Chapter 3 - Shadows on the Asphalt
The Kenworth roared through the darkness, a multi-ton beast chewing through the storm.
In the back, Elena had managed to wrap Arthur’s side with thick gauze from Roger’s kit. The bleeding had slowed, but the man was running a fever, muttering feverishly under his breath. The little girl, Mia, had fallen into a restless, terrifyingly quiet sleep.
The boy, Leo, was sitting on the edge of the sleeper berth, his eyes fixed on the back of Roger’s head.
"What's your rig's name, mister?" Leo asked softly, his voice barely cutting through the rumble of the engine.
Roger glanced in the rearview mirror. "Doesn't have a name, kid. It's just a truck."
"Everything has a name," Leo whispered. "If it doesn't have a name, it means nobody loves it."
The words hit Roger like a physical blow. He thought of Helen. He thought of the empty house in Pine Ridge. He swallowed the lump in his throat and gripped the steering wheel tighter.
"Keep your head down, kid," Roger muttered.
The storm was beginning to break, the torrential rain fading into a heavy, suffocating mist that clung to the asphalt. Roger hated mist. It distorted headlights and hid the predators.
And right now, they were being hunted.
Roger checked his side mirrors. For the last twenty miles, the road had been completely dead. But now, two miles back, a pair of headlights had appeared.
They weren't trucker lights. They were too low. Too wide.
And they were moving far too fast for the weather conditions.
Roger tapped his brakes lightly, slowing from sixty-five to fifty.
The headlights in the distance didn't maintain their speed. They accelerated, rapidly closing the gap. Within minutes, a sleek, black, heavily modified SUV materialized from the mist, riding aggressively close to the Kenworth’s heavy rear bumper.
"Are they here?" Elena gasped, seeing the reflection of the lights in the cab.
"Get on the floor," Roger commanded. "All of you. Now."
Arthur groaned as Elena pulled him down into the footwell of the sleeper berth, shielding the two children with her body.
The SUV swerved into the left lane, pulling up alongside the massive truck. Roger kept his eyes facing forward, his jaw locked. He glanced peripherally out the driver's side window. The tinted window of the SUV rolled down. Inside, a man in a dark jacket was holding a heavy-duty tactical flashlight, shining it directly into Roger’s cab, trying to see if there were passengers.
Roger didn't flinch. He grabbed his CB radio mic and held it up, pretending to talk casually to another driver. He kept his face bored, annoyed by the bright light.
The man in the SUV shouted something, but the wind stole the words. He raised his right hand. There was a matte black pistol gripped tightly in his fist.
Roger’s blood turned to ice.
They weren't going to ask questions. They were going to kill the driver and search the rig.
The man pointed the gun at Roger’s window.
Roger didn't wait for the flash. He hauled the heavy steering wheel hard to the left.
The sixty-foot, eighty-thousand-pound Kenworth violently swerved into the left lane. The massive steel tires slammed into the side of the sleek SUV with the force of a wrecking ball. Metal shrieked. Glass shattered.
The SUV was thrown off the road like a discarded toy, skidding wildly through the muddy median, spinning out of control before slamming violently into a concrete drainage ditch.
Roger corrected the wheel, stabilizing the massive truck. He didn't slow down. He pressed the accelerator flat to the floorboard, the diesel engine screaming as the truck surged forward into the mist.
"Are we okay?" Arthur choked out from the floor, coughing in pain.
May you like
"For now," Roger said, his heart hammering against his ribs. "But they know what I drive. And this rig isn't exactly invisible."
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