by Nancy Cupp
“I don’t think he’ll wait. And we’d be stuck trying to deal with this thing. Anyway, we don’t have much fuel left.”
“We gotta decide quick, the turn off is just ahead.”
“I’m gonna keep goin’ this way. Maybe the scale’s closed, if it ain’t, I’m gonna run it. The DOT will expect me to stay on the main highway, and our exit is right after the scale.”
Margret’s nails were digging into the armrest. She was afraid they’d be stopped if the DOT saw them run past the scale, especially with the tall trailer making them stand out like a stalk of corn in a bean field. She was loosing hope, but then she saw her message again, Trust Jesus.
Ahead they could see brake lights as the line of trucks slowed to enter the scale. “Shit, they’re pulling everyone in,” said Bruce. He pulled into the outside lane, in front of the faster moving cars, causing drivers to slow down to avoid hitting them. Then he slowed even more to keep pace with a truck preparing to exit to the weigh station.
He stayed hidden on the far side of the truck, hoping they wouldn’t be noticed. As their shield truck turned in, Bruce slowed even more, causing a parade of angry four-wheelers to pass him on the right. Each driver in the long line felt the need to honk, and wave a one-finger greeting at them.
“That was genius. You couldn’t exit even if you wanted to with all those cars passing you on the right.”
Bruce grinned, “Pissed off a lot of drivers, but maybe it worked.” He looked in his mirrors, “I doubt if the DOT will bother to run us down. They’d just stop us at the next weigh station, but we ain’t goin’ that far.” He signaled and made the exit to US-40.
Once they were rumbling down the last stretch of gravel road, Bruce picked up his phone and called Arnold. “Comin’ down the road. We’re in an old green Mack.”
The door to the quonset was open and Arnold was waiting for them. Bruce drove straight in and stopped.
Arnold yanked open the passenger door and nearly pulled Margret out. She yelped as he twisted her arm.
“Lay off her, dammit. Why you gotta be so mean?”
“You gettin’ attached to this one, idiot? She goes in the trailer with the others. We can’t waste any time covering this thing up, then we’re outta here,” sneered Arnold.
Arnold made a vulgar motion toward Margret that made her feel dirty. He shoved her toward the van and pushed her inside, locking the door behind her.
☙
“Glad you make it back honey,” said Blaize, looking down at Margret where she’d landed in a heap on the floor.
Margret looked up from the floor, “Hi Blaize, you guys okay?”
“All depend on what you call okay I guess,” said Blaize with a shrug.
There was a giggle from the corner of the room. Margret looked up to see Rosa curled in a fetal position in one of the easy chairs. “Rosa, are you all right?”
Rosa had a confused expression and giggled again. “What’s wrong with her? What did he do?”
“Oh she be alright. Mr. Arnold just give her something. It make her more agreeable to the mens.”
“He drugged her? What about her baby? He made her…Oh that bastard,” cried Margret. She went to Rosa and hugged her, rocking her back and forth.
“Don’t know nuthin’ ‘bout her baby. Don’t s’pose it matters much no-how,” said Blaize.
They could hear the Mack truck start up. “Do we still have the spoon? I want to see what’s going on out there.”
Blaize got the spoon and gave it to Margret. She found the hole she’d made in the wall and shoved the spoon through so she could see what was happening. “They’re moving the load out. It’ll be a while before they get back, they have to bury it. We gotta get out of here, but Rosa can’t do much like that.”
“Would this help?” Blaize pulled a small key out of her bra.
“What’s it for?” Margret took the key, feeling the weight of it in her hand. She turned it over, it had a K above a W on it.
“I jus’ gets stuff, don’t know what it’s for,” said Blaize. “Miss Rosa, she got the vent open in the bathroom. But she can’t crawl outta there now, she too messed up.”
“KW—Kenworth? Could this be a key to this truck? Blaize, can you fit through the vent?”
“Maybe I can, If I squish my ladies down,” said Blaize with a grin, holding her breasts flat with her hands. “You skinny now, Miss Margret, you can get outta there.”
Margret ran to the bathroom and looked up at the vent above the sink. “Maybe I can,” she said. They heard the big metal door slide shut outside. “Okay they’re gone for now. Help me get up here.”
“Miss Rosa put the foot stool on the sink so she could reach them screws,” said Blaize as she ran for the stool. “What you gonna do when you get out? You gonna be up so high.”
“I dunno, I guess I’ll figure that out when I get there.” Margret pushed up on the vent and it moved a little. She worked it back and forth until it popped out. She wobbled on the stool. “Hold that thing steady if you can. I’m gonna poke my head out and look around.”
“What you see out there?”
Margret pulled her head back inside, “There’s some big bales of hay up against the wall. If I can jump over to those, I can climb down. Can you boost me up?”
“I think so,” said Blaize, “but the door gonna be locked. He don’t never forget to lock the door.”
Margret squirmed and wiggled while Blaize pushed from below. When she turned her hips kitty corner, she was able to squeeze them through. She lay on the roof, breathing hard, looking up at the dusty dome above her. She was scraped and bruised, but she was out.
“Miss Margret, give me a hand. I’m comin’ out too,” said Blaize, as she popped her head out of the vent. Margret tugged on Blaize’s arms while she struggled to get through. “I ain’t gonna make it. I got nothin’ to put my feets on.” Then all at once Blaize was out, laying on the roof.
“How’d you do that? I thought you couldn’t get your feet on anything,” said Margret. But then there was a giggle from below. They both looked through the hole, Rosa was looking up at them.
“We gonna hafta leave her, how she gonna get out?”
“Don’t worry Rosa, I won’t leave you. We’ll get you out,” said Margret, “just sit tight for now.” Rosa sat down with a plop on the bathroom floor.
Margret and Blaize walked to the edge and looked over at the pile of hay. Margret’s face went pale when she saw how far it was, and how high they were off the concrete floor below. “Think you can jump that far?”
“Shoot, I was the best long-jumper in my whole school. I even beat some a them boys,” said Blaize. She backed up a few steps and flung herself at the pile of bales. She landed solidly and turned around with a flourish and a grin.
“You’re awesome! Unfortunately, I was the worst everything at my school, except for reading. I’m not gonna make it,” said Margret.
“Oh no you don’t. Don’t you quit on me now, you done got my hopes up and you gonna get us outta here—now jump!”
Margret backed up and let herself fly. She landed on the edge of the stack on her belly. Her arms flailed for a hand hold, but found nothing. She slid down the face of the stack and landed on her butt on the floor.
Blaize looked over the edge, “Well—that works too,” she said. She climbed down and helped Margret up, brushing off the loose hay. Margret was scratched from top to bottom, and her glasses were skewed, but she was functional.
“Now what we doin’?”
“Let’s see if this key works,” said Margret. She led the way to the cab of the truck.
Blaize climbed up and sat in the passenger seat, “Oh, now this my ride! Leather seats, this how I wants to travel.”
“Let’s hope it works,” Margret turned the key and the truck roared to life. The dash was lit up like a Christmas tree with all the extra gauges and gadgets. “Oh my God! I don’t know if I can drive this thing. What’s with the two shift leavers?”
&
nbsp; “You better figure it out pretty soon, this thing sound like a jet. They gone hear it for sure. How you gettin’ the door open?”
“Shh! Do you hear the other truck outside?”
“They gonna kill us for this, we gonna die,” wailed Blaize.
“Hang on, we’re going out!” Margret found a gear and the truck lunged forward. She stomped on the accelerator, and shifted again. They burst through the big door in a screeching tangle of metal. Ten feet in front of them the Mack was coming in the gate, without the trailer.
Blaize screamed and ducked, “We gonna die, we gonna die this time!”
Margret swerved and caught the front fender of the Mack, tearing it off. There was no way out with the gate blocked, so she swung the rig in a wide arc to the left. The rear of the trailer was still inside, and the doorway scraped its full length. She accelerated into the next gear as she rounded the building. There she drove onto a long flat field, grown over with tumble weeds. To her surprise, there was concrete under the tires. She saw the tall windsock pole beside the building, in the mirrors. “I think we’re on an old runway,” she said.
“You think you gonna fly this thing? They commin’ behind us. We gonna die!”
“Oh no we’re not!” She wrestled the rig around again and headed back the way they came, the trailer tipped onto one set of wheels. She hit another gear and it rocked hard, back on all eight as it straightened out.
Bruce was driving the Mack, and Arnold could be seen waving his arms and yelling. Arnold’s face was bright red, but Margret could have sworn she saw Bruce smile. Their eyes met for a moment as if some kind of understanding passed between them.
He’d stopped the battered Mack at an angle blocking most of the area between a fence and the building. The pole blocked the rest.
Margret sized up the situation, “Fence or pole?”
“What? You crazy! Pole?” Blaize braced herself with one hand, and covered her eyes with the other. The monitor for the trailer lit up under her hand.
“Pole it is,” said Margret. Never slowing down, she aimed for the tall pole. There was a definite snap as the big Kenworth broke the pole off at the ground. The truck and trailer scraped along the corrugated metal of the hangar with a sound like fingernails on a chalk board.
She slowed just enough to make the turn onto the road. The tandems tracked too short and slid off the edge of the culvert causing the trailer to drop hard. The big truck was so powerful it hardly even slowed it down.
Once on the road she tried the other stick and found out it was for the higher range of gears, like a splitter. Dust rolled up behind them as they barreled down the gravel road.
“I can’t see if they following us. Too much dust,” said Blaize.
“Don’t worry, that old truck only goes fifty-two miles an hour, and this one’s like a race car with pulling power,” said Margret.
“Lawd! You like the devil hisself when you gets behind the wheel,” said Blaize, leaning back fanning herself with her hand. “Whoo-hoo, baby. Mario freekin’ Andretti.”
Margret pointed to the monitor screen, “Is that thing a TV screen or what?”
“Oh look, it Rosa in the back. We free girl, we free!” sang Blaize.
Rosa was sitting on the floor, holding her head. “I don’t think she can hear you. Punch some more buttons,” said Margret, trying to keep her eyes on the road.
Blaize punched one labeled audio and tried again, “Rosa can you hear me?” She saw Rosa look around, confused. “We free Rosa! Margret make us free,” then Blaize broke down and cried.
26
Take the Curves Slow
They turned off the gravel road onto US-40 heading northwest. The crumpled fenders of the big blue truck shimmied as twisted chunks of chrome caught the wind.
“Where we goin’ to?”
“I guess I’m going to the nearest cop-shop I know about. There’s a weigh station when we get to I-70.”
“I don’t want to see no cops, you let me outta here,” said Blaize. “They know I be a ho and they send me back to my folks. Then I be nuthin’.”
“What? Why? You’ve been kidnaped, and abused. We need protection, and I have to tell somebody about the nuke back there. We have no money, we can’t just…”
“Rosa don’t need no cops neither. She gonna hafta go back to Mexico if cops see her, and she all drugged up,” argued Blaize. “Who gonna believe you, when you drive in with a busted up truck, a ho, and a druggie.”
Margret slowed down, “I need a little thinking time—do you really think they’d put us in jail?”
“Girl, I been in the system a long time. I ain’t eighteen yet, and they send me back to my folks in a heartbeat…”
“Is that so bad?”
“After my Daddy beat the crap outta me for leavin’, I’d hafta put up with my brothers. That why I left and go find Mr. Arnold.”
“But you’re so talented with hair and stuff—you could make it on your own,” said Margret.
“You really think a black girl…”
Blaize didn’t get to finish her argument. The truck lurched forward from being hit from behind. Margret looked at both mirrors, not sure what happened. She couldn’t see anything behind them, and she was sure she hadn’t hit anything. Then it happened again. Her first response was to slow down.
“Go! It them. They gonna kill us,” screamed Blaize.
Margret caught a glimpse of a vehicle behind them, “It’s not the green truck.”
“They’s in the motor home. He drive that thing like he crazy!”
“Oh my God, I forgot about the motor home.” Margret accelerated, but she saw the tan and brown RV swing out into the on-coming traffic lane, as if to pass. He was gaining on them, then she saw him swerve into the side of the trailer.
The impact caused the whole truck to sway violently. Blaize braced herself, while Margret fought to maintain control. She gripped the wheel with determination, and pushed the pedal down. “Let’s see how fast this thing can go,” said Margret. The Kenworth responded, but it accelerated gradually. The motor home, being lighter, was able to keep pace.
The RV was just behind the cab of the truck when he swerved again. Margret could see Arnold’s maniacal grin in her mirror as he deliberately side swiped them. Even though she was ready for the impact, it caused the trailer to fishtail.
Margret and Blaize both screamed when they saw an oncoming truck. Arnold was forced to drop behind them again. The other truck’s air-horn wailed as it flew by.
Margret glanced at the speedometer, they were going almost eighty miles an hour on a two-lane highway. Arnold was right behind them, and he moved over to pass again. She anticipated his move and moved over to block him. Then she saw him on her right as he pulled up beside them. He swerved over to push them left.
“He’s gonna run us off the road,” yelled Blaize. “We gonna die this time!”
“Not if I can help it, we’re bigger than him.” Margret stood on the brakes. White smoke rolled out from all five axles as they locked up. She could smell burning brakes as they were thrown forward against their seat-belts. The motor-home scraped by, and they saw him skid to a stop.
Margret knew it would take her longer to accelerate, so she took aim and caught the rear corner of Arnold’s vehicle and pushed it at an angle toward the ditch. His tires squealed as he skidded sideways on the asphalt. In her mirror, she could see the front pointing down into the ditch with the rear wheels still on the roadway. “That oughta slow him down.”
“How far to them cops?” asked Blaize. “You gonna get us killed!”
“Look at the monitor. How’s Rosa doing back there?”
“I can’t see her, no wait—she on the floor. She don’t look like she moving. Maybe she dead.”
“God—I hope not. I’m afraid to stop to check on her. It won’t take them long to catch us.”
“Let’s find them cops. I don’t want to do this no mo,” whined Blaize.
“The exit is just ahead, b
ut brace yourself,” said Margret, checking the mirror. “Here he comes.”
“Oh Lawd, what we gonna do?”
Margret moved to the left again to block him as Arnold tried to come along side. She moved back to the right to keep him from getting on her right. She rode the center line and blocked both lanes.
“That ought to keep them back there for now, just so we don’t get any traffic going the other way. The weigh station is right after the exit, hopefully we can make it there.” She could see the motor-home’s mirrors, first on the right and then on the left, and back again as Arnold tried to get by.
Margret was starting to slow for the exit when she saw him sneak around on the right, two of his wheels riding the ditch. Metal against metal grated as he kept pushing against their side.
“He gonna block us so we can’t exit,” said Blaize.
“I’m going anyway. If we don’t get on the freeway I don’t know how far we’d have to go to get help.” Margret downshifted and slowed to make the curved exit. Arnold was still on her right, riding half in the ditch.
They went under the freeway bridge. She almost had him squeezed out when the bridge supports loomed ahead, but the shoulder widened, giving him enough room to get by. The RV was still pushing hard against the trailer.
Margret was going too fast for the curve, “Hang on, he’s going to push us over!” She locked up the brakes, but their momentum pulled them off the pavement to the outside of the curve. Margret yanked the wheel to the right to keep from crashing into the deep ditch.
The trailer almost went over, but she accelerated at just the right time, yanking it back on it’s wheels. When it came back, the trailer slammed against the motor home, sending it rolling. It went over twice and landed on its side at the bottom of the embankment.
Margret was breathing heavy as she merged onto the freeway. They looked down at the impotent RV, misshapen, lying on it’s side. “You think they dead?” asked Blaize.
“I hope not, then I’ll have manslaughter charges to deal with too. I’m not stopping to check, the weigh station is right there.”