what if…
He noted mile marker 31, then something much larger than a mile marker. Frontlit by orange rays, this billboard stood tall
on the right side of 1-75.
How Does It Feel to Be One of the Last Five?
(I was just kidding back in Atlanta)
~God
Lanny hoped beyond hope that if the billboard were factual, Miranda was the second of the last five. He already knew he was
the first.
6
A T A QUIK-STOP off Highway 528, Ned parked his yellow Mercedes and lowered the car’s convertible top. He got out slowly and frowned as he
inhaled the humidity seeping from a nearby marsh.
Lanny sat waiting in his Xterra, five parking spots to the left. Upon spotting the yellow SL, he climbed out and walked across
the oil-stained lot to introduce himself.
Not so fast,
Lanny thought.
At first the two men looked warily at one another. They stopped some ten feet apart, heads cocked to the side. Each then spat
on the ground like a tough guy. Then, after sizing each other up in front of the store’s glass door, they shook hands like
a pair of G.I.’s who’ve found each other behind enemy lines.
“Ned Wallace, host of Fence-Straddler AM. Friends call me DJ Ned.”
Lanny shook back hard. “Lanny Hooch, owner of Hooch Contracting.”
Both men noted the traffic fleeing from the coast, and both peeked inside the store window at an idle cashier boy. “There
has got to be some explanation,” Ned offered, pointing at the slow parade of vehicles. “And I’m not talking about the hurricane.
Maybe the rest of the normal folks are held hostage somewhere.”
“I’ve thought of that, too,” said Lanny. “I can’t reach anybody.”
Ned rubbed his beard and glanced suspiciously at Lanny. He decided to test this new acquaintance. “Ya know, Lanny, in the
Middle Ages the Christians did some really bad things to people.”
Lanny could not mask his confusion. “Was it the Middle Ages or the Dark Ages?”
This return question served to ruin Ned’s test and put him on the defensive. “Don’t ask me hard details like that, man. I
was a communications major.”
“I never went to college,” Lanny confessed. He motioned Ned toward his Xterra. “You ready to roll? I need to get to Cocoa
Beach and look for Miranda.”
Ned shook his head and stepped toward the Quik-Stop’s door. “After we get some refreshments. Let’s think through this clearly
and hope that our loved ones are somewhere safe.”
Lanny followed behind and asked, “Do you even
have
loved ones? I mean you haven’t mentioned—”
Ned cut him off with a single wave of his hand. “I have a best friend in the U.K., plus a few weekend party buddies here in
Orlando—who are now missing. I got divorced twelve years ago. No kids. No siblings. Parents passed away.”
And that was that.
Inside the store, they avoided eye contact with the cashier and moved quickly to the glassed refrigerators. Ned selected the
last six-pack of Coors Light while Lanny grabbed two bags of barbequeflavored Lays and some peanut butter crackers. The men
toted their items to the counter, set them next to the register, and reached for their wallets.
Cashier Boy frowned at their selection. “Um, sir, I’m not supposed to sell you that.” He pointed to the Coors Light. “The
store owner is keeping that six-pack on display as a kind of souvenir.”
DJ Ned put his hands on his hips and glared at the cashier boy. “Souvenir? One little six-pack is a souvenir?”
“Sir, it’s from back before the—” Suddenly the cashier’s eyes grew wide. He glanced behind him at a photocopy tacked to the
wall. Two black-and-white photos adorned the paper. “You’re… you’re the two guys I heard about on the news.”
“News?” asked Lanny, fighting his fears by playing innocent. He and DJ Ned immediately recognized their likenesses in the
black-and-white photos, as if both men had made a Most Wanted list. “What news?”
“Yes,” the clerk said, sizing up his