“Crossing Kansas”
George Hill
The weather was supposed to be clear the whole way to Virginia, so I wanted to make record time. I packed my bags and took off, stopping in town only long enough for a guaranteed fifteen minute or less oil change and a tank of unleaded. Soon enough I was sailing east from Denver feeling pretty smug. This smugness was short lived.
I was cruising at a comfortable pace around eighty five miles per hour, feeling great, listening to my tapes and sipping a cool and highly caffeinated beverage. The bacon double cheeseburger I ate for lunch had filled my stomach with juicy contentment that prompted the satisfied half grin I wore on my face as I approached the Kansas boarder.
Kansas and I don’t get along. It’s not that we hate each other, it’s just that we don’t respect each other. I was ready for Kansas. I was set to conquer that endless expanse of continual abyss that all freeway adventurers have to endure before they reach St Louis and the freedom of the other side.
No, let me be honest about this… I do hate Kansas. I don't want to spend one second longer in Kansas than I absolutely have to. I don't care if I have to whip my engine and drive as if the Mongol Horde was snapping at my heels. I just want to be out of Kansas as fast as possible.
Have you ever driven across that place? There are signs celebrating all these astronauts from Kansas. Why do they have so many rocket jocks from Kansas? I'll tell you why - because these cats wanted to get as far away from Kansas as they could possibly get and you can't get any farther away than space, baby! Everyone else is jealous, not because they went into space - but because they escaped Kansas. Hence the signs. There are actually places in Kansas where you read a sign that says fifty miles to the next town. You drive for ten minutes and the next sign says that town is now sixty two miles away. Do you know why that is? It’s because Kansas has its own gravitational force and you didn't reach escape velocity - so Kansas is sucking you back in!
But I digress. Where was I? Oh yeah... crossing into Kansas. It was waiting, ready for me. As soon as I hit the State line, I rolled right into a thick fog. Instantly my grin was gone, faster than a Robin Williams expression change, replaced by a deeply furrowed brow. I could sense that this wasn’t the normal thick fog that one could drive through with your headlights on and be out of in a few minutes. This wasn’t even the kind of heavy fog that gives nightmares to sailors. No, this was a special kind of unnatural, spooky, “Kansas hates George” kind of a fog. The fog was so thick that I could not see the lines of the road ahead of me. I couldn’t even see the end of my hood. I could only just barely see the lines beside me on the road, right below my window. As much as I could not see anything, I felt as if Kansas was watching me closely, unblinking and coiled like a serpent ready to strike. I reached over and pushed the button to lock all four car doors. It felt like Kansas wanted me to pay for every agonizing mile across it. I had to do the unthinkable. I had to slow down - in Kansas. I shuddered.
I rolled slowly, safely and altogether miserably for the rest of the afternoon and into the night. I stopped only for gas, liquid stimulants, and to listen to the truckers whisper things like “Man, this is one spooky fog”. No kidding.
What made the fog even worse was the muffled stillness. At one stop, I noticed the unnatural quite. There was no wind at all. No natural noises. No dogs barking. No birds chirping. I couldn’t even hear vehicles passing on the highway. The complete silence was broken my own footsteps as I hurried back to the sanctuary of my car. It was as if the whole world was holding its breath, listening.
I had lost track of time, and where I was. I knew only one thing… I have had enough of being slow and safe. It felt as if an unseen thing had been following me and because of my delay, was closing the distance. I was so unsettled that despite regards for my own safety, I sped up. It was all or nothing. I kicked my car up to normal freeway speeds, driving at an insane fifty five miles per hour.
It was then that I was startled to see something behind me. A soft glow approached me, pale yellow and low to the ground. I watched it in the rear view mirror until the glow resolved into a pair of headlamps. When it passed me, I saw that it was a giant SUV the size of Semi. One of those Cadillac SUVs. I followed it.
I stayed back far enough so that the Cadillac’s tail lights were just a pair of small, red, evil looking Will’O’Wisp floating in the haze. I figured that if those lights suddenly jerked to the side or something, then I’d have enough reaction time to stand on my brakes and utter a curse on Kansas before I slammed into whatever the Cadillac had just hit. It was risky, but I was making time again.
I cruised in the Cadillac’s wake for the entire score of “Lay Mizz” with no sign of the fog lifting and utter exhaustion causing me to see things I normally wouldn’t have noticed. I started to see strange shapes in the mist - shapeless and menacing shadows that seemed to be standing just off the side of the road waiting patiently for me to stop. Stopping was the last thing I wanted to do, but I knew I was too tired to continue driving. My eyelids had become ballast-stones and even with Herculean effort, I could no longer hold the weight up. I had to pull over.
I wanted sleep, but I was also wanted the sunrise to burn away this unholy mist, just like it burns away vampires. By chance alone I found a rest stop when I drifted off to the shoulder of the road. The shoulder gave away to an exit and found it to be an empty rest stop. Quietly, I shut the engine off and rolled the windows down a crack. Listening for any alien sound and hearing none, I opened the door and stepped out. It was eerie, quiet and still… the buildings only marked by the inadequate glow of a few dim lamps that only served to highlight dark cyclopean shapes half hidden in the mist. I brought my pistol with me, a big Beretta with a 20 round magazine. The gun was fully loaded and riding in its holster under my shirt. Usually it would lend one some degree of comfort… its weight like a pat on the shoulder, “Your going to be alright”. But this time it gave no comfort to me.
Once relieved, I stealthily returned to my car with the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. I locked the doors and rolled the windows up - then made sure for a second time that the doors were still locked. Wanting to sleep, I leaned my seat all the way back, pulled a blanket over myself, and closed one eye. After awhile, I closed other.
When I awoke just four hours later, the dark grey mist had turned into a light grey mist with not much improvement in actual visibility. Unfortunately this fog had nothing to do with the undead - it scoffed at the daylight.
Hours and miles later; I was feeling as if I was destined to forever wander through this purgatory when I stopped at an unattended gas station to refuel and stretch my legs. I found two vending machines standing off to the side of the lot when I decided to investigate a pale glow of the florescence that turned into an advertisement for “tasty treats”. Breakfast was a stale cheese sandwich that had started to turn green at the edges and a small plastic bottle of bitter orange colored juice.
A truck pulled in and I felt relieved for the human contact. The driver jumped out and seemed to be happy to see someone else as well. “Where are you heading?” I asked, breaking the silence, but speaking softly as to not disturb whatever it was that I felt waited for me, just behind me.
“Denver. Where are you headed?” He asked with an equally subdued voice.
“Richmond,” I replied.
He nodded and asked, “How long does this fog go?”
“I’ve been in it since yesterday.”
“Me too.”
“Hey, uh, where are we? How far to Kansas City?”
“You passed it. You’re in Missouri now. Hope you don’t have to turn back for anything.”
“No, no… I’m not going back.”
Despite the continued grave and heavy fog, I seemed to make better time. It was as if Kansas’ grip on me had finally been broken. Not only did I feel better, but even my car felt more spry. I didn’t know how I went through Kansas City, maybe it is better that I didn’t know.
For lunch I ate a celebratory double cheeseburger with bacon to mark the occasion. This was just like the double cheeseburger with bacon I ate in Denver, half a lifetime ago. I love a good double cheeseburger with bacon, and I will eat them whenever I want. I won’t even sue Wendy’s for making me fat because I will admit that I know bacon isn’t good for me. I’ve never heard anyone say anything about the health benefits of bacon, but I am blithely optimistic that they will be making an announcement any time now which will justify all of my bacon indulgences.
Back in the car and rolling eastward, the fog continued its attempt to haunt me, but it knew that its powers over me were broken. At least now there are radio stations that I can tune in to. All the weather reporters comment on the heavy and disconcerting fog.
When I hit Kentucky the fog gave up its chase. Joyously I sped up to the giddy velocity of unspecified triple digits. It was wonderful. I felt like a man that had been drowning, who finally breached the surface and inhaled deeply the sweet, sweet air.
Then it started to rain.