Locomotive to the Past, George Schultz [snow like ashes series txt] 📗

route to and from Herman Gardens. An important bonus had always been: The facility was fairly near, to Valerie’s parents’ house.

He pulled into the lot—beside the large store. He was slightly surprised—to see the bountiful number of cars, that had preceded him. There were already eleven cars—lined up (side-by-each)—parked, facing the building. He drove to the back of that exterior side, of the store—and became the twelfth.

Our Boy did not notice the green ’41 Lincoln Zephyr! The vehicle had pulled into the parking area—right behind him! The luxurious automobile had hung back—at the very front of the lot!

Jason exited his “gorgeous” ’35 Dodge—and began making his way, along the backs, of the parked cars—toward the street entrance to the A&P! As he was passing the rear, of the ninth car, he—suddenly—became aware of the fact that a big, dark-green, car had him, in its sights! The car was bearing down on him! Pronto!

He attempted—mightily—to hurl himself in, between the eighth and ninth cars! He did not make it! As he dove, the Lincoln’s right headlight assembly caught his right hip! Smashed into it! With great vigor! The crushing blow slowed his momentum! Considerably!

The automotive interloper did not halt his thrust! Not completely! Jason laid there—writhing, in bad pain—halfway between the two parked cars! He was making a Herculean attempt to slither his way—further into his only hope, to survive the deadly onslaught!

The legendary “millions of images” barreled through his overheated brain!

This must be what they mean . . . when they talk about your whole life passing before your eyes!

That frenzied thought had come, and gone! With supersonic speed! Along with the realization that the still-elusive success—at pulling himself in, between those two protective automobiles—might not prove to be all that protective!

He might just get out of his car . . . and shoot me!

But, there was one thing that the driver of the green car did not notice! That would’ve been the fact that—as he was turning the Lethal Lincoln around—a portly, elderly, lady was pulling into the lot, and was proceeding toward slot 13! Her black, 1939 Packard, four-door—looked to be every bit as substantial, as the Lincoln! And—for a few panic-driven seconds—the two vehicles were heading toward one another!

The potential, for a head-on collision—one that promised to be fatal—was narrowly avoided, when, at the last possible moment, the Lincoln swerved, to the right! And, within seconds, the green, luxury, car was speeding northward—on Plymouth Road!

The woman, in the Packard—Mrs. Emily Byrd—had, immediately, succumbed, to a massive case of shock! So much so—that she almost ran over Jason’s still-vulnerable legs! Almost! Fortunately, she’d managed to recover her, still-shattered, wits! Barely in time—to narrowly avoid hitting, the struggling young man! By inches!

She’d slammed on the brakes, shut off the motor, snatched the key from the ignition, pushed open the driver’s door—and rushed, screaming, from the vehicle! The panicked woman headed—immediately—toward the store’s Plymouth Road main-entrance!

She burst into the facility—surprisingly quickly, considering the fact that she’d carried an abundant amount of suet, on her five-foot-two frame!

Screaming—at the top of her leather lungs—she managed to “get the attention” of the store’s manager! His cubicle was—geographically—just inside the entrance! On “the other side”, of the wall—which all those cars (except Mrs. Byrd’s) were facing! He was—finally—able to decipher, what the poor woman was shouting!

He rushed outside—and finally located the badly-injured Jason! Assuring the young man—that help was, on the way—he dashed back, inside the store!

In the 21st century, everyone had a cell phone—or a unit that was eons more high-tech! One merely dialed 911—usually, by pressing a button—and the rescue operation was, instantly, set in motion!

Not so—in 1942! The manager had to look up—in Detroit’s immense phone directory—the number of the Schaefer Highway precinct, and call in the emergency! Fortunately, the dispatcher—at the police station—had the number, for New Grace Hospital, on Meyers Road and Seven Mile Road, close at hand! He promptly relayed the data to the medical facility!

An ambulance was immediately dispatched! But, the relative slowness, of getting through to the hospital—and the fairly-long distance, that the ambulance had to travel, from where it was being sent, meant a substantial wait for Jason! One that took almost an hour!

The manager, of the A&P store, was truly a saint! He’d waited—outside—with the badly-shaken patient-to-be! Jason was eternally grateful, for the gesture! Quite possibly, literally! For he knew who’d been driving that damnable green Lincoln! It couldn’t have anybody—other than “kindly” Mr. Stackhouse! And without the constant presence of the store manager, his assailant might well have returned! And finished the job!

Even Mrs. Byrd was well-intentioned. She’d, eventually, brought him a cup of coffee—from the hamburger joint, located just across Mettetal.

Still, the wounded young man was certain that he would die—before the emergency crew would ever arrive!

He did his best to give contact information to Mr. Branstadt—the manager! The man had, dutifully, noted each name and number, in a small, notebook—that he’d always kept, inside his shirt pocket.

Once Jason was, safely, on his way, to the hospital, the man had—also dutifully—called Eric and Susan. Then, Valerie.

One of the medical attendants gave Jason a, supposedly-potent, shot, of painkiller! But, it didn’t help! Nothing did! Nothing would! The patient was certain—that he’d never make it to the hospital—alive!

TWENTY NINE

Mercifully, Jason was wrong! It was at, about the halfway point—of the horribly lengthy trip, to the New Grace Hospital, on Meyers Road, close by Seven Mile Road—when the much-needed, heartily-welcomed, “mercy” finally took over! Our Boy would prefer to tell you—that he simply “went to sleep”! In truth, of course, he’d lost complete consciousness! The, potent-but-slow-working, painkiller had—at long last—taken over! Thankfully!

He woke up, at about 10:30PM—in a semi-darkened, two-bed, ward. The second bed was vacant—except for three visitors; seated thereupon. The trio being Susan, Eric and Valerie! (Who else?)

The latter’s tear-stained face, gave grave evidence, that she’d never really stopped weeping. Not since receiving the phone call—from the A&P’s store manager! That tragic contact had been followed—within three of four minutes—by a call from Susan, asking the