As Easy as Falling Off the Face of the Earth by Lynne Rae Perkins

couple of cars screamed by. The faces of the drivers of the cars turned toward Carl like sunflowers following the sun. Their mouths formed angry words. They made hand gestures.
    “I don’t know where everybody’s going,” said Carl, shaking his head. “Look around,” he said, chuckling. “There’s no place to go!”
    Ry wished he could see better through the smeared windshield. He wished the dials on the dashboard worked. All of the needles rested, lifeless, at zero. Zero mph, zero rpm, zero gas. Zero mph sounded really good right now. Zero gas might be a good thing, if it were true. If they ran out of gas, they could get out of the barreling behemoth death trap. Dessicated insects had collected in the crevices both inside and outside the dials. Trying to get in, trying to get out.
    Another dark, blurry shape seemed to be materializingin the distance, growing in size and in loudness of rumbling. It pixelated ahead of them. In their lane. Which was legally its lane. It was time for a new plan. And a brilliantly simple idea formed in Ry’s mind. He would say he was sick and he had to throw up. It was even sort of true. Once he got out of the car, he would not get back in. He would walk forever; he did not care now how far.
    He was about to put his plan into action—his lips had parted to speak—when Del said, “Hey, Carl, can you pull over to the right up here? This is our stop.”
    “Hm?” said Carl. “Oh. All right. Of course. We’ll just pull right over.”
    As he spoke, he somehow relocated his unfeeling, slippered foot onto the brake pedal and gradually slowed the car. He reflexively flipped on his turn signal, steered expertly into the narrow parking area in front of a long, low shedlike building, stopped neatly at the opening onto the porch. A competent driver had stepped forward on the runaway bus that was Carl, a cowboy jumped onto the wild pony and settled it down. A fragment of the real Carl, unfogged by time, had surfaced. Momentarily.
    Ahead of them large, bright letters on a giant sign that even Carl’s eyes could make out told them that thiswas CECILE’S TRADING POST . Underneath it said that Cecile’s had GAS * SNACKS * AMMO * BAIT * SOUVENIRS * CRAFTS .
    “Out looking for souvenirs, are you?” asked Carl.
    “I need some postcards,” said Del. “I want to write to my friends and tell them about my vacation.” He was out of the car. Ry was right behind him.
    “Good for you,” said Carl. “Tell them all I said hello.”
    “Thanks for the lift,” said Ry.
    “Glad to help out,” said Carl. He winked. “My good deed for the day.”
    He threw the car into reverse, cranked the steering wheel, and reared back in a tight arc. But before he could pull out, Del was over at the passenger side window again, his hands resting on the door.
    “Listen,” he said. “I noticed your muffler is dragging. I can hook it up so it doesn’t drag till you can get somewhere, if you have a coat hanger in the car. Take me about two seconds.”
    “Oh, I don’t have anything like that, I don’t think,” said Carl. Looking over his shoulder into the backseat.
    “Let me just ask inside this place then,” said Del. “They probably have something we can use. Can you hang on just a minute while I go in and see?”
    “Well, all right,” said Carl.
    “I’ll be right back,” said Del. As he passed Ry, he said, “Go talk to him. Don’t let him drive away.”
    Ry stepped uncertainly toward the car, his hands in his pockets.
    “So…,” he said. He hadn’t had a lot of practice at making conversation with old geezers. Except for his grandfather, but that was different. His grandfather still had all his marbles.
    “So, what’s in all those boxes back there?” he asked.
    Carl looked over his shoulder again, then back at Ry.
    “No idea,” he said. “Looks like someone’s moving, maybe.”
    “Aren’t they yours?” asked Ry.
    “Nope,” said Carl. “I never saw them before today.”
    “How did