White Noise

This story was an assignment for my writing class. The idea given to us was a person driving down a highway that they couldn't get off. This was my entry:


White Noise
Driving always calmed him down. No matter the situation, there was something about the movement of the car, the feel of the wind rushing through the windows that always settled him. As he drove down the deserted highway, he reflected that perhaps it was the white noise generated by the tires. On some highways, the seam of the macadam would punch a rhythm over and over, one that soothed his nerves.
He couldn’t believe he had missed his target. In the 12 years he had been working in the field, he had never once missed a target. He had meticulously researched the woman, determining schedules, family entanglements and anything that might get in the way of completing his business. He had followed her for longer than usual, nearly 6 days, before attempting to complete the job. His blood pressure started to rise, so he cut off the thought and concentrated on the driving for a moment.
He had been driving for the better part of the day. It had been early morning when he left, and now the sun was getting low over the mesas that he could see to his right. He sighed, realizing that he had not stopped for many hours. He looked at his gas gauge finally, realizing he’d probably need to fill the tank. To his surprise, the gauge was nearly full. Pleased, he remembered that the car he had rented got terrific gas mileage for highway driving.
Thinking again about his work, he pictured for the thousandth time the front of the woman’s house. His employer didn’t care where, only that the work got done. He thought again of her front door, the bushes that surrounded the walk. He had wanted to strike as she came out of the line of bushes, but suddenly, a small child- her daughter- had been there, and he had quickly aborted. The girl was too much of a distraction, and he didn’t want to be sloppy.
He realized that he was hungry. His stomach had been growling for quite a while, but he had been so preoccupied with calming himself down, that he hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t eaten in close to 24 hours.
The man began to look for a turnoff. He was in the middle of the desert, so there probably wouldn’t be very many. He tried to think back to the last one he had seen, and he began concentrating on his surroundings. There were no other cars in sight and he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen one in his rearview mirror or on the opposite side of the road. It suddenly struck him as odd, being completely alone on this highway.
He continued on his way, thinking to turn off at whatever the next exit was, no matter how remote. As he felt that same frustration from his work surfacing again, he forced himself to concentrate on the white noise.
The girl had come running out of the house to her mother, handing her a bag of some sort, a lunch perhaps? He had to walk by them, instead of stopping, and continued around the block to where he left the rental. He had dropped his bag on the passenger seat and drove to the nearest highway entrance. He knew at that point that he needed to get far away.
As he continued driving, he realized he hadn’t seen any signs. Not even the mile markers you normally see on the side of the road. No signs, no exits, just the noise of the car driving down the highway. It no longer seemed soothing, that noise; the rhythm took on an ominous tone, as if the thumping noise was counting down to the end, but the end of what he didn’t know.
He decided to stop the car, perhaps wait until another car passed. He could flag it down, pretending there was a problem with his rental, get a ride. He suddenly didn’t want to be alone. But when he tried to press the brake, nothing happened. He pumped it frantically, even stood on it with both feet, but the car just kept on. He wrenched the wheel to the right, and again, nothing.
The highway, the noise, it had lulled him too far. Panic gripped him. “But I’m doing God’s work!” he shouted out the window. “Why is this happening to me?” The only response was the continued rhythm from the car. Frantically, he yelled out the window what he had been about to say to his target, “Hello, I’m making just a brief call to share an important message with you! Please note what it says about accepting Jesus Christ in the Bible. What do you think about that?! Does it sound good to you?!"
On the seat next to him sat his bag, which began to unzip itself, revealing its contents. The pages of The Watchtower rippled in the breeze as the man began to scream.