by Jason Davis
FoF PUBLISHING
Published by
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Madison, WI 53704
© 2016 by FoF Publishing
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic and print editions, and do not participate in or encourage any form of piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Edited by Kim Young
Cover Art & Design by Jason R. Davis
Copyright © 2016
"What’s up?"
The wheels turning and burning, Rodney focused on the road. He had just clicked on the little button hanging from his ear, silencing the jingle reverberating in the small cab. He didn't have to look at the caller ID. While he drove in the setting sun of the West Coast, his wife, Angie, was back east where the sun had long ago set. She was the only one who regularly called him at that hour.
"So how's the driving today?" Despite the miles between them, her voice sounded clear, but he knew it would probably be cutting out soon. It always did when he was in the mountains.
"Usual. Just driving along in my automobile." He couldn't help but say his everyday joke in a singsong manner, even though he wasn't in a car. The long tractor trailer was not just some automobile that anyone could drive down the road, and he was one of the many truck drivers who drove the large machine across the country.
"Oh, hun… Everything going okay?"
How did she always know? He could try and fake being upbeat and positive, but that woman would still pick up on it. He didn't know how she was always able to do it, but it was downright supernatural.
Somehow, she had picked up on how his back ached, his head pounded, and he was five hours behind schedule due to the shipper hanging him out to dry. Maybe there was something to her being his soulmate. She had long since told him as much, but he was not the lovey-dovey type.
"It's been a long day,” he said, sighing.
"Tell me all about it." Her voice stayed chipper, and he could feel it slicing away some of the bitterness he had been holding. Still, he didn't want to talk about his craptastic day. Not yet.
"How was your day?"
"Oh, the usual. My little cling-on at work was her usual self…driving me nuts. She has no clue what personal space is, and it smells like she never showers. She gets right up next to me and I have to fight not to gag."
"It’s only a couple more weeks."
"I know, but why did it have to be me who trained her?"
"Because you’re the best RN there is.”
"If you say so. So, Mr. Avoidance, how was your day?”
“Ugh…” The sigh was long, no matter how much he tried to cut it short. It was hard not to close his eyes and get lost in thinking just how bad it had been. Well, it could have been worse. You might as well just tell her. It wasn’t all that bad, was it? If he allowed himself to admit it, he guessed it hadn’t been too bad. He was alive and no one got hurt. It had just been a lot of wasted time, which would cost him in the end. “Bad.”
“Bad bad, or just bad?”
“Bad bad.”
“Oh, hun, what happened?”
“Well, to put it simply, I can either be home this weekend or we can pay the bills…and even making it home is a little sketchy.”
“Why? What happened?”
“Been sitting at a dock since yesterday.”
“You’re kidding me.”
He wished he were kidding. He explained it to her, although she already knew much of it as it was an old trucker’s story. Sitting unpaid at a dock was an often and frustrating occurrence in the life of a truck driver, and it was never good when it happened to you. When it did, it always hurt.
Yesterday, he arrived an hour early at the shipper, mainly because he wanted to get there before traffic got bad. He was used to getting to places early. It was a good practice because, most times, he was awarded with getting loaded quickly and getting back on the road, keeping the wheels turning. If the wheels weren’t turning, he wasn’t making any money.
Truck driving wasn’t like other professions. It hardly ever paid by the hour or the number of loads you hauled, but usually by the mile. By getting to a shipper early, he was able to get to his next stop that much sooner and, with any luck, back on the road with a quick turnaround. As the saying went, “If the wheels ain’t turnin’, you ain’t earnin’.”
So when he arrived at Terrance Cans, he hoped he would be in and out. After only five minutes, he was close to screaming as he walked back to his truck, getting ready to back up to a door, having no idea how long he would be sitting. His load wasn’t ready because the cans hadn’t been made yet. Not only that, but the line was down, they were waiting on parts, and there was no ETA on when his load would be ready. He just knew it wouldn’t be today.
So he would have to sit there, unpaid, waiting until who knows when for his cans to be made and loaded.
When he had talked to his wife yesterday, he had been cheerful, hoping his load would be done soon so he could get back on the road. When he heard them putting a few pallets into the trailer, he got excited. He would have to drive all night, but he’d slept most of the day, so it wouldn’t be a problem. He was just ready to get out of there.
But the light by his trailer stayed red, silence descending.
Four hours later, then eight, and he still wasn’t back on the road.
When morning came, he was starving, having eaten all the snacks he kept in the truck. He had lost all his patience and still hadn’t heard anything. The night shift had already left, and the day crew all stood outside in their smoking area, puffing away.
Finally, he went back in to find out that the “fix” they had used on the line hadn’t worked and it was back down. The parts should be there in an hour, then they’d get the line back up. Until then, he was one of ten other trucks, all of them sitting there, waiting.
Rodney told her much of the story, maybe exaggerating a little here and there where it felt good. He never actually threatened to hit the smug dock worker who was laughing at all the truckers trapped there, but he had come close. Telling her he did those things, the things he would never rationally do, always calmed him, although he knew how much it stressed her out to think he was capable. He didn’t know why telling her those things helped take some of the edge off. Maybe it was the darkness in him he knew was there, but always held down. That dark corner of his thoughts that scared him, thinking what he might do if he were pushed.
He always hoped that darkness was just his imagination. He couldn’t ever do any of that, could he?
Rodney finished telling her his story, capping it off with him storming out of there just over an hour ago, having lost nearly two full days. He had taken off down the road, nearly hitting two pedestrians who weren’t paying attention and had walked out in front of him. In truth, they had just stepped off the curb, but it felt good to pad the story.
“But why can’t you make it home? It’s only Tuesday.”
“We’ll see, hun. But, right now, I don’t think we can pay rent. I pretty much just had my days off sitting at the d
ock. If I come home, that would be four days off this week not making money.”
The line was quiet. He knew she was thinking about what he had just said, but also upset by the truth of it.
“What about Tina?”
And there it was. Rodney was already upset. He wanted to be there, already afraid he wasn’t going to make it before all of this happened.
He wasn’t ready for this conversation.
He saw the sign for the truck stop on the large billboard, seeing it was three miles away. He didn’t want to lose more time, but he needed coffee and something more than beef jerky. His gums were bleeding from how much of the toughened meat he had eaten, and he thought he’d be sick if he ate any more.
“Did you hear me, Rodney?”
“What do you want from me, hun?” he asked, hearing the defeat in his own voice. He didn’t know what he could do and, right then, he really didn’t care. All of this, his life, just seemed to get more and more to the point of what did any of it matter? What was any of this for?
“I want you to be here for our daughter’s birthday.”
He closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh. The sound of the rumble strips on the side of the road were loud, echoing in the cab of the truck as he drifted off the road. He pulled it back with a quick jerk, keeping it from going past the shoulder.
His heart beat loudly in his own ears as he got the truck under control. When the exit for the truck stop came into view, he flipped on his turn signal. He needed that coffee more than he thought.
“Okay, hun. I’ll be there.”
“Okay. And babe.”
God, he loved her voice. How did she always burrow her way into his heart and soul? She was his calm.
“Yes, hun?”
“Be safe. We’ll make it though. Okay? We always do.”
“Okay.”
“I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
He ended the call and put the phone in the little slot in the dashboard as he pulled into the small truck stop. He eased up to one of the empty stalls on the fuel island, listening to the hiss of the brakes as they released. Part of him was too tired to even get out of the seat, contemplating just sitting there and letting his body crash into exhaustion. The sun was setting, the orange fire stretching to the pink and red haze of the day escaping. He wished he could shut down, let his day be over like so many others did, but his day was just beginning. He had a long night of driving through the Rocky Mountains, which would be endless stretches of nothing, lost in canyons so deep, even the sky wouldn’t be visible.
He grabbed his thermos and emptied it as soon as he opened the door. This was a full thermos of coffee kind of night.
$ $ $ $
The truck stop was a dump, but it wasn’t like he didn’t expect that, being so far in the middle of nowhere and probably the last diesel stop for a hundred miles or more. You would think being the last stop for such a long distance would invite one of the big chains, but it was also so far from anywhere, it had to be hard to keep the shelves stocked. The crap he did see in there was all out of date and looked like it fell off the back of the truck. They had a pickle, one of those packaged monstrosities truck stops sold in their coolers, that was two years past expiration. He brought it to the cashier’s attention, but she just shrugged. Rodney saw her putting it back in the cooler as he walked out the door.
The place was nasty, and he wasn’t looking forward to the burger he had bought. It might end up putting him out of service somewhere in the mountains.
The day just keeps getting better, he thought as he walked around a tanker truck parked next to his. As he looked around, he could see it was the only other truck in the place. With the little light from the overhead, he saw what looked like mud coating it from front to back. It was one of those older Peterbuilts, or maybe a Kenworth. One of those long-nosed trucks the two companies kept copying from one another. It was odd, though, as it had a moose guard on the front, spikes sticking out about two inches. They looked sharp, too, and Rodney was sure that if the truck ever hit a deer or something, the creature would be ripped to shreds by this modification.
Whatever works, he thought, climbing into his own rig, tossing the bag containing the burgers onto the passenger seat. He put the coffee in the holder he specially made, then turned the key. The engine roared to life with much more energy than he felt. He took a few swigs of his thermos, feeling the hot liquid working its way down his throat. He knew it wasn’t going to do much for the headache pulsating in his temples, but it might help keep his lids open.
800 miles… That was all he had to go. It would be a day-and-a-half, then Rodney could find another load to get him north. Maybe he would be able to make it home before his little girl’s birthday. It would be a stretch, but it might be possible. He just needed to haul and get it done.
Rodney put the truck in gear and steered toward the exit. He had barely made it ten feet when he heard a loud air horn. His heart leapt into his throat as he slammed down on the clutch and brake. He slid another foot in the gravel and stopped just in time to see the tanker that had been next to him tear past, its horn blaring.
“What the hell, man? In a hurry much?”
He watched as the truck didn’t stop at the exit, tearing straight across and onto the interstate.
Rodney grabbed the mic and turned on his CB.
“Hey, man. In a hurry or what?”
The CB crackled in response, then he heard a loud rumbling through his truck. It shook the cab, then he felt it shaking him.
When the CB cut out, he was left in the relative silence of his idling truck.
Shaking his head, he put it into gear, easing it to the stop sign and stopping to check for any traffic. He looked all around him, not wanting to take the chance of cutting anyone else off. Then, as his heart tried to calm itself back into a normal rhythm, he eased onto the interstate.
Well, at least I’m awake now. Damn a-hole.
$ $ $ $
His stomach felt like acid and fire had combined and were twirling around while he tried to pay attention to the road. It wasn’t easy. Their movements and gurgling sounds kept threatening to take away most of his attention, although it was easy to get distracted.
It hadn’t taken long before he hit the first mountain, and was now chugging along up the steep slope. He had no idea how steep it was because that information was only at the top, meant as a warning for those going downhill who would have to stay in lower gears while riding their brakes. With him going up, there was no concern he would build up too much speed. As it was, he was in sixth gear, getting close to the need to drop to fifth as he slowed down to thirty miles per hour. He kept one eye on the road as he came up on a tight curve, and his other on the RPMs, waiting for it to drop low enough to downshift.
This was exhausting, and it was still early. Something about a truck chugging along at slow speeds, endlessly climbing, was tiring. It took so much out of him, but he never knew why. Maybe it was just the low, dull, endless rumble of the engine.
His head grew heavy and he felt his eyelids lower. It was so tempting to just nod off. Even just to pull over to the shoulder. He could set the brakes and take a quick nap.
Rodney heard the rumble strips, his eyes shooting open. He was on the shoulder, having very little space before the guardrail and then a wall. The road had curved, but he hadn’t. Pulling hard on the wheel to swerve back into his lane, he saw it. The tanker truck was just in front of him, going much slower than he was. It must be overweight because it was quickly dropping back in his lane as he worked to gain control of his own truck. The interstate was wide, consisting of three lanes to accommodate the right lane being reserved for the slow trucks like himself, but he was going faster than the tanker. He had to swerve more or they were both going to run into the mountain.
He pulled harder on the wheel, feeling everything shift in the truck. He had to lean into the turn, putting his weight into it. It was going to be close. The tanker had lo
st a lot of speed. The driver must have missed a gear because even if he were too heavy, he shouldn’t be dropping back this fast.
Rodney wasn’t sure if he was going to get over in time. He swerved hard, keeping a close eye on the red lights of the tanker as they drew closer. When a loud horn blasted, he barely had time to register the four-wheeler as it shot by him, barely missing the front of his truck. Rodney was nearly in the middle lane, but the car hadn’t even tried to get over. Instead, the driver had felt the need to blare the horn at him as he struggled to keep his rig from jackknifing, rolling, or colliding with the truck in front of him. If he made it through this, he might have to check his pants for crap or his back for angel’s wings.
He watched through his blindside mirror as his trailer cleared the back bumper of the tanker while he steadied out in the middle lane. His truck fell to such a low RPM for the gear, it lurched. He downshifted, eyeing the truck next to him. He made the gear, his truck slowly crawling past the tanker. It had to only be going a rough fifteen miles per hour, but Rodney was now down to just a little over twenty.
As he came cab to cab with the other truck, he looked over, trying to give the other driver a nod of acknowledgment, but he couldn’t see in the darkened cab.
He grabbed his CB, nodding to it, not sure if the driver could see him. There was the glow from the console in his cab, but it was faint. He might be nothing more than a shadow, as well.
“Hey, buddy. Sorry about that. Thanks for letting me by.”
The CB crackled with no response as Rodney crept on past.
He blew out a breath, letting his already frayed nerves calm. Maybe he could start to relax and have a decent night of driving.
Wondering if there was anything on the radio, he reached for the nob, jumping when there was a blast of an air horn. It howled through the night, and he couldn’t stop himself from jerking the wheel. He swerved to the right, remembering too late about the tanker. He looked in the side mirror and watched as he went into the tanker’s lane, cutting him off. The truck swerved with him, hitting the guardrail, sparks flying into the night as the tanker screeched to a stop.