Chapter 24

We drove away from the house with Coleman and Binkie behind us and Latisha looking back, mumbling, “So long, big, ole yellow house. See you later.”

She and Lloyd were in our backseat along with his books, her plastic bags of shells, a tennis racket or two, and a big sack of Doritos, peanut butter, and two bananas. Latisha had carefully stashed her pocketbook between two hanging bags of clothes in the trunk, saying that she was about tired of having that thing bumping against her side all day long.

“Not a lot of traffic, is there?” I remarked as Sam drove toward the bridge connecting the islands and onto the road which would eventually take us to the interstate.

“I hate to tell you,” Sam said, “but that’s probably because we’re the last ones to leave.”

“Well, it’s better than being embroiled in a traffic jam.”

Sam glanced at me and grinned. “Hold on to that thought.”

But before I had time to hold on to anything, cars began to converge from all sides—easing into lanes and making room for themselves where there was no room. It was a marvel to me that where there’d been almost no cars at all suddenly was filled with them.

“Oh, my goodness,” Lloyd said, sitting up as far as his seat belt would let him. He was staring through the windshield. “Would you look at that!”

I was already looking, and as far as the eye could see, which was several blocks to the great bridge and up to the crest of it, there were cars, trucks, pickups, SUVs, vans, and every sort of vehicle known to man lined up bumper to bumper on both lanes. And not a one of them was moving.

“What’s going on?” Lloyd asked.

“Could be an accident,” Sam said, “but I’m afraid it’s because everybody’s trying to get on the interstate. I expect it’s full.”

I frowned at the thought. “How can an interstate be full?”

“They’re evacuating Charleston, honey, as well as everybody all up and down the coast.”

Latisha, realizing that we couldn’t move until everybody else moved, said, “Look like we gonna be stuck here forever.”

“We just have to be patient, Latisha,” Sam said. “We’re just one of thousands of cars heading west on the interstate.”

He wasn’t wrong about that, because by the time we got to the ramp, some thirty minutes later, and some kind soul had let us ease into the westbound lane, we became just one more vehicle on the longest parking lot on the east coast. I didn’t know when or how Coleman and Binkie got onto the interstate, but by that time they were far behind us even though our progress was measured by inches rather than miles.

I’d never seen anything like it, and it got worse, for in a mile or so, the four westbound lanes tapered down to two, and it was like watching a herd of cows trying to push through a narrow gate. A few drivers just gave up and pulled to the side of the road. Others gave and received a few dents, but, given the heat of the day and the anxiety engendered by Marty, most drivers were being patient and considerate.

And what’s more, everybody and his brother must’ve been trying to use their cell phones. The lines or the satellites or whatever cell phones run on were completely jammed. We couldn’t check on Binkie and Coleman, much less reach Hazel Marie and Mr. Pickens.

Lloyd said, “The road will clear out in a few minutes, won’t it, Mr. Sam? I mean, some will turn off onto I-95, won’t they?”

“I expect so—those heading north, anyway. I doubt many will be going south. They’d likely run right into the storm if it hits between Charleston and Savannah.”

We finally passed under I-95, the main north-south artery, and from what we could see, it was as packed full as the one we were on. And still, we crept along a few feet at a time, then stopping for no discernible reason to wait various lengths of time before creeping along another few feet.

And to make it worse, there sat the two eastbound lanes—right across the median from us—as empty as a swath of prairie. Even worse than that, our tortuous progress was made more acute by the occasional highway patrol car streaking past on it, lights and sirens going full blast.

“Why in the world,” Sam asked, “don’t they open those two lanes for westbound traffic? Nobody will be driving toward Charleston today.”

“I was just wondering the same thing,” I said. “It would certainly relieve the congestion.”

“Well,” Sam sighed, braking to a stop, “speaking of congestion. Looks like we’ll be sitting for awhile.” He waved to the driver of the car next to us, then leaned forward to stare ahead. “Looks like a bunch of patrol cars pulled to the side up yonder. May’ve been an accident.”

I leaned up to try to see. “In our lane, you think?”

“Doesn’t matter. It’ll be on this side of the highway, that’s for sure. Look, an ambulance just pulled in.”

“Oh, me, that’s not good news,” I said.

“Yeah,” Lloyd said, “because now we’ll probably have to wait for a wrecker to clear the highway.”

“Right, so we’re stuck for awhile. Tell you what,” Sam said, turning off the ignition, “let’s save a little gas. Everybody roll down the windows.”

Well, they Lord, the heat rolled into the car like a living thing, heavy, sultry, and suffocating. But we weren’t the only ones suffering heat exhaustion—all the drivers were turning off their motors as we sat waiting in the middle of a low-country interstate, the heat waves visibly rising from concrete and hot hoods. The most pressing concern now seemed to be the possibility of running out of gas. No one wanted to have to pull out of line, and even if they did, there were no gas stations in sight. Hardly any signs of life anywhere, if you want to know the truth—just pine trees, barbed-wire fences, and black-water marshes on both sides.

Two young men walked from their cars to the grassy verge and began throwing a baseball back and forth. Mothers were out, walking children, hoping, I assumed, to tire them out enough to make a nap possible. And young people were zipping back and forth around and between cars on skateboards, making Lloyd bemoan the fact that he’d not brought his.

“That’s all right, Lloyd,” Latisha said. “I couldn’t keep up with you if you’d brought it.”

Lloyd opened his door. “I think I’ll run back a little ways and see if Coleman’s close to us.”

“I’ll go with you,” Latisha said, tumbling out beside him.

“Don’t go far,” I said, unsure if wandering off along the side of the road was a good idea. “They may clear the road and we’ll have to move.” Then, softly to Sam, “Will they be all right?”

He nodded. “We aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.” And to Lloyd, he said, “Ten minutes, no longer.”

That was a long ten minutes, and I fidgeted the whole length of it, not liking at all the thought of two children running along a major highway in hopes of seeing a familiar face.

“Sam,” I said, fanning my face with a catalogue, “I hate to even bring this up, but I may soon have to use the bathroom.”

Sam grinned. “Honey, you have two choices—keep waiting or walk out to the bushes. I’ll go with you.”

I looked at the row upon row of pine trees, separated from my open door by a grassy ditch, and took note that whoever had planted them had kept the undergrowth under control. Bushes were few and far between, and none large enough to shield a squat.

By then, many more drivers and passengers were wandering up and down the highway, pausing to chat awhile with each other, and seeming to take the stopover well in stride. Making the best of it, which was commendable in this situation, even if it was the only thing they could do.

I, on the other hand, had had enough of it. “Why don’t the cars in the other lane cut across the median and drive west on the east lane? If that car next to us would do that, you could follow right along behind him.”

“Honey, there’re half a dozen highway patrol cars up ahead blocking the east lane. We wouldn’t get far and we’d lose our place here.”

“So I guess we’re just going to sit here forever,” I said, then half smiled for sounding so much like Latisha.

Before he could answer, Lloyd and Latisha, panting and sweating, tumbled into the backseat.

“We found ’em,” Lloyd said, wiping his face with his shirttail.

“Yeah,” Latisha said, “an’ I went to the bathroom in the woods. Binkie went with me to watch for snakes.”

“Snakes?” I said.

“An’ ants. Binkie said to watch out for anthills. You don’t want them things to get on you.”

Oh, my, something else to worry about, because fairly soon I was going to have to do something about my increasing discomfort.

Lloyd swung his feet out of the car. “I’m going to run up ahead and see if I can find out what’s holding us up.”

“Me, too,” Latisha said, following him.

“Don’t go far,” I said, but they paid me little mind. Everybody else was out of their cars, milling around, trying to pass the time and get their minds off the heat.

“Sam,” I said, “I can’t wait any longer. But, I declare, I can’t just go right out in full public view.”

“Hold on. I’ve got an idea.” He got out of the car, went to the trunk, and came to my side of the car. Then he shook out a blanket and held it up. “Slide right down beside the car. Between the blanket and the door, you’ll have all the privacy you need.”

Bless his heart, it was a perfect solution until right in the middle of relieving myself, a khaki-colored bus filled with criminals from Charleston jails rolled past on the clear opposite lane, yells and whistles and catcalls filling the air because I may have been covered on all sides, but not from the top.

Mortified, I crawled back into the car and scrooched down out of sight. But others were in the same painful situation, because two men walked over to Sam and asked to use his blanket for their suffering wives.

One of them said, “We’ll watch for any passing buses. But it’s a dang shame they get them prisoners out while we’re stuck out here stifling to death.”

I was thinking the very same thing.