I Told You, Eli Oxley

Chapter Twelve

I had my phone sitting in the passenger seat with the volume all the way up as it fed me directions to the address I came up with after solving the puzzle. Wait . . . you didn't expect me to solve it for you, did you? Psshh. Okay, fine. It's the German. I'll leave you to figure out how I got that answer. I mean, if you think you can.

Anyway, I drove up 58 (that's Highway 58 for the non-Chattanoogans) through Harrison, where all the boaters and bass fishermen live, and continued to leave civilized society growing smaller and smaller in my rearview. Soon enough, I passed cow pastures, horse farms, duck ponds and Emus and Llamas poking their heads through the wire fences lining the highway. At the Crossroads (the only red light intersection for the next million miles), I saw a dilapidated sign, which was really an old piece of plywood with black spray paint that read "Tractor Race this Weekend, 11-14-07", and I wondered who had won.

I drove for another couple of miles before my phone told me I had reached my destination. I was confused because the only landmark in the area was where the road turned into a bridge crossing the lake (Chickamauga? Hell, I don't know. I hardly had an idea of where I was. It was still a part of the Tennessee River, that's all I know.). I did see a car parked in the middle of the bridge, blocking both lanes. Maybe this was the place. But then I thought of the many gangster or survival movies I'd seen where the bad guys park their cars like this, blocking the road to trap their victims to either rob or murder them. The bridge was a perfect place to do it – I wouldn't be able to peel out around the car – the road was too narrow and was surrounded by water. I still didn't know whether this 'hacking group' was a for real thing, or if they were serial murderers using unusually complex methods to attract their victims.

Much like the Gallon Challenge, though, I didn't think through my decision. I pulled up in front of the car and got out. A guy who looked like he was about 30 years old (lots of scruff hiding his sun-worn face) and was possibly a former NFL running back – you know, one of those guys who are about 5 foot 8, no neck, arms bigger than my legs, legs bigger than tree trunks – got out of the car and closed the distance between us in two quick strides.

"Anyone with you?" the man asked.

"No, just me."

"Pull your car to that open lot in front of the bridge then get in my car."

No introductions. No questions. Just orders. Red Flag #1. That's about the time I did start thinking about my decision, and the possible unpleasant scenarios that accompanied it. But apparently no matter how many Deliverance or any other torturous scenes from movies entered my consciousness, I was still stupid enough to go with him.

Then he gave me a black pillowcase and told me to put it over my head when I got into his car. Red Flag #2.

"So is this the computer hacking . . . thing?" I asked.

"What are you talking about?" he said.

Red Flag #3. Finally enough to get me moving. "Uh, I think I need to . . ." I said, pulling on the door handle that was already locked. Shit shit shit.

The guy laughed. "Sorry. Just kidding. Yes, this is the computer hacking thing."

I still wasn't sure if I believed him.

"Look," he said, "I'm supposed to act all mean and rough around the edges with new recruits, and we have this whole sworn to secrecy thing with our group. That's why you gotta put on the hood. But I promise we're not going to go all Saw on you."

"I'm not sure that makes me feel much better," I said, "but whatever." Whatever? Really? Looking back, I can't believe how . . . unwise I was. But that's me now. Me then just put on the pillowcase as we headed off.