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by Scott Normandin
The persistent sounds of
rambling madness continued to flow from the front seat of the car as Fenton
Carawell remained a captive in the rolling jail cell. The blood from his head
flowed freely onto his face, and with his hands bound behind his back, it was
in no way possible for the prisoner to clean the stinging crimson from his
burning eyes. He was beginning to feel close to hysterics, himself.
The
ruthless captor raced his older car as fast as he could. Fenton could hear the
engine winding out and he could feel the heat from the excessively taxed engine
emanating from the floor beneath him. This bad situation was getting worse. It
was only a matter of time before he would be dead.
The
clamor continued from the front seat, "Clickety clack! Clickety
clack!"
The
ramblings from the madman continued, and always combined with insane giggles.
They never quieted, and they only became more and more persistent as time went
on.
"Clickety
clack! You can't be out here," he screamed. "Walking on the road gets
you clickety clack! Clickety clack!"
Early
this morning, Fenton had been driving through the desert when his car
overheated and he was forced to pull over. The heat was unbearable, so he
started walking. He did not want to be a victim of the desert heat, waiting in
his car for assistance that might never have come. He instead felt it was worth
the risk to go and seek out the help he needed.
The
situation was ultimately his fault, though. He was a thrifty man who always
looked for bargains, and saved a lot of money by taking his vacation to
California in the summer instead of winter, and saved even more money by
driving the day and a half trip instead of flying. He had never thought about
what driving through the desert might do to his modest used car.
"Clickety
clack! Clickety clack! Clickety clickety, clack clack clack! If you're walking
out in the desert you better watch your back!" the laughter cut through
the sound of the racing engine and the wind whipping through the open windows.
"Shut
the hell up, you freak!" Fenton demanded to the human brick sitting
insanely before him. The requests were always falling on deaf ears. His mind
grasped to hold on to consciousness as his blood was being depleted by the
wound on his head.
After
his car had overheated and he headed out on his own, the walk along the dusty
road was almost unbearable. One hour had gone into the next in the desert heat,
and his thirst was slowing him down. He had lost track of time and did not have
a clue how far he had walked, but there was not a single car that drove by. He
was getting nervous that he might die in the wasteland.
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