I wish I had thought of this earlier, because I might have actually considered going to Boston for this very reason, even though it’s cold there this time of year. If I make it all the way to Mobile without seeing anyone, I’ll probably go to Florida. It’s warm and beautiful there when there isn’t a hurricane. Once I get tired of Florida, and if for some reason I still haven’t seen anyone by then, it’s crazy but I think I’ll go to Boston.
I make my way down a long exit ramp that takes me into downtown Louisville. Needless to say I’m not met with an entourage of cars. The highway was a pretty clear indication of what was to come – a ghost town.
Everything looks normal, other than the lack of cars driving and nonfunctioning stoplights. There are a few cars parked in metered spots on the road, but where their former drivers are, I wish I knew.
That’s something I can’t wrap my head around. If there were an evacuation of people, I would think every car would be gone, not to mention the highways would be lined with cars trying to leave. That isn’t what has happened these past couple days though. There’s nobody around town, and nobody on the highways either. Where could everyone possibly have gone?
I drive around making sure to be aware of what general direction the highway is in. I have a compass at home that I got for Christmas one year. I thought it was a lame gift at the time, but it sure would come in handy now if I had thought about bringing it. My smart phone has a compass app, but my battery died a long time ago and I don’t have a car phone charger for it.
Just as soon as this thought occurs to me, I see a store up ahead called “Electrodes,” which looks to be a huge electronics store. Jackpot!
I pull into the big empty parking lot and park in my favorite spot right by the door. I get out of the car without grabbing any artillery and see if I can pull the sliding glass doors open manually. My attempt is embarrassing; I’m such a weakling.
I go back to the car and grab my ax, my favorite door smashing instrument, then stand about ten yards away and give it my best baseball swing at the door. When it hits the door, I see something fly off but the glass isn’t even cracked. When I go to pick up the ax, I see a huge chunk of the wooden handle broke off. “Piece of shit ax!” I guess you get what you pay for. It’s still usable, I just have to make sure I don’t get a splinter lodged in my hand every time I hold the handle.
I reach into the car for my second favorite method of breaking and entering — my pellet gun. Since I’m now in Kentucky, I really should start keeping my eye out for gun stores. I’d think they would have drive-thru gun places on every corner the same way Ohio has liquor stores.
It takes several shots, but eventually I get the glass to crack and break through. The key I’ve found is to shoot at the same spot multiple times until it gives in.
This door has the most durable glass I’ve seen so far, which makes sense being an electronics store. I have to chip away at it with the ax, which I find to be a much better option than using my foot. I’m not the brightest of the bunch, but I learn from my mistakes. My leg is a scabbed reminder of my earlier stupidity.
I grab my gun and my flashlight from the car and head into the store, leaving the ax on the ground beside the door. Being the nerd that I am, my eyes light up when I see this huge store filled with electronics I can pick and choose from.
The only thing I came here for is a car phone charger for my phone and some CDs to make the ride more enjoyable. The car adapter for my smart phone is easy to find so I make my way over to the CDs. The selection isn’t nearly as big as it used to be before MP3 players, but there are still some options. I have a wide music taste, as long as it’s not Abby’s sappy love music.
I take some Metallica, Aerosmith, Billy Joel, and a nice overpriced collection of Beatles albums. It’s starting to get hard to carry everything so I make my way back to the car to unload.
That’s when I drop everything I’m carrying to the ground. Standing at the doorway, with its razor-sharp teeth snarling at me, is a big black dog. It looks very similar to my Cujo – same breed, roughly the same size.
I slowly reach down for my gun, making sure to keep my eyes on him. He’s snarling but not coming toward me yet. I lift the gun off the ground and take the safety off as quietly as possible. The clicking of the safety, though, seems to set him off and he runs towards me.
Realizing I don’t have a clear shot, I look for somewhere safe I can go. Right in front of me is a large shelf holding boxes of software programs. I put my foot up on one of the shelves and climb up. The top has about a one-foot ledge for me to stand and walk on.
The dog is barking with fury as it tries to climb up the shelf. His first attempts fail as he falls back down. However, this dog is clever. The next time he jumps he realizes he needs to pull himself up with the shelves like I did.
Surprised by my survival instincts, I take the butt end of my gun and start hitting him with it until he falls back down. This angers him more and, now that I’m this close, I can look in his eyes. I am almost certain this is the exact same dog from Ohio. How can this be though? There’s no way Cujo could have walked over two hundred miles to get here.
With Cujo on the ground, I get my gun into position and aim. He’s moving so fast it’s hard for me to get a clear shot, but I pull the trigger anyway.
I miss.
He gets a good jump off of one of the shelves and takes a snap at my arm, barely missing. I take a swing at him with the gun but also miss. It’s enough to cause him to fall back to the ground.
If only I had my ax with me. Why did I leave it by the door?
The dog, sensing my next shot will be more successful, starts running away. I take aim and, without much thought, pull the trigger. I see him flinch from the blast as he scurries behind another shelf. I’m not 100% sure, but I think I hit him. It may just be a wimpy pellet gun, but it’s still powerful enough to hurt when it shoots you.
I keep my gun aimed and ready for his next attack. The shelf is just in front of a wall which means he has to come out on either the left or the right side; there’s nowhere else to go.
A minute passes but I don’t even hear him move. Did I kill him? Did I shoot the bastard and he’s lying behind the shelf bleeding to death?
Forget what I said about remorse, I want this damn mutt dying a miserable death right now. I hate dogs in my neighborhood and this only reinforces that hatred. All they do is bark non-stop if you get anywhere near them, and attack you if their owner leaves them unleashed.
Five more minutes pass and I still hear no signs of him. Then ten minutes.
I can’t take the anticipation any longer. After wiping the sweat from my forehead and making sure my gun is loaded, I climb down. I walk toward the left corner of the shelf, gun aimed and ready. With one deep breath, I look around the corner hoping to see a dead dog lying on the ground. Instead, I see nothing. No blood, no hair, no signs of him. Where did he go?
Fear shoots through me; how could I have missed him? The only time I took my eyes off the shelf was when I was checking that my gun had ammo in it and even then my eyes were away for no more than a second or two. I have no clue where he could have gone; he should be right here.
I stay by the walls and walk sideways, that way he can’t come up to me from behind. Listening intently for any sounds, I make it all the way to the front corner of the store but still don’t see him. Making the turn, I sidestep my way to the front door.