Rambler’s broken taillight. “I mean, all these cars… they each have a story. You know what I mean? Like, look over there, that white car…” Jason followed her glance.
“Yeah, that ‘68 Buick…it was in an accident. You can see the whole front end is all bashed in. Someone might have died in that car, Dad. A whole family might have died in that car. It seems all the cars here have a sad story. Their car lives ended in this yard—their final resting place.”
“I guess that’s true… but there’s another way to look at it, Mollie,” Jason replied. “Many of these old cars and vans once brought people real happiness—some for a very long time. And then they just conked out—no accidents, no drama, too old to be driven, so they gave up the ghost.” Jason picked up a rusted drum brake assembly and threw it back onto a pile of scrap. A frightened cottontail jumped out of the heap and ran into Mollie’s foot before skittering off.
“Woo-oh little rabbit! You scared the crap out of me!” Mollie screamed, watching its fluffy tail disappear beneath a pile of chrome bumpers. “Hey, are we following these?” She gestured toward a trail of dark brown footprints on the path.
“Kinda—we’re at least going in that general direction.” Jason pulled out his binoculars and scanned the seemingly endless field of derelict vehicles. Memories flooded back to his childhood when he’d played here. He once knew every inch of the place.
“What are you looking at?” Mollie asked, while climbing up onto several tire rims to get a better view.
“I’m looking at a red 1960 Cadillac.”
“Yeah, so what’s so interesting about an old red 1960 Cadillac?” Mollie questioned back.
“I played in that car-spot a hundred times, and that’s not the same car. For one thing, it’s the wrong color. The car I played in was sea-green… and it was a convertible.”
“Maybe Grandpa Gus moved it,” Mollie said, not understanding his over-preoccupation with the old car.
“Maybe. But let’s check it out anyway. Come on.” They crossed over onto a perpendicular pathway that led them in the direction of the big red Caddy. Yeah, this was definitely a different car. And something else was strange. The undercarriage axles and wheels were gone; the car was sitting flat on a concrete pad, making it impossible to see beneath it. Recalling how Gus stretched a dollar, it didn’t seem like something he’d do. As they got closer, the monitor on Jason’s ankle restraint beeped twice, letting him know he was at the limit of his house-arrest parameters. Mollie looked down at his ankle and smiled.
“Mom told me you had that thing on your leg. She said you had to wear it instead of going to jail. She said you killed some bad men and that’s part of your punishment.”
“She told you all that, huh?” Jason asked.
“Yep, that’s what she said.”
Jason saw movement up ahead. The driver’s side door on the Cadillac flew open and the little man in the baseball cap climbed out. He was holding some kind of rifle, which was loosely pointed toward the ground. Jason was familiar with most weaponry, but not this one. It was a small rifle of sorts, well suited for the little man. But less mechanical—futuristic. Perhaps an energy-type weapon? Why on earth would he need a weapon? Also, there was something strange about the way he moved, something Jason couldn’t put his finger on. The little man stood there for a moment, taking in his surroundings. His head suddenly jerked up towards the sky—giving extra attention to a commercial passenger jet. With the door wide open, Jason could see into the interior of the car; it had been completely gutted—seats, steering wheel, dashboard—everything had been removed.
“Hide,” he whispered to Mollie, crouching down behind a rusted old Chevy school bus. She crouched down next to him and they watched as the little man proceeded to shut the car door and head in their direction. It
“Yeah, that ‘68 Buick…it was in an accident. You can see the whole front end is all bashed in. Someone might have died in that car, Dad. A whole family might have died in that car. It seems all the cars here have a sad story. Their car lives ended in this yard—their final resting place.”
“I guess that’s true… but there’s another way to look at it, Mollie,” Jason replied. “Many of these old cars and vans once brought people real happiness—some for a very long time. And then they just conked out—no accidents, no drama, too old to be driven, so they gave up the ghost.” Jason picked up a rusted drum brake assembly and threw it back onto a pile of scrap. A frightened cottontail jumped out of the heap and ran into Mollie’s foot before skittering off.
“Woo-oh little rabbit! You scared the crap out of me!” Mollie screamed, watching its fluffy tail disappear beneath a pile of chrome bumpers. “Hey, are we following these?” She gestured toward a trail of dark brown footprints on the path.
“Kinda—we’re at least going in that general direction.” Jason pulled out his binoculars and scanned the seemingly endless field of derelict vehicles. Memories flooded back to his childhood when he’d played here. He once knew every inch of the place.
“What are you looking at?” Mollie asked, while climbing up onto several tire rims to get a better view.
“I’m looking at a red 1960 Cadillac.”
“Yeah, so what’s so interesting about an old red 1960 Cadillac?” Mollie questioned back.
“I played in that car-spot a hundred times, and that’s not the same car. For one thing, it’s the wrong color. The car I played in was sea-green… and it was a convertible.”
“Maybe Grandpa Gus moved it,” Mollie said, not understanding his over-preoccupation with the old car.
“Maybe. But let’s check it out anyway. Come on.” They crossed over onto a perpendicular pathway that led them in the direction of the big red Caddy. Yeah, this was definitely a different car. And something else was strange. The undercarriage axles and wheels were gone; the car was sitting flat on a concrete pad, making it impossible to see beneath it. Recalling how Gus stretched a dollar, it didn’t seem like something he’d do. As they got closer, the monitor on Jason’s ankle restraint beeped twice, letting him know he was at the limit of his house-arrest parameters. Mollie looked down at his ankle and smiled.
“Mom told me you had that thing on your leg. She said you had to wear it instead of going to jail. She said you killed some bad men and that’s part of your punishment.”
“She told you all that, huh?” Jason asked.
“Yep, that’s what she said.”
Jason saw movement up ahead. The driver’s side door on the Cadillac flew open and the little man in the baseball cap climbed out. He was holding some kind of rifle, which was loosely pointed toward the ground. Jason was familiar with most weaponry, but not this one. It was a small rifle of sorts, well suited for the little man. But less mechanical—futuristic. Perhaps an energy-type weapon? Why on earth would he need a weapon? Also, there was something strange about the way he moved, something Jason couldn’t put his finger on. The little man stood there for a moment, taking in his surroundings. His head suddenly jerked up towards the sky—giving extra attention to a commercial passenger jet. With the door wide open, Jason could see into the interior of the car; it had been completely gutted—seats, steering wheel, dashboard—everything had been removed.
“Hide,” he whispered to Mollie, crouching down behind a rusted old Chevy school bus. She crouched down next to him and they watched as the little man proceeded to shut the car door and head in their direction. It
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