The Final Shortcut

by G. Bernard Ray

  He watched the hillside in silence plotting every scenario that came to mind. But each one had shortcomings, spots where he would get caught. The gnawing inside him got worse with each passing day. The killing had become a drug for him and he was anxious for more. But it had to be under the right conditions. He had to control every aspect or it would lead to failure. After several hours of unfruitful plotting he got frustrated and decided to leave. When he walked off the high spot, he saw something that made him stop in his tracks. A few hundred yards away next to the Interstate was a sloping hill, big enough to drive on. He quickly rode his bike over for a closer look. It was mostly rock with a few small trees. With a little clearing it could be used to access the road. He didn’t know why it attracted him. He just knew it was something useful, the beginnings of a scheme.

  As he stood there lost in thought a semi blew past and stirred the wind. He wasn’t sure what was next. But he knew he was close to an answer. Soon he would quench his lust for blood.

  Hours later, he was lying in the living room floor staring at the ceiling. He had reasoned out that truckers would be a perfect source of anonymous victims. And he had plotted a way to get them off the road. But he couldn’t devise a foolproof plan to get rid of the evidence. His frustration was mounting with each passing moment. The more ideas he pondered, the more problems he encountered. The madness was beginning to take control. He got up and began to pace the floor. Faster and faster till he was nearly jogging from the couch to the window. His temples were pounding with the intensity of a rock drummer. More ideas flooded his mind but they had become more and more absurd. He was beginning to feel out of control like he was with Celeste and Wesley. The rational side of his psyche tried to rule his demeanor but as the seconds ticked away, it was losing control. His inability to find the perfect plan was forcing him over the edge of reason. He fell to his knees and cried out, grasped handfuls of his hair and yanked briskly. Drool dripped from his twisted mouth, his face red with rage. It was time to act, plan or not. The only way to find relief was to kill.

  He staggered through the house collecting his gear. His favorite knife, a high-powered rifle and a flashlight. Purposely he ran from the house, mounted his dirt bike and sped away to his favorite spot. As he watched the highway traffic, his manner turned calmer. He was hunting now and relief was soon to come. Slowly he moved toward the interstate until he found a vantage point to shoot from. A small hill that gave him a view straight down the oncoming lane. If he shot a tire at the right time, the truck would have to stop. The Browning 30-06 had a scope and afforded him a long range target. He raised the rifle to his shoulder and carefully took aim. A truck was coming his way up a slight incline. Patiently he waited until he could see the trailer tires clearly. With breathless anticipation he chose the perfect time and slowly squeezed the trigger. Through the scope he could see the rear outside tire explode and start to wobble. He dropped the rifle and held his breath waiting for the truck to stop. Anxious seconds passed but the truck kept rolling. With seventeen other good tires it continued its trip around the bend and out of sight.

  “What the....” Junior couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He thrashed the air violently and threw the rifle as hard as he could. But as soon as his fit erupted, it stopped. The realization of what he had done wrong became frightfully clear. The rear tires were double rims. He should shoot out a front tire next time. He snatched up his rifle and cleaned it off. Jogging even closer he found a spot that afforded him a clear shot at his prey.

  Traffic was thankfully slow this evening. It was just past dusk and the light was quickly fading to dark. As he waited, he plotted how he would drive the truck off the embankment to make it look like an accident. His demeanor was calm but his frantic mind was searching for answers. He accepted every angle of his plan, no matter how vague. Anxious to get the deed done he was willing to try anything.

  Then he saw it, a fuel tanker about a mile away. It began to slow as it climbed the grade, getting ever closer to Junior. When it was less then one hundred yards away he took aim and fired. The right front tire burst causing the driver to fight for control. Rubber tread flew off the rim and the truck veered into the gravel. Brakes squealed, gravel flew and the cab grazed the guard rail loudly. It jerked the cab hard to the right and straight toward Junior. He dove out of the way as the truck screeched to a halt a few scant feet away.

  Junior was on his feet and running without a second thought. The time had come and he was ready. He bounded up to the cab and snatched the driver’s door open. Still gripping the steering wheel, the driver looked at him with only a slight reaction. With lightning speed Junior leapt on the running board, pulled his knife and immediately drove it into the man’s side. He yanked it out, pushed the man over and stabbed him repeatedly in the chest and neck. The blood splashed violently in every direction quickly covering everything. The driver was dead long before Junior stopped slashing. One last plunge of the blade into his face and Junior was satisfied. The relief he had longed for was finally upon him. He could taste the blood on his lips and he languished in it for several precious seconds. The ecstasy of the moment was overwhelming. But it was short lived. A car had pulled onto the road side directly in front of him, and it began to back up.

  Junior was panic stricken as he looked at his surroundings. He and the windshield were awash with blood. His killer instincts were beginning to emerge and take over. The car stopped a few feet from them, so close that Junior couldn’t see the back bumper. He jumped from the cab knife in hand, ran to the car and punched through the glass. Slicing the driver’s arm in the process. The lady inside screamed with a piercing wail that rattled Junior concentration. She screamed again and again causing him to stagger back a step. But then with the speed of a striking snake he attacked. He stabbed her in the throat and began sawing until she slumped over into the passenger seat. Her head rolled over the edge of the seat, held on by a thin strip of flesh.

  Juniors’ senses were super sensitive now. He quickly scanned the road for witnesses. There was a car coming up the hill, only a minute away. It was time to make a move. But what? Manic thoughts flooded his mind, his eyes darted back and forth taking in the whole area. In a flash he had an idea. He pulled the car door open and pushed the lady onto the console. Luckily the engine was still running so he put it in drive and pulled forward a few feet. Then he slammed it in reverse and floored it, smashing into the truck abruptly. No time to waste he vaulted out and ran around the truck to the back side where the fuel nozzles were. His luck held as they were on the inside away from the road. A quick glance to his left, the car was closing fast. He tried to open the fuel nozzle but it held firmly. The anxiety was creeping back in on him. His temples were beginning to pound. Then he saw the tool box to his right. In it was a large wrench. He loosened the nozzle until it began to gush gasoline. He could hear the car’s engine gearing down to stop.

  A few long strides and he was back in the woods to retrieve his rifle. The other car had stopped a dozen yards ahead of the accident with the driver’s side door opened. Junior took careful aim and fired a round into the nozzle cap. A small spark was all he saw, but it was enough. The gas ignited and quickly engulfed the truck with flames. Junior turned to run but the ensuing explosion blew him off his feet. Flames washed over him singeing the hair off his face. The heat was intense but he managed to regain his footing and run out of danger. A little distance away he stopped to see what he had done.

  A plume of fire spiraled into the sky like a crimson tower a hundred feet tall. A huge hole is the tanker was spraying fire in every direction. Trees were blazing and the road itself was burning. The cars were also on fire and he could see the other driver standing well away on the road side. Suddenly he jumped feeling heat behind him and realized his shirt was on fire. He dashed it out but he could already feel the blisters rising on his back.

  The flames were spreading fast into the trees. He would have to get away from here before the fire spread any further. The h
eat was becoming unbearable and the acrid black smoke filled the sky. It could surely be seen from town. In a few minutes there would be people all over the area. Time to go.

  Another killing complete, but his triumph was diminished. An ill-fated plan that nearly got him killed. A few feet closer and he would have been blown to bits. This could not happen again. He had to devise a foolproof plan before the next time. Before going home he thought he would seek some advice on how to better handle himself next time. It was a good time to talk to his father. He always had good advice.

  Quietly he made his way across the hills and into the mine. Marty’s putrid remains were positioned in a sitting position against the wall, crawling with maggots and beetles. Junior had moved him into a larger cavern near the air-shaft. As Junior sat there, he talked and listened intently. It was as if Marty was still alive and giving sage advice. Several hours passed before he eventually fell asleep at his father’s feet. The smile on his twisted lips foretold that he had found an answer to his dilemma.

  ***

  Steam was still rising from the mangled hulk of the tanker. Everything in a ninety-foot circumference was melted into a charred heap. The local policeman conferred with the fire chief while the fire crew rolled up the hoses.

  “So what do you suppose set off the blaze?” Sheriff Crump scratched his chin, a dazed look on his face.

  “I couldn’t tell you for sure.” Fire Chief Blanton looked equally bewildered. “The accident didn’t look very bad. It shouldn’t have damaged the tank. There is something about all this that just doesn’t add up. But with the intense heat....there isn’t any evidence left to investigate.”

  “Yeh...it’s going to be a struggle to get a confirmed ID on the bodies. Even the road was destroyed....they’ll have to repave this whole section. The witness said he pulled up just as it exploded. He just narrowly avoided the blast himself.” Both men stared blankly at what was left.

  The total destruction created a scene of mystery, one that could very likely remain unsolved forever.

  Chapter 9

  The sun burst sharply from the October morning fog, bringing light to an already busy truck stop on the outskirts of Bontonville. A brisk chill in the air heralded a change of seasons. Only half a mile from the Interstate sat an old converted service station that now housed “Ellen’s Place.” A bottomless coffee pot, plenty of parking and the best home cooking in the hills for more than twenty years. Her voice was well suited for the CB radio so she advertised her specials “live” from the kitchen. The restaurant alone was successful enough, but with the adjacent gift shop filled with Junior’s leather goods and natural hides. It was very successful. He made everything from authentic raccoon skin caps, belts, bags, and other baubles. And his signature deerskin and rabbit fur clothing that was very popular. Junior maintained the building and all its parts in expert working order. He also tinkered with electronics when he had spare time. Most of his days were spent hunting. He practically lived in the woods, choosing to work in his shop at night.

  But on occasion he would spend time in the store, drinking coffee and swapping tales with the regulars. He had a charming manner about him and the way he told a story was captivating. A blend of pantomime and oratory. His ability to mimic the animal’s movements and sounds was uncanny. It was said that some of his cries could raise goose bumps on a snake.

  It was obvious Junior knew his prey very well. He studied each one with great patience. Learning every individual characteristic so he could outwit his quarry with confidence. Anticipating every move in order to maintain control. And with a steady flow of travelers and truck drivers, it was the perfect place to study his favorite big game. Talking, listening, watching, learning, and waiting for the right time to take his victims.

  Most of the regulars were route drivers that liked to use the shortcut next to the restaurant. A gravel road that cut over to “The Confederate Highway” and slipped behind the truck scales near Brayton. It also ran through a corner of the Baumann property. A route less used before the interstate came through, now it saw traffic almost every day. A lot of the independents liked to run a heavy load for some fast cash, and they couldn’t help but brag. Junior usually knew ahead of time which drivers were carrying which loads, and when they would be there. This allowed him to plan a hunt well in advance, making sure to set the scene for success. He had seventeen kills in twenty years. To date, no one has ever come to ask questions. Today was to be the last one in 1999. And he wanted it to go smoothly.

  Eddie McNabb stopped by almost every time he passed, and he had done so for more than twelve years. Standing five feet eleven and at two hundred sixty pounds, he filled the door when he strolled out after his meal. Junior followed him out.

  “You plan on cutting around the ridge?”

  “Don’t I always, why?” Eddie sucked his teeth trying to dislodge a bit sausage. His thick red hair blazed in the sun.

  “It’s just that there’s been a rock slide about half way down, you’ll have turn in past my driveway and take a right about a quarter mile farther on.” Junior walked his old acquaintance to his truck. The tingling in his temples had already started.

  “Take the second right then, is it a good road?”

  “Sure, I keep it tended just like the other one. A few more turns, but it dumps out just below the other one.” Junior held his hand out to block the light from his eyes.

  “You never have got the county to help you maintain that road, have you?”

  “It’s private property Eddie, and it’s not on their map. I did get them to deliver some cheap gravel though, but only twice.” Junior laughed and held the door for the big man.

  “You never mentioned the other road before, is it rough?” looking down from the cab he looked worried, “I don’t want to slide off the edge in another rockslide.”

  “I take better care of my property than that. It’s just a bit longer and a bit narrower, but safe…unless you would rather go all the way around ….” Junior moved his arm in a sweeping arc pointing to the hills in the distance.

  “No, I’ll be taking the short cut today. I trust you.” He pulled the door shut and shortly pulled away, heading down the dirt road. Junior knew he could cut cross-country and get to the site well before Eddie. His gear was already there. The plan had just been set in motion.

  It was not his custom to inform his mother when he came and went. So it didn’t surprise her to see him riding off on his dirt bike. She knew he would come back when he was ready. Sometimes he stayed several days at a time, sleeping in his hunting shack.

  The one he and Marty built had to be torn down, his new one was a bit bigger. It was also built directly on top of the air-shaft leading to his mine. This one was stocked much better than any other hunting shanty anywhere. Filled with an assortment of niceties from the trucks he had collected in the past. Not lavish, but comfortable thanks to a shipment of camping gear that never got delivered. The lumber, furniture, food, even the toilet paper. All came from the hijacked trucks hidden in the mine. The old family tractor was just big enough to clear the entrance to the mine, reopening a monstrous gateway into the ground. A huge cavern connected the entrance to the old elevator shaft and the railheads. His first two trucks were carefully selected for their cargo, building materials and construction equipment. With which he was able to strengthen the walls and reopen many more passages, recreating a vast underground labyrinth that was once a major mining operation.

  After many years of labor Junior had created a veritable fortress underground. Complete with electricity, hydraulic gates and a security system. The spoils of his career neatly stored in the mine. The bodies of his victims carefully arranged in the cavern with his father. He had been careful not to let any evidence of his crimes leak out, only selling some of the cargo in small amounts at swap meets. Clothes, toys, tools and electronics were his favorites, finding them easier to sell than some of his earlier acquisitions. But sometimes he took a truck just because he could, not for
the cargo.

  Today it was a truckload of shoes, boots, sports equipment and a whole lot more headed for K-mart. There was also a big healthy trucker to fill the grinder tonight. Junior dumped his bike and jogged over to his gear stashed in the bushes. Nearly one p.m. If he worked steadily, he thought, he could have this one cleaned and stored by dark. “Maybe I’ll get to watch “Third Rock From the Sun” tonight.”

  His weapon of choice today was a powerful all metal crossbow that shot eight inch long steel bolts. He hadn’t had it very long and he was anxious to try it out. The truck’s engine could be heard whining as it trudged along the curvy road heading straight for Junior. He quickly hid in some bushes next to the road. From his vantage point he could see the fallen tree strategically placed across the road. Perfectly placed so it couldn’t be seen until you were right on top of it. And if his plan worked like it had many times before, the truck would come to a screeching halt within fifteen feet of him. Putting him straight in line with the driver’s door.

  Eddie was hurrying around a curve when he saw the huge fallen tree. He had to stand on his brakes in a vain attempt to stop. All eighteen wheels dug into the dirt as it slid off the side into the brush. The cab nearly jack-knifed before slamming hard into the tree. The trailer lurched hard to the side and into the bushes where Junior was hiding. The impact knocked him out of his cover and onto his ass a dozen feet away. He had held onto his crossbow but when he hit the ground it discharged. The bolt speared his left calf. Meanwhile Eddie had piled out of his truck, not injured but stomping mad. When he first saw Junior, he followed his natural instincts and went to see why he was rolling on the ground. Confusion took over his thoughts as he examined the scene, something in all this was terribly wrong.