3. Highway to Hell

The interior of the vehicle smelled as if it had housed an entire rock concert, or maybe just Gene Simmons; urine, sex, vomit, and a half dozen other scents that he would rather not try to identify lurked in the roomy compartment, although there were no marks or stains to suggest where the smell came from.

It was just there.

“D-driver?” John gasped, breathing through his mouth. As it only seemed to ensure he tasted the scents, he said again, louder; “Driver?”

The tinted glass between the rear compartment and the driver’s seat didn’t budge, but after a moment a small speaker clicked on, even as the vehicle lurched into motion.

“Yes, sir?” The driver’s dry, emotionless voice piped through the speaker, not sounding the least bit concerned with the condition of his passenger.

“Driver, is there a fan or something you could turn on in here? The limo smells a bit-“ a hacking cough tore from John’s throat; “-rank.”

“Sir, my apologies, but the vehicle’s fan is broken. May I recommend that you open a window? The weather is lovely.”

“Yes, yes, thank you.” As the speaker clicked off audibly, John lurched to one of the windows, pressing the button to lower it. The window gradually slid down (far to slowly for his tastes,) but even after opening all the windows he could find, the smell showed no signs of fading away. Finally, desperate for some fresh air, John stuck his head out the window.

He was treated to a view of the golden fields of grain swaying in a light breeze, and a lungful of fresh air before a fly, apparently following some guided course, flew into his mouth and straight down his airpipe.

Hacking and pounding his chest, John pulled his head back in as he flailed about the interior of the limo, a low, alien-sounding rattle forming at the back of his throat. He could feel the damned insect fluttering around his windpipe, and it was several excruciating minutes before he finally managed to extract it. Either that, or it chose to fly out on his own.

Swatting angrily at the fly (and missing entirely,) John was suitably wary of sticking his head out again, choosing instead to just keep his face near the rearmost one, so that the car’s slipstream blasted a bit of fresh air into his face. He could still smell the horrid interior, but the scent was now diluted a little, until it was almost bearable.

“You know, driver… what’s your name, anyway?”

There was no reply, but the car did lurch a bit as it followed a gentle curve with all the skill and grace of a drunk fraternity member, (which, yes, is a redundant title.)

“Whatever… I’ll call you Drives Atrocious Vehicle Erratically. We’ll shorten it to Dave. That fine with you, Dave?”

Still no reply.

“Good to hear. Well, Dave, I don’t much remember how I got here… last thing I remember was that I was planning to walk down to the store for some breath mints, maybe stare shyly at the woman working the counter, and probably read a newspaper without buying it. Still, I have come to a conclusion, Dave. Do you want to know what that conclusion is?”

Predictable silence.

“That conclusion is that I don’t like this place one bit. I’ve had possessions not even my own broken and thrown about the room, was tackled and stripped down by two brutish fellows who look less as if they should be guarding anything and more as if they should be being guarded. Does that strike you as fair, Dave?”

Out of the corner of his mouth, John murmured in a gruff tone; “No, sir, that sounds completely unfair.”

“That’s right, Dave! Completely unfair, in fact it’s a crime. Then I come out here, expecting a nice, relaxing drive. Only the vehicle smells as if it once housed Jabba the Hutt, and when I tried to get a bit of fresh air, I nearly suffocated on a kamikaze insect. Now, I ask you, Dave, does that sound like a good time?”

“No, not at all, John, sir! How do you put up with me and my stupid, stupid town?”

“Because I don’t have a choice, Dave, my verbally challenged companion! Because I have no idea where I am, I have eighty five cents and a Blackberry that lacks a battery, and I’m fairly certain that murder is still illegal in this country.”

Jonathan was just about to start mimicking his gruff Dave voice again when the voice piped through the intercom; “Sir, with all due respect, you do have the brochure.”

John’s steadily building momentum of ranting rapidly collapsed from this simple, and yet incredibly helpful comment. Color flushing across his face, the man murmured; “I’m sorry, Da- er, driver.”

“Quite all right, sir.”

“No, I had no right to say what I did.”

“All’s forgiven, sir, you were frustrated.”

Feeling like a complete prat, Jonathan cleared his throat, opening his box of possessions and extracting the pamphlet. A closer look at the cover didn’t show much; the words ‘Moving Forwards, One Innovation At a Time’ and the silhouette of a man pointing… well, he just seemed to be pointing away, really. Maybe it was meant to represent looking into the future?

What was really odd was that the silhouette had bizarre protrusions, one popping up on either side of its head.

Grunting, John shrugged slightly and flipped the pamphlet open; the first interior page had what looked like a fork as the silhouette, and a few equally positive but mysterious comments.

-The Beginning of the End Never Looked So Similar.

-Now Lust Free!

-Just Like Home, Only Better at Being Worse.

The second page had a bizarre diagram; a campfire symbol had a large diagonal line slashing through it, while beside it a picture of Paris Hilton had a green checkmark running through it. Underneath the two images was, quite simply;

‘Our New Direction.’

The final interior page was a great deal simpler to understand, but it nonetheless left John’s head swimming, and his heart pounding; it was one statement, with a little happy face beside it.

‘Welcome to Hell.’