Extension 2 Chapter Two

Chapter Two

I'd just reached the outskirts of the city when their sirens began to fade and eventually disappear again. They'd probably search the licence plate number and find out who actually owned the car, which put me at ease. Except they'd seen me instead of the real owner, and would most likely suspect I stole the car. Which I did. I wasn't sure whether running off with someone else's car and a dead body in the trunk was such a smart idea, but I knew it'd be better off than staying in the city and suffering the consequences.

The road was rough, loose gravel and hot tarmac attacked the tyres with ferocity as I drove further and further out into the desert. I could see more sand and less buildings with each minute that passed. I was becoming unsure as to how I'd survive out here; of course, it depended on how long I'd have to lie low. Without money or food and water (not to mention a quarter-full tank of gas), I couldn't last more than a week. I had to think of something quick.

A couple of hours later, after these thoughts had passed through my mind, I saw what looked to be a gas station in the distance. Relief flooded over me; I'd perhaps be able to persuade the kind gas attendant to give me some free gas and some supplies… but what if they'd notified everyone? The cops could've sent out my plate number on the TV and radio – I wasn't safe if that was the case. I regretfully decided to drive on. There would be another station further out… hopefully.


I continued driving. I realised how much I'd really needed that pit stop, just so I could refresh myself with a hot cup of coffee and carefully plan out where I was headed. I had no idea where I was going since I didn't have a map, nor did I have anything that would sustain me if, on the off chance, I got lost in the middle of nowhere. And I knew getting stuck out there would be easier than I'd thought.

As I drove down the barren, unchanging country road that seemed to spill out endlessly before me, I noticed a black smudge in the distance. With every few feet I drove, it got closer and closer until I recognised it as a human being. I decided to stop and pick the man up, one, because he was a hitchhiker with a suspicious amount of bags, and two, because I was in desperate need of some company. I gradually got slower and slower until I'd stopped just fifty feet short of the hitchhiker. He seemed excited to see me.

"Oh my God, finally!" he said with relief, revealing a slight Latino accent, "you're the first person I've seen out here for six days!"
I looked him over. He was short and quite thin, wide eyes sunken in their sockets – a sign of exhaustion – and thick black hair atop his head. He wore a business suit, sans the jacket, and stood next to about four bags of… whatever was in there. I asked him how he got there.
"Well, firstly, my name's Ferdinand Chavez – but you can call me Nandy. I had a fight with my wife, and she threw me out of the car. I didn't have my cellphone so I couldn't call her, and she hasn't come back. I've just been standing here, waiting."
He started to sob heavily. I understood how he felt, being tossed away like yesterday's news. But surely she'd come back eventually? That made me think…
I helped the man into the passenger's seat and stacked his bags onto the backseat. As long as he didn't open the trunk, we'd be good friends.


"Have anything you wanna talk about?" I asked Nandy, casually looking at him out of the corner of my eye. He'd stopped crying a while ago, but his eyes were still red and puffy.
"Hmm… not really. Why don't you switch the radio on? Might be something interesting on there," Nandy replied. He was a small man, referring to both weight and height. He should have been a lot taller for his age (he looked to be about twenty-one or so), and the nervousness and lack of facial hair reminded me of when I'd just hit puberty. I looked at him with a sort of silent sympathy before turning on the radio.

I spun the tuning knob gently, trying to find any station with a signal. Finally, after about five minutes of careful tuning, I heard a man's voice. It was gruff and informative, so I guessed it was the local news station. "Local" sounded so ridiculous out there.
"… The man was subdued by police, but eventually escaped again and returned to the car, driving off under the South Bridge and evading the authorities…"
Oh my God. They were talking about me. Goosebumps rose slowly to the surface of my skin as we both continued to listen.
"… We've just gotten word that the car being driven is a rare black 1970 Plymouth Fury. The man driving the car is of African American appearance, around five foot eleven wearing a white shirt and navy blue overalls. We urge anyone---"
I switched the radio off. But as soon as I did, Nandy pushed my hand away and switched it back on. He looked scared yet intrigued.
"--- Report him to your nearest precinct. But he may be armed; the Anderson County police were alerted to a body in the trunk of the car, and they were unable to determine the cause of death. Do not approach this man: remain at least two hundred feet away at all times and do not attempt to subdue him. If you---"
Nandy fiddled with the buttons and managed to turn the radio off again. He sat back in his seat; his skin was deadly pale and his eyes were fixed to the road ahead. I didn't want to say anything in case he freaked out. So we drove in silence yet again.


"So… did you kill him?"
I shuddered suddenly at being asked such a blunt question. His voice wavered as he spoke, similar to a scared child asking his parents whether the Bogeyman really did live under his bed. He seemed composed though: I admired his boldness, and I knew if I was in his situation I would've jumped out the door hours ago.
"No. I've never killed anyone."
"Well, how'd he get to be in the trunk of the car then?"
It seemed as if Nandy was asking an innocent question, but his steadying tone suggested otherwise. He looked at me suspiciously from the corner of his eye: I saw him in my right side-view mirror, eyes slowly shifting from the road to the right of my face. I felt nervous, and suddenly became acutely aware of my driving and how much of my attention I was actually focusing on the road before me. I needed to explain how I found the body.
"Uh… you see, I'm a mechanic, and I was making my way 'cross town on my bike, to pick up a spare part from the other side of twon for a customer. I passed the car on the way, and I have a thing for restored cars, so I decided to have a look. It was so perfect that I wanted to check and see if the keys were in the ignition, and when I saw that they were I was ecstatic. But when I popped the trunk to inspect it – you can guess what I found."
His gaze eased slightly.
"So you don't know whoever's in there?"
"If I did, I don't reckon I'd be running from the law."
We both smiled to ourselves before silence once again consumed the small space we shared together. I'd finally had a breakthrough: I'd seemed to persuade him that I wasn't the killer. But whether he believed me or not was a completely different story.