H: Chapter Nineteen

“THOSE SONS OF BITCHES!” I yelled as I kicked a rock over. It rolled across the road, and down an embankment.

Hold on, I need to do some explaining. We were cruising up to New York for supply when Jack was sitting in the driver’s seat, flipping through his cash. The window next to him was rolled down. When I went to brake, the cash flew out of his hand and onto the road.

“Shit!” He shouted, sticking his head out the window. He turned to me and said, “Payte, pull over.”

I muttered a curse-word under my breath and pulled over to the side of the road. We all stepped out of Bessie 2.0 and searched the woods for the cash.

“Well, what the fuck were you doing holding cash with the window down?” I questioned. “Are you an idiot?”

Jack’s face turned red and he walked towards me. “Well maybe if you weren’t speeding, this wouldn’t have happened! Asshole!”

“Fuck you!” I said. I picked a dollar up off the ground, crumbled it up, and threw it at Jack as I flipped him off.

The sun was just about to set when we called it off. All together Jack had gathered about four-hundred dollars from scamming people. We searched those god-damned woods for two hours and only came across three-hundred. I guess if some poor homeless dude scoured those woods, he’d have a good day.

Of course, losing a hundred dollars did not help the tension we felt towards each other. The only time we weren’t biting each other’s heads off was when we were high on something. Which, to be frank, is extremely fucking depressing.

We started exiting the woods and came close to the shoulder of the highway. Travis went up ahead and said, “Hey, Payte.”

I stepped over a branch and moved a set of leaves out of the way. “Yeah?”

“Uh, where’s the van?”

“What do you mean?”

“The van. It was right here.”

I stepped over a log and entered the shoulder of the highway. Cars zoomed by at a frightening pace. And right where Bessie 2.0 was supposed to be, was nothing but an empty void.

Jack turned to us and said, “You don’t think….” before trailing off.

I felt the cold rage begin in my stomach and rise to my chest. I balled my clammy hands into a fist and screamed, “THOSE SONS OF BITCHES!”

“Woah.” Travis blurted out. “Calm down, man. It’s not worth it.”

“Not worth it?” I yelled. “Some dickweed stole Bessie 2.0!”
“Who knows, maybe it was just towed. That does happen.” Said Thomas.

“THAT’S EVEN WORSE!” I paced around like a lunatic. “And now, it’s halfway to fucking Maine. Or, Florida. It could be anywhere!”

Jack took a seat on the ground and buried his head in his lap. “And our supply was in there too. We’re fucked, man. Fucked.”

Thomas paced around, trying to think. “I guess we should just start looking, huh?”

“Yeah,” Travis answered, absolutely defeated.

“Alright, I have a plan.” I said. “Thomas and Jack will head West down the highway. And me and Travis will go East. Everyone got it?”

The guys all nodded. We split up and started searching.

* * *

“Hey, Payte.” Travis said.

We had been walking down the highway for a good hour, but there was no sign of Bessie 2.0 The sun was just starting to rise above the mountains. The bottom of the sky was a cool pink, that slowly morphed into a magenta at the top.

“Yeah?” I said.

“What do you think happens at gay orgies? Like, do you think they all line up like a train?”

“That’s sounds really fuckin’ uncomfortable.”

“I know, right. And, like, wouldn’t you just be locked in? How would you get out?”

“I guess it’d just be one guy walking away at a time. Like taking apart legos.”

“Weird.”

“Yeah.”

The further we walked, the more anxiety I felt. There was no guarantee that any of us would find Bessie 2.0. Then we’d be stranded in New York without any supply and completely fucked..

As we walked, we got several strange looks. One guy driving a turquoise Ford Bronco, slowed down and asked if we needed a ride. Travis and I would’ve climbed in, were it not for the horrible vibes we got from it. You always want to go with your gut. Better safe than sorry, right?

A man driving this giant-fucking-truck, sped up in front us. His exhaust blew smoke in our faces. We sat on the dirt coughing for a good minute. Fuck that guy.

“Hey, Payte.”

“Yeah?”

“What are we gonna do if we find the guy who stole Bessie. 2.0?”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Oh yeah. The fucker’ll be in a wheel-chair for a good six months.”

“Jesus. What if it’s like an old grandma?”

“Do you really think a grandma would steal a car?”

“Probably not, but it’s, like, possible. You know?”

“No, I don’t know.”

A murder of crows slowly soared above us. The wind started picking up speed, and shaking leaves off trees. A river full of polluted water ran next to us. Gnats and flies flew around our heads and stuck to our sweaty skin. None of us had any deodorant, but luckily we were nose-blind to our own stink.

“Hey, Payte.” Travis said.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Wanna play twenty questions?”

“Sure. But I wanna go first.”

“Alright. Is it… Gilbert Gotfried?”

“What? No! Why would you even ask?”

“I mean, I figured I should just start crossing people off the list.”

“Travis, you have twenty questions total. And you decided to go with a random person for your first question?”

“Well, Gilbert Gotfriend isn’t really a random person. He’s, like, a pretty popular comedian.”

“Yeah, popular if you’re a grandpa. Anyway, ask your second one.”

“Is it… a man?”

“Yes.”

“Does he, uh… wear glasses?”

“Sometimes. Only when he’s reading.”

“How specific is this person we’re talking about?”

“I mean, I guess, pretty specific.”

“Then how the hell am I gonna know who it is?”

“Well, I mean, I wanted it to be difficult.”

“Whatever. Is he a movie-star?”

“Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“Yeah, he told me he starred in a movie in college.”

“Payte, how the hell am I supposed to know who this is?”

“Isn’t that why you’re asking questions?”

“Jesus Christ, okay. It’s my turn, we’re skipping you.”

“Okay, okay, fine. It was Gilbert Gotfried.”

“Dude, Gilbert Gotfried didn’t star in any films in college. How fucking stupid are you?”

“You know man, this whole thing was your idea. Don’t get mad at me if you’re the one who wanted to play this.”

“You’re supposed to, at least, make it answerable.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know that?”

“You know what dude, I don’t wanna play anymore. Let’s just have some silence.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Hey, Payte…”

“What? I thought we were having silence.”

“You got something right here.”

“Right here?”

“No, no. Right ther— you got it.”

“Alright.”

As we walked, my mind fluttered through ideas of what I would do to the guy whole stole Bessie 2.0. I would give him hell. Or, I would, if I was feeling up to it. At the time, I was feeling really lazy. I was kind of just hoping that it would be a painless process. But it’s not like I was a pussy or something. I definitely was gonna kill him, I was just tired. You know?

Just as a dove flew out of the trees, we came to an exit on the highway. Travis walked up ahead while I took a seat on a rock. After a few minutes he came back. “Hey, dude.” He said. “Check this out.”

I stood up and followed Travis into the trees. We stepped over twigs and lifted branches out of the way. Eventually, we came to a clearing on top of a hill where we could see the city in front of us. And right in the parking lot of a bar, was Bessie 2.0.

* * *

Back at the camp, Thomas sits against a rock, not a comfortable position. His neck kind of pangs with sharp feelings of pain. What would make everything better is some good, old-fashioned, H. Thomas’s mouth drips with saliva at the very thought of the needle. His mind is consumed by it. The very drug flows through his veins.

“Hey.” He calls out over to Jack’s direction.

Jack turns his head over to Thomas and takes the cigarette away from his mouth. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“Got any H?”

Jack slightly giggles and says, “Nope. It’s all in the van that some dickweed stole.”

“You really don’t have any on you? You hide shit all the time.”

Jack stands up and glares at Thomas. “Hey, fuck off! That was one time.”

“Oh yeah?” Thomas says. “So all that time you were doing H alone, it was never in your pocket? You’re a fucking cretin.”

Jack guffaws and clenches his fist. “The only person who would use the word, cretin, would be a virgin-loser. Do you get any girls?”

“…”

“I didn’t think so.”

Thomas stands up and sprints over to Jack’s direction. “Fuck you!” He shouts. Thomas grips Jack by the shoulders and throws him to the ground. He raises a middle-finger and kicks Jack in the side, then starts walking

* * *

Travis and I walked down the hill and into the parking lot. Bessie 2.0 was left completely unlocked, the keys were literally right there on the seat.

“Look what I found!” Travis belted out, holding up a wallet.

I reached over and sniped it out of his hands. There was fifty-dollars in it, a perfect payday. I took the cash out and looked at the ID. “We can’t beat them up, man.” I said.

“What?” Travis asked. “I was excited for that.”

“It’s an old lady, look.” I held the ID up for Travis to see. It was just a lady with gray hair, glasses, and a rosary on. A fucking catholic had stolen our van. who would’ve thought.

Travis slumped back in his seat. “Well, that’s boring.”

“Yeah, I know. But hey, we got the van back and our supply is still here.” I put the keys in the ignition and reversed out of the parking lot.

Soon, we were back on the highway, zooming through traffic and lanes. We got about a mile up when we saw a familiar face walking along the road.

“Wait, Payte!” Travis called out. “Pull over!”

“What? Why?”

“That’s Thomas!”

I stomped on the brake pedal and moved off the road. We rolled through the dirt, but made it in one piece. Travis slid open the van door and hopped outside. I climbed out of my seat and onto the dirt. We walked through traffic and hopped over the little highway divider.

Thomas and Jack were right there, just walking along the road.

“Thomas!” Travis shouted, cupping his hands in front of his mouth.

Travis raced over to Thomas, who sluggishly hobbled on two feet. I came up behind him, and rested my hands on his shoulders.

“What the hell happened to you?” I asked.

“I got in a fight with Jack. I’m leaving the group.” Thomas said. “Got any water?”

Travis nodded, “Yeah, sure we do. Just get in the van.”

Thomas shook his head, “No, I’m leaving.”

“No, man.” Travis moaned. “You can’t leave, we need you.”

“Thomas.” I said. “Listen man, there’s no way you’d survive out there by yourself. You need us.”

Thomas stared at the ground, biting his lip. “Fine.” He grumbled. “I’ll go with you guys.”

* * *

We got Thomas in the van and headed to pick up Jack. We found him rolling on the grass, squirming in pain.

“Holy shit…” Travis said, exasperated. He turned to Thomas and asked, “The fuck did you do to him?”

Thomas froze for a moment, completely taken over by guilt. “I,uh, I pushed him.”

I snickered and said, “Alright, well, let’s haul him into the van.”

Together we picked Jack up and got him on his feet. When he was standing up we shoved Thomas out of the way and walked to the van. But just before he opened the door, he turned around and said, “You are all fucking sociopaths.” And then, using his unbroken arm, slid the door open and climbed inside. For the rest of the day he would consistently pout, never saying more than word to anyone.

With the four of us in the van, we headed North, to Maine. We were so close, I could taste it. But something wasn’t right. There was still tension in the air. There was arguments, cold silence, and insults. I tried to get them to speak to each other, but it didn’t work. All that was said was words here and there. Anything more than that, and an argument would be triggered.

“I know what’s going on.” I said. I went into the left lane and stomped on the gas pedal. “We’re not high enough. Travis, grab the H.”

Travis groaned and unbuckled himself. He climbed into the first row of seats and reached into a bag. While he did this, I pulled into a roundabout and got on the road towards a truck-stop. I passed this big ol’ eighteen-wheeler and stole his parking spot.

I then climbed into the back seats, and a party of decadence and fucked-up-hedonism ensued. Every line of coke was snorted. Every little gram of H was injected. Every-single-fucking tab of acid was dissolved on our tongues.

The night continued on in a flash. We had turned into monkeys, perched on top of our trees and flinging shit at each other in the form of half-assed insults. Our mouths ran faster than our mind. We would continually lose our train of thought, reverting back to a flurry of curse-words when we forgot what we were saying.

Somewhere along the line, I blacked out. The last thing I remember was trying to punch Travis, then I woke up under the seats. My stomach felt like it had been flipped upside down. I ran outside and puked onto the dirt. I wiped my mouth and looked around me.

It was here that I felt a crushing sensation. I was face with reality, completely sober. I had taken my life and thrown it away. Here I was, thousands of miles from home, getting fucked up with a group of strangers. How many people had I hurt? How many times did I steal? What had I become?

The worst part, was that there was no turning it around. I couldn’t quit using. This was what my life had become, and it was all it would ever be.