Said To Contain

Despite my exhaustion, the nightmare had woken me up after only four hours of sleep. After I took my shower, it was eight o'clock in the evening. I decided to hang around at the T.A. for a while to get my bearings before heading out.

  They had a little self-serve coffee station, like every other truck stop in the country, so I made myself a nice big jug full of Dark Mountain Roast and drank it black, as usual. It opened my eyes a bit more, but I was still weak and out of it. That dream had really shaken me up.

  A little cafe area outside of the Iron Skillet looked like a good place to sit and read a newspaper, so I decided to go for it. There was nothing exciting going on, really, outside of the numerous articles about what NASA was up to with this new shuttle. Everybody was complaining about how much money they were blowing in trying to revive the space program while the rest of the country was still in the throes of a recession. I don't understand why everybody wastes their breath whining about what the government does with our taxes; they've got all the cards, I don't remember the last time the people were able to really affect any change in how they burn their dough.

  A television was showing a ballgame off in the corner of the place. Several truckers were gathered around, cheering on their teams. The action seemed to be building when that annoying newsflash music started in and the picture cut away to show a big fire smoldering in the middle of what looked like an interstate highway. I couldn't really hear what the reporter was saying, but I gathered that a truck had exploded in rush hour traffic and killed the driver along with several other motorists.

  There were all sorts of army vehicles around, burning in the blaze; jeeps and tanks, it looked like. What was left of the truck's trailer was broken in two and had some sort of liquid leaking out of it. It wasn't a tanker or anything; just a regular looking box -- maybe a bit larger than usual, but otherwise entirely normal. The tractor had been just about reduced to ash, so there was no telling what company it belonged to or anything. Poor sucker; I can't imagine having my truck burn up like that on the evening news. Lucky for the driver that he didn't survive; getting caught up in a mess like that is mighty expensive, even if you have good insurance.

  I tried to call Sammy to help settle my nerves, but there was no answer at his momma's house. They tuck him in pretty early on school nights and don't really like to have the phone ring, so I figured I'd probably just gotten myself into yet more trouble. Meaner, nastier people than my ex have been angry with me in the past, so I wasn't terribly worried about it.

  Time was wasting away faster than I was comfortable with, so I decided I should go. Big Red had gotten a nice rest out in the lot; I almost felt bad waking her up. My reefer was still running surprisingly well, holding temp at negative ten just as it should've been.

  Ten o'clock had come and gone, it was closer to ten thirty when I rolled back out onto the freeway. My luck being what it is, I pulled right into a thick traffic jam. There didn't seem to be any good reason for the backup, so I fired up the old CB to get a feel for what was going on.

  "Looks like a wreck at the forty-two." A deep voice made note. I was back at the thirty-four -- eight miles removed from the crack-up. It must've been a fatal crash to shut the freeway down the way it had. Guess my luck wasn't as bad as it could've been; I was still breathing; unlike the poor fool up the road.

  "Are they workin' to clear it?" I asked in response.

  "They're scraping the guy off the pavement right now; was in a convertible and got a real close hair-cut when it rolled. Probably gonna be a little bit yet."

  After about fifteen minutes, we started moving just a bit. It was slow, and it looked like only one lane was getting by. The deep voiced trucker came on the radio and said they had cleared the left side, so I put on my signal and started trying to wrestle my way over. Eventually, a friendly four-wheeler flashed his lights at me to signal that he was gonna let me in, so I threw the big wheel left and fought against the heavy load I was pulling to wiggle over.

  Suddenly some reject in a little sedan came blasting around the guy who had stopped -- and tore ass towards me. I had Big Red half way into the lane, but this guy acted like he didn't even know I was there. He just kept speeding through the space between us, like he was about to take the checkered flag at the Daytona 500 or something.

  I reached up and grabbed for the air-horn, letting out a long blast as I tried to muscle my truck out of his way. It was no use, though; he plowed into the front corner of my truck, nearly bouncing right off of my steer tire. I had my window down when he hit, so a big cloud of smoke and debris rained in on me after the sickening crunch his little car made as it folded up. His tires squealed as the impact bounced him off to the left, straight into the concrete divider, where he had a second collision and came to an abrupt halt.

  "Son of a bitch!" I shouted as bits of glass, stone and metal kicked up into my cab.

  I set my parking brakes and threw her in neutral, putting on my hazards right where I sat and jumping out of the truck. My first concern was Big Red; she had never been hit by anything, let alone a speeding asshole in a Toyota. The stainless steel of my wrap-around front bumper was bent out quite a bit and chipped up. Thankfully he didn't do any real damage, outside of what had happened to the fender.

  "I'm sorry, girl!" I soothed my baby. "If this guy isn't dead, maybe I'll kill him for ya'."

  The air stunk of coolant and burnt rubber as I marched over to where this guy's car had come to a rest. He was climbing out of the passenger side, as his door was pressed tight against the barricade.

  "Gosh, I'm sorry!" He said as he looked at what was left of his Camry -- it was clearly totaled between the folded up front end and what appeared to be a busted axle. "I didn't see you." He continued.

  "I blew my horn, sir." I offered. "And my truck is about as bright as the North Star with all those lights I've got on it. Are you okay, though? Looks like you took a hell of a ride."

  "I'm fine." He said, stepping up face to face with me. "Guess we should exchange information. You should go back to the truck and get your paperwork."

  "Let's call the cops first." I replied. "You're gonna need a wrecker, too."

  "No!" He demanded, his face changing from what had been an apologetic look to something all together different; almost angry, I'd say. His grimace broke after a moment, though, and he chuckled a little bit before trying to be cordial once more. "Look, I've got a suspended license. I just don't want to get into any trouble, whattaya say we exchange information and get back on our way?"

  I got the sense that he was lying, but if he was cool with just walking away, I figured it wouldn't hurt my feelings any either. A crash investigation could take hours, and I wasn't in the mood to be hanging out on the side of the freeway. My log book looked a little funny to boot, and the last thing I wanted was to end up catching blame for the accident on account of fuzzy record keeping.

  Cars behind us had started honking because traffic was rolling a bit now, and I had my rig blocking the way. Agreeing to the man's suggestion, I got back in the cab and pulled Big Red off to the left shoulder to allow everyone else to go about their business. My paperwork is neatly filed in a binder under my bunk, so I dug it out and went back to wrap up my affairs with the idiot who bent up my ride.

  Traffic started moving freely now, cars whizzing by my truck as I stepped out. I guess they'd cleared the wreck ahead. The man had a pen and paper out and ready, so I handed him my license and insurance card. I took his and started writing his name and address on the back of my log book. He began copying stuff down as well, speaking to me as he went.

  "I'm really sorry I dinged up your pretty truck." He began. "I hope I'm not gonna get you in any trouble with your boss."

  "I'm my own boss." I explained. "I own the truck; the only trouble will be for my pocketbook before I get your insurance company to reimburse me."

  "I see you're from Florida." He continued. "That where yo
u're headed?"

  "Yeah, it is."

  "You coming out of California?" He asked strangely. "Oceanside, maybe?"

  The way he said the words sent a chill up my spine. I stopped writing and looked up at him; he wasn't copying info any more... he was staring at me in a way that made me uncomfortable; like he was eager to hear my response, as though it were a pass or fail test. There was nothing on the paperwork I had given him that said anything at all about where I had been. How the hell did he know I came out of Oceanside? Why did he care?

  "No," I lied, but I really can't even say why. "Pulled this load straight out of Compton."

  "Oh really?" He frowned a bit, still staring at me.

  "Really." I went back to writing, hoping he would look away for the sake of my nerves.

  "That reefer of yours sounds like it's running pretty hard." He noted. "Must be pretty cold in there, huh?"

  "Yep."

  There was a pause.

  "Whatchya haulin'?" He blurted after thirty seconds or so.

  "Ice cream sandwiches." I answered.

  "Oh wow! I love ice cream sandwiches!"

  "I prefer King Cones, Mister --" I hesitated, looking over his ID. "Kramer."

  "Call me Al." Kramer requested before pausing for an abnormal period of time again. "Seems an awfully long way to haul ice cream sandwiches... all the way from Oceanside to Cape Canaveral."

  I froze again, turning up to look at this stranger once more. He was still staring at me, but he was smiling now... like he knew I was spouting bullshit at him.

  His papers were blowing around in his hand, so I looked down at what he had been writing; it was a shapeless blob of scribbles... he hadn't copied any information down at all.

  "I picked them up in Compton." I repeated, my discomfort probably showing as plain as day. "Look, I've got everything I need. I'm gonna get back on my way if you don't mind."

  "What's in your truck, Randy?" Al asked, his eyes burning into mine like lasers. They were hypnotic; deep and intense. I felt the wind blowing in my mouth as it dropped open, my arms feeling suddenly heavy and cumbersome. My legs went weak, like they do when I see blood, and a wave of cold swept over me from my feet up to my forehead.

  "Ice cream." I answered slowly, not to be sarcastic but because it was somehow difficult to speak. I was weaving back and forth now, feeling like I was under some kind of spell that made it seem like I was about to faint.

  "You're lying to me, Mister Johnston." He said in a chilling tone; the kind judges use as they tell you that you've been sentenced to die in the gas chamber. "Tell me what's in your truck, or I will hurt your son... I will kill Sammy..."

  My heart sank to my knees, little or no doubt in my mind that whoever this man was, he had the means to do exactly what he was suggesting. It was as if the knowledge that he could reach my boy had been -- planted in my head....

  "I --" I hesitated. "I don't know."

  The man clearly didn't like my answer. The smile disappeared from his face, and a frightening scowl came to the surface. He cocked his head to the side and kept drilling in with his eyes before suddenly grabbing two handfuls of my shirt and yanking me towards him.

  "Oh, but I think you do!" He said.

  A ring appeared around his pupils; a brilliant glow like the flashbulb of a camera, but constant instead of coming and passing. It spread across the whole of his brown iris until the light was all there was. A beam emerged and zapped into my own eyes, blinding me for a moment.

  It felt like he was digging into my mind somehow... reaching in and scooping out bits of information while digging for something specific. When the haze the beam had created cleared, the man's gaze was a fiery violet. The eyes looked human enough, but the color was something I've never seen occur naturally in any form. It made him look entirely evil; like a monster in the flesh, staring me down.

  That's when I noticed the breath... it was hot and smelled foul, yet familiar. It was the same stench that I had detected on Sammy's mouth in my dream -- just before he started eating the bloody pancakes.

  Another wave of blue crossed my face, then one of red. I tore my stare away from his eyes and saw the source; a police cruiser had pulled up behind the man's vehicle with his beacons flashing. The guy let go of a my shirt and rubbed at his face for a minute, then revealed a perfectly normal set of brown peepers just the same as the ones he'd had before he grabbed hold of me.

  "Everything okay here, gentlemen?" A cop asked as he stepped out of his car.

  "Yes sir." Kramer responded, turning to face him. "We had a bit of a fender-bender and were just exchanging information."

  Fender bender, I wondered... I looked over at his Camry and found it to be just about entirely intact; only a little ding in his front bumper showing that there had been any collision at all.

  "You want me to take a report?" The cop inquired.

  "No sir -- there's really no damage." Kramer answered. "We're all set, actually, don't let us keep you."

  "Officer!" I chimed in.

  Kramer's head swung around violently and he locked his stare on me once again. He looked ready to tear my head right off of my shoulders if I uttered the wrong word. I wasn't sure what he was, but I knew that he could kill both the cop and I in a heartbeat if he wanted to.

  "Yes sir?" The officer asked.

  "The traffic looks a little heavy." I returned, suppressing what I really wanted to tell him for fear of the stranger's retribution. "Can you pull out into the lane so that I can get a safe start?"

  "Sure -- whenever you're ready."

  I didn't give this Kramer guy another look, I just turned and jogged back to Big Red as quickly as I could given the unsteady nature of my legs. Once inside, I put my turn signal on right away, not wasting a second. The squad car pulled off the shoulder and waited, so I dumped it in gear and started rolling. I watched the mysterious man fade into the background in my mirror; still standing there, staring at me as I drove away.

  My heart didn't stop pounding until he disappeared well into the distance behind me, and even then my adrenaline was pumping like mad. I didn't know what the hell was going on... I didn't want to know... I just wanted to get home; to see my boy... alive, just as I had left him.

  Chapter 8