"Runners" published by Floyd County Moonshine!

Greetings!

Today is an exciting day for me: for the first time one of my stories is appearing in print! "Runners" is a short literary fiction that appears in Floyd County Moonshine, a local color magazine based in Virginia.

If you would like to purchase the issue, you can do so here: https://www.floydshine.com/issue16-1.html

Otherwise, here is an excerpt:

"Runners" by James D. Mills

Originally published in Floyd County Moonshine

Zhāng Guóshèng stood waving his arms about at the end of Market Street in a desperate attempt to hail a cab. He wanted nothing more than to put this city behind him and get back on schedule. Across the street an angry white man stumbled out of a rundown apartment building covered in flaking green paint, which fell away to reveal the masterful brickwork beneath. The white man yelled at closed windows on the second floor for several minutes. Guóshèng swallowed and prayed that he could find a ride before long, he did not want to get in the way of a rabble rouser.

When a cab finally pulled up, Guóshèng was distracted. He nervously watched the white man give up his tangents and climb grumbling into a burgundy 1941 Ford De Luxe.

“I don’t have all day,” the driver said.

“I am sorry.” Guóshèng shook his head, attempting to focus. “I need to get to MIT, if you could—”

“You need to get where? Are you nuts?” The driver cackled, then coughed violently. The cab sped off to the next customer, spraying Guóshèng with gutter mud before he could formulate an explanation. He had studied English since childhood, but trying to get a word out in the fast-paced city of San Francisco was nigh on impossible. Overwhelmed, Guóshèng threw his briefcase to the ground and fell to his knees in prayer for good fortune. All he needed was a little bit of luck and he could do the rest himself.

“Hey mister, need a ride?” came a heavily accented voice from the burgundy Ford.

Guóshèng’s stomach dropped, he looked around in hopes that the man within was calling for someone else. He waved a hairy, meaty hand out the window. Not seeing another choice, Guóshèng approached cautiously.

“Yes. I need to get to MIT. I just need to find a bus—”

The man in the car leaned back and roared with laughter. Guóshèng looked at him with a flat expression; he was getting sick of these boisterous American men laughing at him.

“Pal, you have landed on the wrong side of the country.” The man’s nose began to bleed and he staunched the flow with a dirty handkerchief.

“Are you alright, sir?” Guóshèng quickly wiped the mud off his spectacles.

“Don’t worry about me,” the man said, tossing the bloody handkerchief into the back seat. He ran his fingers on a photo of a woman and a boy pinned to the sun visor. His eyes seemed to shimmer. “It’s your lucky day. I just so happen to be headed home to New York. I’ll drop you off on the way. It’s the least I can do.”

Jet streams of polluted city air tore through the open windows as his driver, who had introduced himself as Louie B. Deacon, sped across the most opulent bridge Guóshèng had ever seen. Looming orange spires stood sentinel, suspended over the ocean by steel cables. It was a marvel of modern engineering that he could not take his eyes away from despite the dire feeling of peril that had consumed him. He supposed it was only natural to look away from one’s doom.

“That’s the Golden Gate Bridge,” Louie said, sucking down his fourth cigarette in the last twenty minutes. “I have no idea why they called it that, but they did.” Louie tapped Guóshèng’s shoulder and held out a pack of cigarettes.

“No thank you,” he said for the fourth time, waving his hand in an attempt to seem casual. He cursed himself for not insisting that he be taken to a bus station.

“We’re going to Sacramento, then we’ll take Highway 99 all the way south to Barstow.”

“Would it not make more sense to just take another highway East?”

“I think I know a bit more about how to get places here than you, pal.”  

Guóshèng swallowed. “Apologies, sir.”

“Just keep driving.” Louie threw his spent cigarette out the window because the ashtray was full. “That’s the thing about this place. It doesn’t matter where you drive, you’ll end up where you need to be in due time.”

“I am grateful, sir, but I need to get to MIT before classes begin next week.”

“Look, I just need to make a stop in Sacramento, then I promise—no more dallying.” Louie lit up another cigarette. He grumbled and cursed a few minutes later and threw it out the window. “Must be a bad batch.”

...

Read the rest in Floyd County Moonshine!