Mission of Mercy - Chapter 3 the Long Pull

A group is on a road trip through Texas, trying to reach Tampa quickly. They face challenges like the extreme heat, lack of exits, and the old man needing to use the bathroom urgently. Despite these obstacles, they manage to navigate through Texas successfully and find food and fuel along the way. The chapter ends with a dropped item. MISSION OF MERCY CHAPTER THREE THE LONG POLE They were up at dawn, loading the car and fetching breakfast from the meager spread offered by the proprietor. Most welcome was coffee, which would have to suffice until a Starbucks may be located. This would prove, thought the maid, that Starbucks truly is everywhere. The captain fueled the small automobile and soon they were gladly past El Paso, a vile armpit of a city and, as anyone who has traveled through Texas knows, the last quasi-civilized outpost for hundreds of miles. It was part of the country so remote the government allowed a speed limit of eighty-five miles per hour and didn't seem to particularly mind anyone going much faster. It was as though the authorities knew there was nothing to see and encouraged the world to just keep moving. That was perfectly all right with the captain who wanted nothing to do with this flat, empty part of hell. West Texas is where Hades goes to get a tan. The outside temperature read 110 degrees and with the air conditioner blasting and the old man's machine plugged in, the captain needed to protect against the car overheating. It was cruel, thought the captain, that we can probably drive ninety-five miles per hour but if I do so, this poor Honda will explode. The other thing people crossing this desolate stretch know is that there are few exits, few and far between. One can drive fifty miles or more between them. The captain looked at the mate and said, how much battery life does your phone have? I'm a hundred percent, plugged in to the USB port. Okay, but with the oxygen on and the AC going, I don't want to tax the battery or cause the car to overheat. If we do, we're going to need the cell phones to call for help, the captain announced, this damn place. I'll unplug, but we're going to be fine. We have three phones to choose from and I'm not sure his is even turned on, the mate said, motioning to the old man. I know you're nervous about this stretch and won't feel more at ease until we hit San Antonio, but you're doing a great job managing it all. We got out early this morning and are making great progress. If we don't hit traffic in San Antonio or Houston, we might even get into Louisiana today. We have to get to Louisiana today, the captain exclaimed, otherwise it will be a thousand miles to Tampa tomorrow. Hey, we have music. Temperature while hot is not yet scorching and the driving is easy. Relax captain, everything is fine. Then from the back seat, they heard, I gotta piss. He was awake and in need, equilibrium such as it was, but was shaken. How bad? There isn't even an exit for another 40 miles. Bad, came the stern reply, been waiting to see a gas station, but all there is is armadillos, dead lizards and sagebrush. Stop the damn car. The captain pulled over to the side of the highway. From 90 to zero, it took a while, and before coming to a complete halt, the old man had the side door open, burying his hand into his pants without regard for anyone else's sense of decorum. A blast of hot air from the outside staggered him and momentarily held him back from his duty. But undaunted, he pressed forward, grabbing the, oh Jesus, handle and swinging himself to the edge of his seat. He didn't exit the vehicle, just straddled the chair and let loose. Ah, the pause that refreshes. Oh baby, I really needed that. Yeah, yeah, yeah, oh, I might cause a flood. There was no pause. He kept up a steady dialogue until the business was complete. Then, replacing his baggage, he painfully repositioned himself and tried to close the door, but found he lacked the strength, forcing the mate to dodge the newly created river to pull the door shut. You couldn't check the tires like a normal guy? The captain asked. It was more of a jibe than a question. Too much work, and I was in great need, came the reply. Get any on the seat? Oh, maybe a little, he said. Well, you're going to have to sit in it for the next 1,500 miles, so maybe you want to think about that before whipping it out the next time, the captain barked. Ah, the old man grunted. Where's lunch? I'm hungry. Did you see a McDonald's? Did you see anything at all? Why didn't you grab one of those dead lizards back there while you were dangling out the back? Maybe have a snack? We're in the middle of fucking nowhere. No snacks? I will get some when we stop for lunch, the mate said, attempting to ease the tension. Probably a good idea to have some food in the car anyway. We have a lot of ground to cover, said the captain, squeezing the steering wheel tighter. We can't be taking time for a leisurely repast. I'm trying to get across Texas today, got it? What's wrong with you two? We need to get to Tampa, and we have a reason to be in a hurry. So, if I drive 90 damned miles per hour for the next eight hours, we might actually make Lake Charles tonight. If we stop for lunch, that ain't gonna happen. We might actually make Lake Charles tonight. If this means nothing to you, fine. But you gave me a job to do, and I'm gonna do it. I promise to find some drive-thru to get some food. If there's a gas station with a market, help yourself. But we aren't strolling through the aisles looking for Nutter Butters. And you, the captain said looking at the mate, make yourself useful and find the next food stop on that phone of yours. Gas would be good, too. You never want to pass a place up to gas up. It needed to be said, the captain thought. This isn't a joyride. We aren't on vacation. This is a grim errand. In the end, Texas was defeated, though it put up a defense equal to the men of the Alamo. The day never cooled, and they passed scores of sidelined vehicles, ruined days and plans, as drivers awaited assistance from overwrought and ill-tempered rescue workers. The captain guided the little ship through each shoal and reef, every construction delay and flashing light, and came through unscathed. It was a feat worthy of Ulysses, slipping past the sirens. It made the crew proud to have successfully navigated so much ground, over 1,000 miles of barren land, and still the little Honda chugged on. They even managed to locate food and fuel to sate the old man, if only temporarily. Most of his time was spent staring out the window at nothing, lost in thought. After lunch, he requested another sedative, but not for reprising his role as the I-10 flasher. The crew became accustomed to this exercise and began to treat it as a sort of race car pit stop. They drove on well past Miller time, right up to the cusp of closing time. A drink was well-deserved, but they dare not leave the old man alone, so they ignored the impulse and focused on available food options. End of chapter three. Oh, no, he dropped it.