by J. E. Taylor
Burt gave me a tired smile and tilted his head towards the roadside grill and the gas station beyond. A truckers paradise.
“It’s time to refuel.” He pointed towards the restaurant. “I’m not talking about just my gas tank either.”
My stomach answered for me by roaring loud enough to be heard over the truck’s engine.
Burt chuckled. “You sound like you could use a chow break, too.”
I nodded.
“While you were sleeping, I did some thinking,” he said as he pulled off the highway. “If I can find someone to take you as close to your destination as possible at this truck stop, I’m going to accept your offer and follow your advice. I’ll figure out what to tell my wife, but you are right. Life is too short for me to waste my last days on the road.” His smile seemed strained as he downshifted. “Who knows? Maybe we will get lucky and find you a ride right to New England.”
I tried to moisten my lips, but my tongue was as dry as my lips felt. I flipped the visor down, hoping for a mirror to see the damage the night had produced. Unfortunately, there was no mirror, but with the sideways glances from Burt, I was starting to feel very self-conscious.
He slowed the rig, turning into the parking lot, and headed straight for the diesel pumps. The minute he stopped, he tucked the money into the overhead bin above him, giving me that same tense smile.
Is everything okay? I signed before he opened the driver’s door.
“I’m just tired,” he said. This time his expression was more natural. “And you look worse than I feel, so...”
My hand dropped to my belly, and I glanced down at it before looking back up at him. Burt stared at my hand, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. His eyes widened.
“Pregnant?” he asked in a hushed whisper.
I gave him a slow nod.
“No wonder you look like death just smiled upon you. You go on ahead and get some food in you. I’m sure that will help.”
I slid out of the truck and grabbed my backpack. My stomach growled again as I crossed the pavement. With my mind still foggy and my bladder singing, I headed for the restrooms first.
After I did my business, I crossed to the sink and slid my hands under the faucet, waiting for the automated stream of water. My gaze stared at the tap for a minute before my mind registered the knob. I turned it and water flowed. With my hands under the cool liquid, I chanced a look in the mirror.
My hair looked as if I had been in the worst desert sand storm. Stripped of moisture, it just lay in dried layers. My curls looked more like a frizzy mass. I dared to look at my face. My lips held jagged cracks and my skin had that leathery quality about it. It had been less than twelve hours since I had my saltwater fix. I had no clue how bad the next twenty-four hours would be. Even my eyeballs were dry.
I lifted a handful of water to my mouth and took a sip, hoping it would satiate my dry tongue. Even going so far as to swish the water around my mouth, but the minute I spit it out, my mouth became the Sahara again.
Good lord, no wonder Burt had given me that questionable look. I did resemble one of Death’s emissaries.
I splashed water on my face and dried off with a paper towel before heading into the belly of the restaurant with my backpack slung over my shoulder. I scanned the patrons, looking for Burt. On the second pass, I saw him leaning over a table in conversation.
He straightened as I approached, smiling. “I found you a ride east.”
I stared at the boy I had knocked out in Kansas and took a step backwards. Fear knocked my heart against my chest. I turned, sprinting out of the diner. I ran toward the parked trucks without turning back. Once in the middle of the big rigs, I scanned plates for anything near the direction I needed to go. It was a gamble, but when my gaze fell on New Hampshire plates, I ran towards the rig and took a breath as I tried the door handle. It was unlocked. I launched into the passenger seat.
I looked up to see a startled man in the driver’s seat and gave him a sheepish smile. He had a map in his hand, and I pointed to the coastline of New Hampshire before pressing my hands together in a silent plea.
“You need to get to New Hampshire,” he said, still sporting that incredulous expression.
I nodded and glanced in the direction of the restaurant. Burt was standing outside with the kid scanning the parking lot. My breath locked in my throat. I scrunched down on the floor.
The truck driver glanced in the same direction I had. “Crazy ex or something?”
I just nodded.
“Been there. Lived to tell the tale.” He rubbed his shoulder and scanned the lot. “Why don’t you hop in back and I’ll take care of this.”
I glanced at the shadowed bed in the back of the truck.
Don’t. Alex’s warning was loud enough for me to wince against the boom in my head.
I ignored him and skittered to the back. The driver undid the curtains, closing me in. The click of the truck locks sounded. I reached into the backpack for my knife. The nerve endings in my hands tingled around the handle as I sat in the darkened space.
The engine fired up, and the truck rolled forward a few feet before the high pitched whine of brakes filled the cab. The truck vibrated as it sat idle.
The whir of a window rolling down sounded.
“What can I do for you?” the driver asked.
“Have you seen a blonde woman running through the parking lot?” Burt asked.
“I thought I saw someone running that way,” the truck driver said, and the hum of the window followed. The gears shifted and the truck picked up speed.
My skin tingled, and I couldn’t tell whether it was from relief or the tension that filled me. If I had been the driver, I would have asked why, especially if the person was in my vehicle. Unease scratched at the surface. When the rig slowed and passed over the rumble strip, coming to a stop, my entire body tensed.
The engine shut off, and a moment later, the curtain pulled back. The driver’s lips formed a smile, and it wasn’t friendly.
“You know, I usually have to seek out my victims, but here you are, just falling right into my lap.” He pulled a blade from the sheath on his hip.
I told you not to go back here! Alex shouted in my head.
I moved my knife into view and gave him the same smile, tilting my head.
His smile faltered, and a nasty gleam filled his eyes. He grinned.“I like ‘em feisty.”
I sucked my lower lip between my teeth, debating. I was at a disadvantage huddled in the corner of the bed with my backpack between my knees. Standing would put me in range of his knife. It would also put me in range with my knife.
He reached out and grabbed my ankle, yanking me towards him.
My heart leaped into my throat. I opened my mouth, forcing my siren song out of the tightness. I controlled it to a soft lullaby, and he froze, just staring at me with the knife poised for attack.
“Let go,” I sang.
His hand dropped from my ankle.
I was damning this man, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t his first, but I would be the last hitchhiker he ever picked up.
“Drop the knife and drive,” I sang.
His knife clattered to the floor, and I snatched it along with my backpack, taking the passenger seat as he pulled onto the road. He was my puppet just like those men the bicorn had controlled. My stomach flipped at the thought, and I swallowed the burn of bile.
He put the truck in gear with an expressionless face.
I wondered if I just gave myself away, but I had a feeling this man was as far from innocent as any of the monsters I had hunted over the millennium.
“What were you planning on doing to me?” I sang softly enough that my voice wouldn’t be heard outside of this tin can.
He glanced over at me, his eyes lingering with a longing that made me sick. “I was going to fuck you, and then kill you until you pulled the knife. Then I was going to cut you and fuck you while you bled out.”
I shivered as his gaze went b
ack to the road.
“How many have you done this to?” I sang.
“I don’t know. Fifteen or twenty.” He shrugged. “I drop them in the nearest waterway.”
How I ended up in a truck with a serial killer was beyond me, but it also took away that twinge of guilt for controlling him with my siren. I would have to ensure he was under control, because I couldn’t imagine the damage he would do if he went rogue. A part of me would relish ending him. I just hoped I’d have the strength to kill the bastard when we got to Maine.
“Drive and don’t stop until I tell you.” The melody filled the cab.
He slowly nodded. “Where to?”
“York, Maine,” I sang.
I unbuckled my seat belt and stepped in back to try to find something to eat before my stomach emptied the churning acid all over the floorboards. The closed curtains created a web of doubt, so I secured them before I opened the refrigerator. I didn’t know what I was hoping for, but a bushel of apples and a twelve pack of water was enough to get my stomach in an uproar.
I plucked an apple from the crate and a water from the door. Before continuing my food search, I sat down and all but inhaled the fruit. I tossed the core into a small can behind the driver’s seat then started opening cabinets. I found a stash of potato chips, fruit snacks, and a shoe box.
Pulling the box down gave me a chill, but I shook it off before removing the top. I stared at the snapshots in the box. They were all from those old Polaroid cameras where the film spits out a picture, the content of the photographs was enough to make me want to slice his head off. Dozens of bona fide crime photos.
Crimes he gleefully committed.
My impression that the driver was a sly son of a bitch was an understatement. I closed the box and put it back on the shelf while trying to calm my stomach down.
The apple didn’t sit well with this new information. A part of me just wanted to slice his throat and be done with it, but I needed him to get me the rest of the way. I wasn’t sure how I would dispose of him, but it would be in a way that would leave his pastime exposed so his victim’s families could have closure.
Alex hadn’t said anything since he told me not to climb in back. His angry quiet radiated in waves all the way to the surface of my skin, heating me to a near boil.
I’ve got this. Trust me.
He huffed at me, but remained silent.
I grabbed the box of fruit snacks and water and tumbled into the passenger seat. I didn’t ask the driver his name. I didn’t want to know. A part of me wished I didn’t have to ditch Burt at the truck stop, he had been so much more pleasant to travel with than the serial killer sitting next to me.
My energy was sapped and I needed the ocean to regain my strength. If this asshat decided to go homicidal on me, I wasn’t sure I could stop him, even with my siren.
Chapter 8
Despite my vigilance, my eyes kept drooping closed and my head bobbed. I jerked in the seat yet again. My blurred vision cleared as signs for Ohio met my gaze. I blinked and shifted, my bladder too full.
With a sigh, I sang, “Pull over at the next gas station where you can fill up.” I just hoped that would be at the next exit. Otherwise, I was going to soil my pants.
The truck driver nodded and pulled off the next exit. Within a few hundred feet, a gas station with diesel pumps appeared, and he pulled in and parked the truck next to the pump. He stared aimlessly out the window.
“Turn off the truck and fill the gas tank. Then get back into the truck and wait for me.” The tune was soft and just a fraction over the idling engine.
He glanced at me with a slow nod.
I thought about threatening him, but he was still in a compliant mood, so I just hopped out of the truck at the same time he did and nearly ran into the store.
My gaze darted around until I caught the restroom sign just beyond the mini donut shop. I booked to it, slid to a stop before the door, and tried the handle. It gave and I was in with my pants around my ankles before I realized there was just a urinal. I didn’t care, I squatted over that thing and just let her rip. I started chuckling because I had heard more than a time or two that the only thing worse than getting between a pregnant woman and food was getting between her and a bathroom.
Now I understood.
I finished, washed my hands, and went back into the belly of the store without so much as a glance in the mirror. I knew what I looked like. I could see the bones in my hands and feel the stretch of my drying skin. I needed food. I had already pillaged all the apples and snacks in the truck, so I went aisle by aisle until I could carry no more and dumped it all on the counter. I reached for my wallet and closed my eyes. My money was in the truck.
I put up my finger, patted my pocket, and then pointed out at the truck.
“Your wallet’s in the truck?” the cashier said.
I nodded and put my finger up again as I headed towards the door. I opened the passenger door, reached into the front pocket of my backpack, and pulled out a couple bills. The driver gave me a tilted head, so I gave him the sign for one minute.
I ran back inside with a crisp hundred-dollar bill and handed it to the cashier. My total kitty was forty-three dollars and fifty-two cents. The cashier handed me my change and pushed the already bagged items my way.
Thank you, I signed, then picked up the bags and trotted back to the truck.
When I opened the door, my heart dropped. The driver’s seat was empty. I pushed the bags onto the floor mat next to my backpack and started back towards the store.
The driver waltzed out with his zipper down and a bottle of water in his hand. His eyes narrowed at me, and I returned to my passenger seat. He climbed in the driver’s seat and dropped the water into the holder, sending a glare my way.
“What? I had to take a piss.”
The sheer fact he disobeyed my order gave me doubts that my siren was strong enough to contain the maniac. I waited until the door closed.
“Drive fast,” I sang with forcefulness.
And drive he did. He cut the last leg of the trip from eleven to ten, arriving in the little coastal town of York, Maine just before daybreak.
At the first sign of water, I made him pull into a street where a small harbor surrounded the end of the road at the bottom of a steep hill.
“Park here,” I sang and he obeyed. As much as I wanted to run down to that lifesaving water, I had to make sure this psychopath didn’t hurt anyone else. “Take out your knife.”
He obeyed the lullaby of my voice.
“Tip over your heart,” I sang low, like a whisper.
He placed the tip of the blade over his heart and stared forward, waiting for the next set of instructions.
“Bury the blade to the hilt.” A sour taste filled my mouth as the song rolled from my tongue.
The wet sound of steel piercing human skin filled the cab, releasing the bastard’s soul with his last breath.
That soul was poison, and I did not want it inside me. I clamped my mouth closed as the ghost slammed me into the door, insisting on merging with me. I slipped from his foggy grip, jumping into the back area, frantically trying to recall the words to an ancient banishing spell.
His angry wail made me cover my ears. The old Latin words sang from my lips as he barreled towards me. His angry snarl cut off and the ghostly spirit dropped to the floor, unable to continue his rebellion.
With him momentarily down, I jumped into action. I turned and grabbed the shoe box, dumping the pictures into the space between the chairs. Then I wiped down everything I had touched.
With my backpack slung over my shoulders, I released the brake and threw the truck in neutral. A slow roll started. I stepped onto the running board and slammed the door shut, locking the ghost of a dead man inside with all his sins.
Before the truck picked up too much speed, I threw myself to the ground, rolling away onto the grass next to the sidewalk. The impact knocked the wind from me. I stared as the eighteen wheeler careene
d down the hill, over the boat ramp, and onto the beach. Even the sand didn’t slow the beast down. After the surf swallowed the truck, I laid my head against my backpack.
I needed that salt water, and I needed it now.
I rolled onto my hands and knees before getting up onto shaking legs. I didn’t care about my rumbling stomach or the exhaustion making my body weak. Each step towards the water brought forth a wave of dizziness. I stepped onto the sand, and my stomach cramped, bringing me to my knees. Without the energy to stand, I crawled towards my salvation.
The water was frigid to the touch, but I didn’t care. I crawled into the surf until the water reached my elbows and the ends of my hair touched the water. My dehydrated skin took on a new elasticity as each drop of water absorbed into me and rejuvenated every cell. Even my scalp tingled from the cool sensation of hydration. I climbed to my feet, and water rolled down my arms, drenching my jeans as the wet fabric clung to my skin.
The sun crested the horizon, and I stared in wonder. It had been a very long time since I had seen a proper sunrise over the ocean. Molasses painted the few clouds, penetrating the deep blue of the night sky.
My hand dropped to my belly as I witnessed the birth of another sunrise. I glanced down at the slight bump stretching my skin, slowly rubbing the cherished being growing in my belly. I caught an air bubble where the truck disappeared, and a twinge of guilt bit at my stomach.
At least he wasn’t an innocent, and by killing him, I probably saved at least a dozen lives.
A cool ocean breeze chilled my skin, creating a web of bumps along my arms and legs and a shiver that ran from my tailbone to my neck. The reaction wasn’t normal. The tremble morphed into a shake, and I nearly stumbled when I glanced over my shoulder. Fear gripped every muscle. My hand dropped protectively over my stomach.
The teenager in shorts and black Pink Floyd T-shirt that had been following me since Grand Junction wasn’t what scared me, even though the scythe in his hand should have. The fact that Death had come for me himself should have terrified me, but it was the untethered German Sheppard standing next to him, with his teeth bared, that nearly sent me diving into the shallow surf.
