The Dangers of Trucking

Man, I don’t know what to tell ya.

Look, I’ve been a long-distance trucker all my life. I got the bug from Dad, and he told me about all the things that could go wrong on the road. I spent more time under the hood of his old rig than riding on my own bike, and could likely build the thing again if you give me the parts.

He told me about the other things that can go wrong on the road too. The freaky stuff. And no, I’m not talking about a blown tire, or an axle breaking. The creepy stuff that happens late, in the middle of nowhere, and no one around to help. Or witness, so you know you’re not losing it.

Saw a few of the weird things myself. The kids with soulless black eyes, hitchhiking at the side of the road. Bigfoot, and don’t tell me that was a mangy bear, I could see the obvious difference. Strange lights in the sky. You see a lot on the open road, and as long as you’re not sucked up into the space ship, you keep on trucking.

But, this one…

It was a double haul, but I could only take one trailer, so we got a buddy of mine to take the second. Dunno why we couldn’t put ‘em together, but the boss had some reason or another. Fine, whatever, we both get double OT for gettin’ it there on time. All good. Load’s loaded, well balanced in both, we’re gassed up, we take off.

We were doin’ fine, makin’ good time. We had our cells on CB mode, chatting and yakking our way across the miles. Things were fine. Stop, stretch, coffee, little pills, oh don’t give me that crap. We’re gonna use the pills if you want the freight there on time, and us in decent shape. And others safe on the road. It’s still a dirty secret, but it works, so shut up.

It only got weird after the last stop before the mountains.

We got a bite to eat at that diner at the highway in Dover’s Pass. That’s when things took a turn.

My buddy took a leak, because yeah, you don’t want a full bladder in the Pass. Your butt’s already going to pucker at the grade, both up and down. So you do what you can to keep it lean and light, as Dad would say. Well, I went first, and then he did, and came back twitching his head like he had an itch. Asked him if he was okay, he just waved me off.

We climbed in our rigs, got goin’. Only this time, no talking on the CB phones. Nothing. And sometimes he’d drift, just a little. Not good having that behind you, goin’ into the mountains. Man, that’s eighty thou of dead weight aiming for ya when you’re on the down slope. Sure, we can be death rigs, but we can buy it too if we’re stupid.

Well, with me doggin’ him every time he wobbled, and me wrestling my own wheel, we made it up and down. I don’t know how, really, but I’ve never sweat that much hauling a rig over to this side. Ever. I had to keep my eyes everywhere, and that jumbo large coffee to go with extra shots burned off right quick. The pills, too, and I haven’t had more. Look at my hand – no shakes.

We got to the depot ‘bout two hours after reaching the flat lands again, and pulled in at the guard shack. Guy’s a nice fellow, knows me, knows the route. My buddy’s behind me, I check in, I’m waved through. Don’t even have to leave my cab, we chat, I go to my spot.

Buddy finally pulls through the gate, slides up aside of me, turns off the engine.

And it’s real quiet. Too quiet.

I look over. I can see in the cab, depot’s got lights, and I see his shape. I wave. Nothing.

The hairs aren’t lifting off the back of my neck yet, but they’re definitely tingling as a warmup.

So I open the cab, slide out, to see what’s going on.

And that’s when it happens.

I swear I saw this. There was bright moonlight, and there were depot lights. And the pills were long gone from my system.

The other rig was big enough, high enough, that I could see under.

And when my buddy’s boots hit the tarmac, they – melted.

He melted into a puddle of oily black goo. Up to his knees. Like he misjudged the drop outta the cab. Or the tarmac was quicksand.

And that’s when the hairs on the back of my neck shot straight out like some kind of crazy porcupine.

I didn’t think – I ran.

Dad told me to always listen to that sense, and my neck has never been wrong. Some noises in the engine? Nothing, really. Other noises? If my neck hairs do that thing, I pull over so fast it makes your head spin. And dispatch may be screaming, but I’ve always been right, every time.

I knew if I stayed, I’d be dead.

Sure, I’ve thought about it. Likely my buddy was gone. I’m thinking something got him at the diner, something that doesn’t know machinery or phones. Or maybe my buddy had always been – something else, and went bad because it’s coming on full moon. Dunno, that’s your job to figure out.

I ran for the guard hut.

And I could see, even as I ran, that it was no good.

I knew my buddy’s rig had stopped, for longer than necessary. And I could see the slide window was open, with warmth from the heater chugging out in steamy puffs. I knew this spot; they had a nice snug nest in there. The winters get blasted cold, and they like to keep their shack nice and tight. They don’t open the door unless they need to do rounds.

But that window? I suspected that’s how the thing behind me got in and out. I was gambling it all on that fact, because I could hear the thing huffing behind me.

I dove for the window, got in, scrambled around, grabbed the slide handle, slammed it shut. I had just enough time to lock it before the thing that had taken over my buddy came slamming up, and I could hear snarling over the sound of the heater. Yeah, I see the splashes of blood in here, but where else can I go? One gamble, throwing all the dice at once.

I tried to get a flashlight on the thing, and it growled and got out of the path of the beam. Okay, so it doesn’t like light, that’s good. Bad night to go hunting, though. I could see a black oily shape, like before, vaguely in my buddy’s shape. It tried getting in a few different ways, but would take off out of sight whenever I shined a flashlight on it. No eyes, no mouth, just shiny black, slamming itself against the window. I won’t be able to step over an oil patch on tarmac ever again, you can bank on that.

That’s when I saw the radio, and called you guys.

That’s why I told you to keep your lights on, in all directions.

I don’t know where it is, but you said you saw something dark galloping off when you came in, so that’s probably – whatever it is. I don’t know. I don’t care where you take me, or what tests you want to do, just keep me in a lit room. You should likely wait till sunrise, so you don’t accidentally bring it back with you. Like in a trunk, or under the seat.

I can see it’s gettin’ light, so we can wait a bit longer to leave. But I’m not ever coming back, so if one of youse wants to grab some of those dee-oh-tee work lights, feel free to light up my rig like it’s a frigging Christmas tree, then detach it and bring it in. And let it bake some more. A few days, maybe. Or ten. I’m not fussy.

‘Cause I have to figure out how to tell my buddy’s wife that he ain’t comin’ back, and there’s not even a body to show what happened.