Part 3: The Escape
Ironically, Gregg Allman’s sad dirge, “Midnight Rider” played on Sirius/XM® radio as Rick cranked the Tahoe’s ignition. “Outlaw Country,” Station 332 suited him fine as they wove their way through east Texas to find the ranch.
The lyrics, “I’m not gonna let ‘em catch me no/not gonna let ‘em catch the Midnight Rider,” inspired no confidence as both the weather wunderkinds focused on the red tail-lights of Clay’s truck which sped out the front gate kicking up a blinding dust cloud all the way onto the road, away from the wall of fire.
Nature’s fury has myriad forms, whether 100-feet below the ocean as a rushing current or approaching a massive tornado; Rick and Jessica knew intimately the harm that can come from the physical world in a matter of seconds. Even recognizing how fragile one holds to human life, like everyone they rarely feared imminent death; although frequently exposed to it. Nevertheless, today on a rural road in Texas, they finally took a right-turn which turned out to be a dead-end.
“C’mon Rick; catch up!” cried Jessica.
“Babe, look at the computer, and let me drive,” replied Rick, intently. “See if there is something to tell us where these fires are!” They fled at high-speed but their bandwidth for internet was dial-up slow.
After zooming down hilly back roads straining the capacity of the Tahoe, clinging to the contrails of Clay’s truck; they swooshed up-and-over a rise in the road finding him pulled over on the shoulder, brake lights glowing devilishly red through a cloud, like evil eyes. Rick didn’t know how far they'd travelled, only that they sped generally in a southeast direction. Both jumped out, approaching the driver’s side of the pickup.
“Can you see down toward the bottom of that next clearing?” Clay said as he looked forward through the windshield, not exactly asking a question, “I see flames and smoke rising above those trees?! Izat what you see?!”
“Could there be another T-intersection down there before we hit the wall?” Rick responded with panic in his voice, almost a shout; squinting a look down the path, silently agreeing with Clay’s observation.
“Can we at least try 9-1-1?” Jessica pleaded, “Maybe they could bear down on our GPS; tell us which way to turn?”
This turning point hinges on the decisions they make in the next two minutes; however each of the drivers eagerly wanted to get back behind the wheel, with itchy pedal-feet like a gunfighter fingering a holster. The traditional Chinese character for crisis (wēijī), widely abused by western motivational speakers, allegedly means the intersection of danger + opportunity. Danger is there alright, but the secondary word is more of “crucial point,” than opportunity. Crisis visits these young people through dark, hot, encircling flames, and no real exit strategy. As hard as it was to fathom, they are lost on an obscure back road in rural Texas without a credible opportunity for escape. This is the most crucial point in their young lives.
To be continued in Part 4....
©Mark H. Pillsbury (6 July 2011):
This is a work of fiction, and similarities to real individuals or other copyrighted material on cable TV or satellite radio is merely a coincidence
