tumbleweeds and trash blowing across the highway. The same cars just sitting in the road, requiring me to swerve around them. The same corpses splayed out across sidewalks. Some more sand and cactus, that was about it.
We stopped in a place called Kingman, to gas up. I spotted a strip mall with a bunch of cars still in the parking lot, and pulled in. Once my engine was shut off and I was out of the truck, it was completely silent, nothing but the sound of wind and blowing papers and something banging against a building somewhere.
I went to the nearest car, used a screwdriver to snap open the little door over the tank opening, unscrewed the lid and shoved my tubing in. I knelt by one of the gas cans, gave the tube a good suck, and was rewarded by the sight of gas flowing down. While I let the can fill, I stood up and looked around.
I laughed when I remembered the line from the old song âRoute 66â about âKingman, Arizonaâ (Interstate 40 had once been Route 66); gee, it sounded great in the song, exotic and kind of wild. Unfortunately, Kingman now looked pretty desolate, and I thought it probably had even before the dreaming started, nothing but cheap chain restaurants and gas stations and convenience stores and ugly two-bedroom stucco houses. Iâll bet the height of culture around here had been TV Guide . Made me proud to be a Californian.
While I was thinking that, I heard Teddy whimper in the car.
âTeddy, whatââ I started, but broke off at a sound behind me.
A strange sound, like a fast rattling buzz.
Something told me to turn very slowly.
There was a goddamn rattlesnake three feet away from me, coiled up and rattling and ready to strike.
Where the fuck had it come from? Mustâve been under the car. I was probably lucky the goddamn thing hadnât bitten me while I was setting up the siphon. Its ass-ugly head swerved back and forth on its upstretched neck; its mouth was open, and I could even see stuff dripping from the fangs.
I was vaguely aware that Teddy was screaming his head off in the SUV. What I was mainly thinkingâand it was weird, how time had slowed down to a crawl, how my thinking seemed to move so much faster than everything elseâwas that I had on my gunbelt , and the revolver was loaded and holstered at my right. Could I draw faster than the snake could strike?
It was going to strike anyway, so I had nothing to lose.
I swear, I felt like I was the sheriff in some old cowboy movie, the fearsome gunslinger. My hand slid smooth as could be to that gun, and before I knew whatâd happened Iâd fired and blown that snakeâs head clean off.
The rattle kept going for a couple of seconds, then stopped.
I stood there staring, kind of shocked but kind of stoked, too. Iâd never done anything like that in my life. I felt powerful and super-talented and pretty fucking invincible.
Then I realized Teddy was still screaming, and it all went away as I holstered the gun and ran to the car.
He was still staring at the snakeâs headless body, his eyes big watery saucers, his hands clutching at the dashboard, his body trembling all over.
I got it: He had a snake phobia. My past experience had taught me a little about phobias, and Teddy had a bad one.
I jumped into the driverâs seat and took hold of his face, trying to get him to look at me, not the snake. âTeddy, Teddy, itâs okay, itâs dead, it canât hurt youââ
His eyes turned my direction, but he didnât really see me.
I tried taking his hands. âItâs okay, Teddy, itâs overââ
Nothing.
Have you ever watched someone you love twitch in terror in their sleep? This was like that, only ten times worse. He kept screaming and crying, and I didnât know what to do. I tried a light slap, but he just howled more.
I couldnât stand this. My mind was racing furiously. How could I get him out of this?
Of course. Prolixin .
I knew
We stopped in a place called Kingman, to gas up. I spotted a strip mall with a bunch of cars still in the parking lot, and pulled in. Once my engine was shut off and I was out of the truck, it was completely silent, nothing but the sound of wind and blowing papers and something banging against a building somewhere.
I went to the nearest car, used a screwdriver to snap open the little door over the tank opening, unscrewed the lid and shoved my tubing in. I knelt by one of the gas cans, gave the tube a good suck, and was rewarded by the sight of gas flowing down. While I let the can fill, I stood up and looked around.
I laughed when I remembered the line from the old song âRoute 66â about âKingman, Arizonaâ (Interstate 40 had once been Route 66); gee, it sounded great in the song, exotic and kind of wild. Unfortunately, Kingman now looked pretty desolate, and I thought it probably had even before the dreaming started, nothing but cheap chain restaurants and gas stations and convenience stores and ugly two-bedroom stucco houses. Iâll bet the height of culture around here had been TV Guide . Made me proud to be a Californian.
While I was thinking that, I heard Teddy whimper in the car.
âTeddy, whatââ I started, but broke off at a sound behind me.
A strange sound, like a fast rattling buzz.
Something told me to turn very slowly.
There was a goddamn rattlesnake three feet away from me, coiled up and rattling and ready to strike.
Where the fuck had it come from? Mustâve been under the car. I was probably lucky the goddamn thing hadnât bitten me while I was setting up the siphon. Its ass-ugly head swerved back and forth on its upstretched neck; its mouth was open, and I could even see stuff dripping from the fangs.
I was vaguely aware that Teddy was screaming his head off in the SUV. What I was mainly thinkingâand it was weird, how time had slowed down to a crawl, how my thinking seemed to move so much faster than everything elseâwas that I had on my gunbelt , and the revolver was loaded and holstered at my right. Could I draw faster than the snake could strike?
It was going to strike anyway, so I had nothing to lose.
I swear, I felt like I was the sheriff in some old cowboy movie, the fearsome gunslinger. My hand slid smooth as could be to that gun, and before I knew whatâd happened Iâd fired and blown that snakeâs head clean off.
The rattle kept going for a couple of seconds, then stopped.
I stood there staring, kind of shocked but kind of stoked, too. Iâd never done anything like that in my life. I felt powerful and super-talented and pretty fucking invincible.
Then I realized Teddy was still screaming, and it all went away as I holstered the gun and ran to the car.
He was still staring at the snakeâs headless body, his eyes big watery saucers, his hands clutching at the dashboard, his body trembling all over.
I got it: He had a snake phobia. My past experience had taught me a little about phobias, and Teddy had a bad one.
I jumped into the driverâs seat and took hold of his face, trying to get him to look at me, not the snake. âTeddy, Teddy, itâs okay, itâs dead, it canât hurt youââ
His eyes turned my direction, but he didnât really see me.
I tried taking his hands. âItâs okay, Teddy, itâs overââ
Nothing.
Have you ever watched someone you love twitch in terror in their sleep? This was like that, only ten times worse. He kept screaming and crying, and I didnât know what to do. I tried a light slap, but he just howled more.
I couldnât stand this. My mind was racing furiously. How could I get him out of this?
Of course. Prolixin .
I knew