The Old Man - 1. Chapter 1

Harlon stood at the beginning of the on-ramp to the interstate watching cars, pickups and 18-wheelers pass by his extended thumb. It was early in the morning and most of the trucks belonged to big trucking companies that had rules against picking up hitchhikers. He hoped this was going to be his last ride. It had been a long trip from his home back in Cambridge. He didn’t even know if his old man was going to be in the town his mother had told him about during a short phone call over a week ago.

A red, long-nose Peterbilt with dual chrome stacks and Lennard Trucking in silver script lettering on the door stopped, and the driver yelled through the open passenger window, “Where you heading?”

“Exit 98,” Harlon yelled.

“OK, climb on up.”

Harlon looked around the cab and placed his backpack between the seats. The cab was remarkably neat and clean, unlike the other trucks he’d been in since starting out on his adventure. The driver looked close to sixty, but he wasn’t as overweight as you might expect for someone who sat on his butt for a living.

“I’m Steve, you saw my last name on the door,” he said as he reached over with his right hand. Harlon took it and hoped he gave a sufficient grip this time. He had been surprised at the number of times his sexuality had been brought up on a simple shaking of hands. He had found that most truckers were a peculiar lot.

“Harlon Eldrick.”

“That’s an odd name.”

“Actually, it has Barrett in the middle, and the Fourth at the end. The rumor is the family originated in the small village of Eldrick, Scotland.”

“How long you been on the road?”

“Since last Thursday. I took the train from Boston to Chicago and started from there.”

“On Thursday.”

“I’ve spent some days in truck stops. Most of the rigs seem to be company trucks.”

“Hitchhiking isn’t what it used to be.”

“That’s what other truckers who’ve given me a ride have said.”

The conversation ended, and Harlon watched the countryside pass by. He’d never been west of the Mississippi, and now he was west of the Rocky Mountains. There was another range of mountains between here and Seattle, but he wasn’t going that far. The land here seemed as dry as it had been since leaving Minnesota. Since leaving Chicago, the cities weren’t much more than big towns with fancy names: Sioux Falls, Rapid City, Billings, Missoula, and Spokane. Pronounced spo-kan for some reason. He heard it had something to do with a nearby Indian tribe. He couldn’t imagine how big the town was where his old man lived. With a name like Black Dog, it didn’t sound big. It was probably no bigger than a lot of those little towns he encountered that were so small the truck stop was probably bigger than the nearest Walmart.

That brought up memories of what Mother said about the old man. Trying to remember how it was growing up with a vagabond who only came to Toledo to impregnate a woman he met in a bar. He hung around long enough to know that he made a son and hung the odd name on him. Then he showed up three times before Harlon reached sixth grade. Everyone thought he’d be on his way soon, but this time he stayed until Harlon entered high school. After that, he only showed up at odd times, but never stayed for long because Mother had married a man who the old man didn’t like. After the old man left, Mother would write a long letter about where the old man had been and what he’d been up to during the absences.

Now, Mother was dying of recurrent breast cancer and wanted Harlon to go visit the old man to give him the news. Harlon’s husband said they could make the trip together, but that wasn’t practical because David had his patients at the clinic. It wasn’t like their annual vacations to England where David had family. Those were all well planned, so there was always a doctor in the clinic that could handle whatever emergencies came up during his absence.

He could have flown to Seattle, rented a car, and drove back over the Cascade Mountains to the small town of Black Dog at Exit 98 on I-90. That was the easy way to see the old man, but he wanted an adventure. He decided to take the train to Chicago, and then hitchhike across the country on I-90 all the way to his destination. Now, he had to admit it was a silly idea, but he wanted an adventure before he became too old to complete his goal. So far, this had been anything but an adventure. More than once he had been put off a truck at a small truck stop in the middle of nowhere. One thing was clear, he still kept to his plan, hoping to get to where the old man supposedly lived to give him the news about his mother.

“Seattle is only 200 miles from here,” Harlon said as they passed the mileage sign.

“Yes, not far at all,” Steve said. “Of course, I’ll stop for the night at the big TA in North Bend, and then go into Seattle in the morning for my delivery.”

“I know you probably won’t say, but what are you hauling?”

“Something in a big wooden box for Boeing. They weren’t too specific on the bill of lading. Just part number such and such.”

“Do you do a lot of loads for Boeing?”

“No, this is my first one, and I’ve been driving on to nearly forty years.”

“What’s that!”

There was a swath of shimmering air in front of them. Harlon looked over at Steve, but he was driving as if he wasn’t seeing whatever was only seconds ahead. The truck shuddered slightly as it went into the shimmering. Suddenly, it was the darkest night Harlon had ever experienced, and he was no longer in the truck. He looked up, but couldn’t see as many stars as he might expect. From what he could make out, he was standing beside the interstate at an exit. In eerily bright lettering, the sign said EXIT 98. Whatever was happening, at least he had reached his destination. Now, all he had to do was find the old man’s house.

He picked up his backpack, and started to walk up the off-ramp to whatever road would take him to Black Dog. The slope seemed to be a bit too steep. It was strange there weren’t any vehicles on the interstate going in either direction. No headlights or taillights at all. No moon. Not enough stars. Just enough light to make his way in the dark.

As far as he could tell, he had been walking for a lot longer than what you might expect for an off-ramp. The dark kept him from knowing where he had started or when he would reach the top. For whatever reason, the slope seemed to be getting steeper with every step. He almost expected stairs or a rope to help him climb to the top.

In the distance, he heard the howl of a dog, or was it a wolf? No, it couldn’t have been a wolf. For God’s sake, this wasn’t Alaska. It was the dark that was making him hear things that weren’t there. In a town with the name Black Dog, you would expect to hear the howling of a dog. Surely, David would know if it was a dog or a wolf because he grew up in Alaska where there were lots of wolves. He hoped there would be some street lights in Black Dog. This dark was really getting to him.

Where was the top of this off-ramp? Why was it so steep? Why was it getting steeper? No, he was just not used to this amount of walking uphill.

There was that howl again.

What was that movie about wolves in the far north? Oh, yeah, Never Cry Wolf. If that was a wolf, would it attack him? If it was a dog, it would certainly bite him. Probably more than once.

Why was it so dark? It was never this dark back home. Of course, that was back in Cambridge. All those street lights filled the sky with light. You could barely make out any of the major constellations.

Finally, the slope stopped at what must be a stop sign. It was the shape that told him. Certainly not the lettering. From atlas he found in the city library across the street from his home, he knew to turn right and follow the road north to Black Dog.

There was that howl again. Was it louder this time? And another howl. Was that from across the interstate? That was good. He wasn’t going in that direction. And another howl.

Looking ahead, he couldn’t see any streetlights. He couldn’t see any porch lights. How was he going to find the old man’s house?

Was that barking? That was certainly dogs. Wolves don’t bark. No, wolves whined and howled. However they communicated, David should know.

There was that howl again.

Where did that come from? Ahead or behind him? How was he going to get out of this? He needed to find the old man. Then he could leave. He would find the first house with a porch light and knock on that door. They would probably know where the old man lived. After all, this was a small town.

In the dim light, he could just make out the silhouettes of buildings off to the right side of the road, but there weren’t any lights. Why didn’t people have their lights on? It was night. A little too dark for night, but it was still night. Right?

There was a howl and another and another. They were all around him now. It must be the dogs in the yards of the houses.

Ahead, he could just make out someone standing in the road. He was almost afraid to walk farther into the town, but he had to find the old man. Maybe this person would know the old man.

“Harlon Barrett Eldrick the Fourth?”

“Yes? Do you know the Harlon Eldrick who lives here?”

“He’s dead.”

“Dead?”

“I just said so.”

“How long?”

“Years, years ago.”

“Then my trip was for naught.”

“I wouldn’t say so.”

“But—”

“The wolves, it’s the wolves.”

“No!”

“Yes, it’s always the wolves.”

“Dear God, help me!”

“Hey, Harlon! Wake up! I’m at your exit,” Steve said as he jostled the shoulder of his passenger.

“Oh! What?” Harlon said as he opened his eyes and looked around. It was still daylight. He could see a little collection of buildings on his right. There was a white sign with black lettering and silhouettes of two black dogs: Welcome to Black Dog. “Oh, Steve, thanks for the ride.”

“You, OK? You were doing a bunch of moaning.”

“It was a bad dream, a very bad dream. I’m OK, now. Thanks for the ride.”

“You take care of yourself.”

Harlon climbed out of the truck and watched it head down the on-ramp merging into the westbound traffic. Shouldering his backpack, he began walking toward Black Dog. A shiver went through him as he neared the little town. There was a tavern, Bob’s Bar & Grill, just past the welcome sign. Thinking someone there might know the old man, Harlon walked up to the door, but found it locked. Across the road, there was a two-pump gas station and c-store with a couple of Adirondack chairs on either side of the door. Harlon walked over there and went inside. There was a short gray-haired woman sitting on a tall stool behind a bare counter.

“How may I help you?” the woman asked.

“Do you know Harlon Eldrick?” Harlon asked.

“Who’s asking?”

“I’m his son, Harlon Eldrick the Fourth. I’ve got a message for him from my mother.”

“He doesn’t live here anymore. You might say he moved on.”

“Do you know where he moved?”

“His son took him to a memory care facility in Seattle, where I guess he lives.”

“His son in Seattle.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Is there a bus to Seattle I can catch here?”

“It’ll be along in an hour or so. Do you want to buy a ticket?”

“Yes.”

“Just to let you know, if there isn’t a seat, you’ll have to wait for tomorrow’s bus.”

“How many times does that happen?”

“Don’t know. Nobody ever comes here to catch the bus.”

“But it will stop?”

“If you’re standing outside, it’ll stop.”

Harlon bought the ticket, a packaged ham and cheese sandwich, and a bottle of water, which entitled him to use the toilet. He went outside and sat on one of the chairs. He wondered how many memory care facilities there were in Seattle. Would it even matter to go through the hassle of doing such a search? With the old man in a facility like that, it implied dementia or Alzheimer’s, neither of which would help him make any sense of the message. Besides, Harlon didn’t have any more days on the concoction of personal, sick, and vacation days he assembled to take this adventure of his. If he had flown to Seattle and rented a car, he would have time to make a search of the facilities in Seattle. He would fly home and call his mother, telling her the old man had moved on again without giving anyone a forwarding address. That was what he had done for as long as she knew him.