The Feast Part 1

When the GPS navigator perched on the dash of Mark Hicks’ car tells him to turn somewhere, he usually listens. And this cold November night was no different. He was driving back home after visiting his family for Thanksgiving. His parents lived in Mississippi and he was going to college in Cincinnati. He enjoyed the distance and picked that particular university to get away from all the rednecks and hey yall’s that were all too prevalent down there. His parents, however, were worried by the distance, that was probably why they bought him this GPS system for Christmas.

“So you won’t get lost while you’re up there at school.” His mother had said, while she donned a Reindeer themed sweater.

That was last Christmas and since then he had become pretty trustful – and maybe a little dependent – of the thing. When the electronic voice said to turn, he turned. When the voice said nothing, he kept going straight ahead. And that’s what he had done this entire day on his trip back to Ohio. He had done it mechanically, barely paying attention to where he was. He had set the destination and fully expected the little machine to get him there safely. It probably would have too, if his car hadn’t broken down. Suddenly something under the hood began to wheeze and cough, almost like a sick old man propped in a recliner watching old westerns. The car slowly rolled to a stop and the old man let out one final cough before dying completely.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me?” A tired and suddenly frustrated Mark asked to nothing but the interior of his car.

He was only 19 but each one of these little road trips seemed to add a couple years, making him look a bit older. He tried cranking the ignition three times but got nothing but sputtering and more coughing. Finally he gave up and just sat there for a moment. This was the first time he actually took a look around him to notice where he was. Without even realizing it, the GPS device had taken him down a back road. Maybe it was a “shortcut,” according to the GPS but he didn’t like it. The road was dirt mostly, mixed with a little gravel. It wasn’t very wide, the kind of road that if two cars were to pass each other in opposite directions, both would need to get two wheels off the road to avoid a collision. Trees lined both sides of the road.

The winter season had caused the leaves to fall off the branches, making the limbs seem like boney arms reaching out. These limbs reached out on to the road slightly, almost like they were grabbing for the vehicle and Mark Hicks himself. He looked at the small screen of the GPS device, as if expecting an explanation. He half expected the screen to read, “You’re dead.” but instead it displayed a tiny rendering of a car on a road and an arrow in front of it pointing straight ahead. It indicated that the street he was currently on was Hollow Drive.

“A lot of good this thing is, it took me down the back road from hell,” he thought. He opened the car door to check under the hood and a bone chilling November gust met his face. He suddenly had the overwhelming sensation he was in a Hitchcock movie.

“I knew I should have listened to my dad,” he thought, “All those times he tried to teach me things about cars. About what was under the hood and how it all worked. But, no, I was too busy hanging out with my friends and watching mindless television shows.”

Those things had felt so much more important at the time but now they seemed extremely insignificant. “How in the world am I going to fix this now?”