twitch to him.

  “I’m not Becky,” I said.

  “Sure you are. All chicks I dig are being called Becky,” he said. “But can I have the needle. I lost mine. I need a replacement.”

  Ahhh, who was I to turn down a poor, innocent, little junkie? I guess it would a wonderful, charitable donation to this lovely bus.

  “Sure,” I said. I handed him the needle.

  “Thanks a lot Becky,” he said.

  Whatever. As long as I could sit down again. I double checked the seat again. It seemed safe, so I sat down. I leaned back once more with the idea that I could possibly sleep for the rest of the trip. But = this odd noise broke any chance of that. It was a grunting noise.

  I opened my eyes following the sound. There I found that nerdy fellow next to me just lost his normal ranking as I found then and there he was a compulsive elbow sniffer. He was holding his arm high in the air as he was sniffing it. It was weird. And I wouldn’t care, but he had to grunt while he was doing it?

  The bus then came to a screeching halt throwing me forward into the back of the raggedy seat in front of him. A new bruise to remind me of this lovely night. I turned looking past the elbow sniffer into the window. I quickly saw that the bus had stopped for a stranger on the side of the road.

  But this fellow was not someone stranded on the side of the road. He was a tall skinny man in a stained grey jumpsuit with a burlap bag over his face. A large duffle bag was in his hand, just big enough to carry a machete, rifle, small chainsaw or body parts. Seriously he couldn’t be anything other than a serial killer. Why did the bus driver stop for him? Maybe he didn’t see the mask. Maybe when the crazy guy steps up the doors, the scamming bus driver will have to sense to close the doors and drive away. I held my breath looking up front.

  I nearly choked when the blood stained jump suited man boarded the bus.

  Crap! I leaned back. Maybe he wouldn’t kill us. Maybe he would just ride it into town and kill someone else. I sighed looking at the back of the seat in front of me.

  “Why are you staring at the seat like that? It’s kind of weird,” said the elbow sniffing wonder.

  “Just please-“I began but there was a sudden growl.

  I turned to the probable killer standing right in front of him in the aisle. His blood shot eyes stared down at me. He didn’t speak. He just stood there
in a menacing fashion making the growling throat noise.

  I wasted no time getting out of the seat. He promptly took it. I had no desire to stay near the man. I decided to go to the back of the bus and pray for harmless odd ball. I turned to find the red haired shaggy in front of me, with a big smile. I excused myself and moved past him to the back of the bus.

  “Oh I see how it is Becky!” he suddenly screamed. “I’m not good enough to stand next to.”

  I didn’t answer back. It wasn’t worth the time. This bus was just a clown short of a … no wait. Scratch that because I then discovered the clown sitting in farthest back seat. I ended up standing in front of him grabbing the hand rail to keep my balance. I looked ahead to Texacana. If he did start wielding chainsaw I could dive right out of the kick out window in the back. Crazy. Yeah. A little bit, but it was better than dying.

  I took in a deep breath. Just three hours. Oh my god, what is that smell? I sniffed the air. It was, was it poo? Oh my god. It was poo! Where was it coming from? I glanced around. Sitting in the back was a woman knitting, a drooling sleeping hillbilly and the clown. The clown smiled and waved. Creepy. But I