The Jackdaw

one, and a face card. You have less than a one in three chance of closing your store today.” He looks back up at her. “Now draw.”

  The gun in the Clerk’s hand begins to shake. She looks down at the face of the Jack staring back at her then back up at the man standing in front of her.

  “And what if I no take a card,” she motions the gun forward in a shooting motion “and just shoot you now?”

  The Driver smiles.

  “Well that’s your choice. But remember you were given a chance, a fighting chance,” he pauses a moment and locks eyes with her, “and what would shooting me down make you then?”

  The Clerk’s eyes shift around as the idea settles over her. She looks at her gun, takes a deep breath and pulls her finger away from the trigger. She reaches down for the deck and removes a single card from the middle of it. She pulls it to her body slowly. They both watch as she peels it away from chest to see what she has drawn. Suddenly a loud crash blasts through the store.

  The shock startles the Clerk and she fires her gun into the stomach of the Driver. The Driver, caught off guard as he has swung toward the noise, is blasted away from the counter. His body swings round with the impact and he fires a round as he is falling. It hits the Clerk between her heart and her shoulder. She screams and falls to the ground.

  The Driver places his palm over the bleeding wound. He removes his hand and simultaneously grits his teeth and tenses his stomach at the pain. He looks at the wounds closely. Most of the holes are shallow but one toward the center of his stomach is pumping out dark red liquid. He curses and begins to pick himself up.

  “I guess we were both at the mercy of your drafty store.” He says as he searches the counter for the Clerk. He leans forward and catches sight of her face as she is lying on her back. She is clenching her eyes tight at the pain.

  “Keep the deck. It was half lucky for you, whatever half luck means.”

  The Clerk’s eyes fight to get open and she meets his gaze. He looks down at the card still in her hand.

  “By the bye, I have to know, what did you draw?”

  “Leave!” Her scream is shrill, like a frightened animal, it pierces him to his core and he turns and walks away from the counter.

  The bell over the door rings.

  III

  The car screams down the black road. One hand rests upon its wheel whilst his other is being forced down upon a wound on the lower left side of the Driver’s abdomen. He looks again at the deepest wound as the crimson blood trickles down his stomach. He stares out above the steering wheel, his eyes searching for the edges of the horizon, trying to find anything that looks like something. A large green governmental sign appears in the distance. It grows from small to large quickly and flies past the passenger side with a woosh. The white lettering on these signs generally detail points of interest, tourist sites, and public necessities but this one merely serves as a basic reminder to anyone who drives past. ‘Drive. Safe. Live.’ Perched high above the word ‘Live’ is a pitch-black crow sitting stone-still like a gargoyle presiding over a cathedral. Only as the vehicle passes by does the Gargoyle’s head cock to an unnatural angle. Welcome, it says.

  The distance is measured in broken down cars. Most have been resting there long enough to have lost what made them recognisable as vehicles. Tyres removed, shells baked to burnt, and varied stages of rust conquering all. The Driver pays them little mind and takes a swig of the bottled water laying next to the briefcase. He glances at the clock; it reads twelve thirty four. Another sign appears off in the distance. As it grows the Driver’s brain shifts from the accelerator to the brake. His face recedes slowly into his neck with a question. The sign reads the same as before: ‘Drive. Safe. Live’. And the question on the Driver’s face is ‘... huh?’ High above the sign the Gargoyle’s head twitches the opposite way. Make yourself at home, it says.

  The Driver’s eyes widen. His foot furiously tries to push the pedal through the floor. The engine roars. The needle on the speedometer begins to twitch as it nears to its maximum. Every inch of the Driver’s body is screams flee.

  Several kilometres away his heart slows down to a manageable pace. He begins to pay attention to the geriatric autos that periodically appear alongside him. Many are little more than frames but one stands out as it hasn’t decayed down to unrecognisable. He slows the beast and pulls off the road alongside the abandoned vehicle.

  He winds his window down and stares at the broken down car. It is covered with a thin layer of debris. He scans the recognisable features and turns towards his own car in confusion. The car is the same make and model as his own. The image of the governmental sign and the Gargoyle appear in his mind. He shifts the car into gear and slams his foot down. The car slides back onto the tar. Off in the distance, a large governmental sign begins to grow.

  As he passes the sign the Driver swears at his windscreen. He shifts the sole of his foot onto the brake. The car drifts into the sand on the shoulder of the highway. The Driver gets out of his vehicle without turning it off and looks up at the back of the sign appealing to it for answers. The Gargoyle is already facing him. Its head twitches again. No answers, only questions, it says.

  “No.” He proclaims to both the Gargoyle and the sign.

  The Gargoyle’s head flinches inquisitively. No what, little man? It says.

  He approaches the sign slowly, unsure of what he might find. He extends his hand, reaching for the steel poles that hold it aloft but stops centimeters short. He looks at his hand and then along his arm. He laughs.

  “This is ridiculous.”

  The Driver shakes his head and turns back to his car.

  Inside the vehicle he sits still for several deep breaths. His turns and reaches for the briefcase on the back seat. He opens it and removes a neatly folded map. He studies his journey up until the petrol station. The tip of his index finger taps the area of the petrol station. It then travels along the only route out, a long thing vein across the map, ending in what appears to be some kind of military base or industrial site. The Driver’s brow furrows and he exhales. He raises his head and stares around at the horizon.

  “I couldn’t have gone that far.”

  He exits the vehicle and begins to pace. Instinctively he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the deck of cards. He spins the cardboard box, end-to-end, between his thumb and forefinger. It gains speed. He turns and looks down the highway, searching along the way he came. He turns again and stares in opposite direction, gazing along the way he could go. And then turns back again toward the way he came.

  “Card.” Squawks the Gargoyle.

  The Driver jumps at the sound. He looks up at the blackbird. A defiant smile begins to grow on his face. He opens the packet of cards and shuffles them.

  “Odds and blacks, and we see how far this road goes. Evens and reds, I go back the way I came.”

  He pulls a card from the deck. The four of clubs stares back at him. He puts the card back in and shuffles again. He removes another card from the deck. He looks at it then back up at the sign. He places the card back in the deck and confidently walks back to his car. He revs the engine and releases the handbrake. A trail of smoke billows behind the thick tires. The car swings to the other side of the road and heads back along the way it came.

  The Phase III races back down the black tar. The Driver looks in his mirror at the Gargoyle and the sign growing smaller. The outline of a rusty car grows out the front right side windscreen. As it passes, the Driver scans its features. A defiant grin forms on his face and he turns back toward the road. He nods and surveys the horizon. He checks the mirror again for the bird and the sign. His grin grows wider. A sharp pain lances him through his stomach. He grimaces. His hand presses the wound hard for a moment and pain streaks across his face. He slowly releases the pressure and exhales fully. His eyes focus back through the windscreen and his heart sinks. On the horizon a shape begins to form. White letters on a green background read: “Drive. Safe. Live.”

  IV


  He swears and pushes the motor harder. Without looking he reaches across the seat to the water bottle. He grabs it by the neck and pops the top off. He lifts it and sends a stream of water into his mouth. He abruptly stops and holds the bottle away from his face. The transparent liquid comes to rest inside the plastic. He looks out at the landscape. Dust and death stare back at him.

  As another rusted shell passes his car, the Driver squints at it hard, scanning the frame. He puts his foot down and the speedometer edges higher. He passes a second ruin and spies a third off in the distance. He squints again and his head cocks slightly to the left. He pulls over. He rolls down his window and looks at the abandoned vehicle. His hand slides down the side of the door searching for the handle. It grasps it and stops. His head turns back to the road and he looks out without seeing anything. He reaches down for the map again and unfolds it against the steering wheel. His hand moves instinctively to his jaw. His eyes flare open. He grabs at his rearview mirror and turns it to his face. His eyes dart fervently around the reflection. He rubs hard at his chin. The faint sound of scratching sandpaper is heard.

  “... what?”

  He looks at himself and sees the bristles of a several days growth.

  “I…”

  He sits