Truck Stop (4 page)

CHAPTER SIX

Roger slammed on the brakes and leaped out of the car. He shoved the seat forward, tossed the blanket aside, and looked around the back seat. This couldn’t be happening. She had to be hiding. He looked on the floor of both the back seat and the front passenger seat, but there was no Lilly, no pink rabbit.

Roger spun back, scanned the parking lot. “Lilly?” he yelled.

No response.

He spotted a middle-aged man over at the gas pump. “Hey!”

It was futile; the man couldn’t hear him over the wash of rain. Roger slammed the car door and ran over to him.

The man looked up, startled, as Roger approached. “Excuse me! Hey, did you see a little girl get out of my car over there?”

The man looked over at Roger’s Mustang and shook his head. “Not since I’ve been here,” he said.

Roger spun around, squinted out into the wet darkness. Nothing seemed out of place—just the trucks coming and going. His stomach tightened as his panic rose. He yelled desperately, “Lilly!”

Inside the diner, Kat was pouring coffee for the adults at the family’s table when she looked out and saw Roger running away from the gas pump and back toward his car. She could tell there was something wrong. She dropped the coffeepot off at the busing station and hurried to the front door.

Roger was running past as Kat stepped outside. “Roger!” she yelled. Roger saw her and cut over to the awning, out of breath. “What’s the—?” Kat started.

“You watched my car the whole time, didn’t you?” he panted.

“Yeah, of course. What’s wrong?”

“Lilly. My daughter. She’s missing.”

“Missing?”

“Yes. She’s gone. I went back to the car and she wasn’t there.”

“But I—“

“You didn’t see anyone go near the car, did you?”

Kat shook her head “No. No one. And I didn’t see her get out, either.”

Bart yelled from the diner behind Kat, “Order’s up!”

Kat shot an annoyed look back at Bart. “Hold on a….” She looked back at Roger, but he was already running toward his car.

“Kat, come on!” Bart yelled insistently.

Kat sighed, frustrated, and reluctantly went back inside.

Roger raced up to his car and looked around again. Kat had been watching her while he had been in the hallway and the men’s room, and they hadn’t been in the alcove more than five minutes. Even if she had noticed the adults’ inattention and purposely slipped out the far door of the car in the rain, which was unlikely, Lilly couldn’t have gotten far in five minutes. He looked over at the trucks parked closest to his car. Someone had to have seen something, he decided, and raced over to the nearest one.

It was a glossy maroon-colored rig with the lights on in the cab. He pounded on the door. “Hello?”

The door popped open and a woman appeared. She wasn’t at all what Roger expected to find in a trucker. She was in her early 60s, with short salt-and-pepper hair and kind, matronly eyes—the picture-perfect, favorite-aunt type. “What’s wrong, honey?” she asked.

“I’m looking for my daughter. She’s seven, brunette, in pink pajamas and a blue sweatshirt. She was in my car over there.” Roger waved his hand at his Mustang.

The woman squinted out into the rainy darkness, then looked back at Roger. “I’ve been here about an hour, but I haven’t seen any little ones out in this rain,” she said.

Roger sighed anxiously, looked around at the other nearby trucks. “Shit.”

“Oh, dear. You don’t know where she is?

“No. No, someone was watching the car, but my daughter managed to get out anyway,” Roger explained, trying to contain his frustration.

“Oh, no.” the woman said with honest worry in her voice. “I’m sorry, honey, I haven’t seen her, but I will—“ Roger was gone before she could finish. She watched him dart over to the pearly cream-colored rig next door with its large sleeper cab.

Roger pounded on the door. Waited. After a moment, he could hear the faint muffled voice of a man inside. “Momma… someone’s at the door.”

The door opened a crack, and another woman peered out. She was in her late 40s, muscular, with spiked white hair and gold-capped teeth. “Yeah?” she asked warily.

“Hi,” Roger said. “My daughter’s missing. She’s seven, brown hair—“

A man’s voice called out from behind the middle-aged woman. “Who is it, Momma?”

The woman barked back, “I got it, Daniel!”

Daniel, a soft-spoken eighteen-year-old, peered out from behind his mother. He had a thin, delicate nose, full lips and large, doe-like eyes. He would have been a beautiful woman if he hadn’t been a man.

“Someone’s lost?” he asked.

“I told you, I got it,” his mother snapped, annoyed. Daniel retreated out of sight. The woman looked back at Roger. “We ain’t seen no one.”

Roger peered anxiously into the cab behind her, trying for a better look, but he couldn’t see much. This woman trucker didn’t have the warm tone in her voice that the other woman had. “Are you sure? She was in my car over there, and—“

“We been watchin’ TV. Ain’t seen anything. Sorry.” She cut him off, then added with a forced smile, “But we’ll keep a look out.” She snapped the door closed.

Roger spun around desperately. There was one more nearby truck, a beat-up old Mack with Georgia plates.

Roger raced over, pounded on the door. A heavyset man in his late 40s shoved the door open. He had deep creases in his slightly bloated face, one eye that looked slightly off to the left, and he wheezed with every effort. “What’s up?” he growled.

“Hi. I wanted to know if you saw a little girl, my daughter. She’s brunette, seven.”

“You lost your kid?” the man interrupted sharply.

“Yes. I mean, she was in my car, right there,” Roger pointed.

The man’s watery eyes glanced at the car, then back at Roger. “She was by herself?”

“No. Someone was watching her, but she somehow got out of my car.”

“Jesus Lord,” the big man wheezed, irritated. He was doing everything he could to hide his obvious frustration with Roger, or with any parent who would let this happen.

“Look, I’m just trying to find out if you saw her,” Roger offered defensively.

“You look inside the truck stop?”

But Roger’s attention was diverted to the sleeper cab behind the man. There were a couple of Confederate flags strung up, and a gun rack with several rifles. Roger looked back at the big, asthmatic man, a little rattled by what he was seeing behind him. “Huh?”

“The truck stop. The diner. Gift shop,” the driver snapped insistently. He had given up trying to temper his irritation.

“No, I was in there when she—“ Roger started to explain but stopped. Why the fuck should he care what this fat old asshole thought? He turned away. “Fuck it."

The big man shook his head and closed the door. Roger steadied himself on the running board. His whole world was spinning out of control. A complete disaster was unfolding, and with no sign that it was going to let up.

He looked from the front of the diner to the repair garage and truck wash in the distance behind it, then back over to the diner. His eyes strayed to the dark highway.

Nausea swept up his throat; his heart skipped. The highway. Dear God, please no.

Roger ran flat out across the parking lot. The cold rain stung his red face like needles, and his lungs ached by the time he reached the edge of the road.

A truck sailed past, blasting its horn. A shock of cold, muddy water splashed over Roger. He recoiled, shielded himself, shouted, “Fuck!”

He staggered back, wiping the water from his eyes. He spit several times, trying to expel the grit from his teeth. “Motherfu….”

Roger managed to clear his eyes and squinted out across the dark road. That’s when he saw it, a pale body lying in the ditch on the other side.

Roger screamed, horrified. “Lilly!”

He bolted out into the highway. A car blasted its horn and swerved to miss him. Roger raced blindly through the swirling rain in the car’s wake. He reached the other side as passing headlights from another truck swung by. The pale body was a dead deer. Maggots swarmed the wet innards that spilled out onto the soaking asphalt.

Roger reeled from the sickening sight. He coughed and gagged, nearly vomiting. This was hell, no doubt about it. An unending nightmare that he couldn’t wake up from. And the end was nowhere in sight.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Kat was serving the family their dinner when Roger bolted back inside the diner. He was flushed and out of breath. He made a cursory check of the diner, then charged off toward the adjoining gift shop.

Kat set down the last plate of food on the family’s table and called after him. “Roger!” He ignored her.

Roger made a loop through the shadowy gift shop, past the dusty shelves of travel aids and crappy cheap toys. If Lilly were here, she would be sitting in one of the aisles playing with some little plastic dog. The animals were always her favorites. If they ever got separated in a toy store, he would always find her lost in some make-believe game of talking animals. She created long, intricate scenarios that played out the story lines from her favorite DVDs, usually
The Lion King
or
Balto
. Roger would then begin a protracted negotiation on how many of the little animals she could buy, and which ones. But not this time. Lilly was nowhere to be seen. The gift shop was empty.

Roger darted out of the shop, crossed over to the hallway door, and threw it open. The long, eerie hallway was deserted. Roger gave a look in both directions. “Lilly!” His voice echoed in the emptiness.

No response. Just the buzzing of the fluorescents and the dripping of the rainwater into the buckets. Roger took off down the hall, rattling the knobs and pounding on the shower and sleeping room doors as he went. “Lilly! Are you in here?”

Nothing. He reached the men’s room and ducked inside.

Roger raced down the row of stalls, banging them open and looking inside. They were all empty. Roger spun around, catching his breath, his mind racing. Then he took off again for the door.

He bolted back out into the hallway and ran headlong into Kat. “Hey!” She recoiled, startled.

“I can’t find her. She’s nowhere around,” Roger panted desperately.

Kat recovered, took a deep breath, and did her best to remain calm. “Roger, she’s got to be here someplace. She must’ve got out the driver’s side of the car that I couldn’t see. She probably came looking for you on her own and got lost.”

Roger didn’t hear Kat’s attempt to reassure him. He pushed past her, shoving open the women’s room door. Kat followed him inside.

Roger raced down the row of stalls, banging them open as he went. “Lilly?” He reached the end. The place was empty. “Fuck! How could she just disappear?”

Kat approached him, still trying to remain calm. “All right,” she said. “We’ll find her. There’re a lot of places she could be. This is a big place. Let me tell Bart so he can take over in the diner, and I’ll help you look.”

But Roger wasn’t listening again. He sped out the door. “Roger!” Kat called after him.

Roger hurried down the long hallway, weaving around the buckets of rainwater. He reached the back door with the small windowpane and shoved it open.

He stepped outside, scanned the wet darkness, and cupped his hands on either side of his mouth. “LILLY!” he screamed into the cold night.

The drumming rain swallowed his voice. He looked over at a shadowy junkyard beyond the cyclone fence and yelled for her again. But nothing came back to him. No small cry. No “Daddy, I’m here.” Nothing.

Roger pressed on, determined. He cut around the side of the truck stop complex to the repair garage.

A strange, pale flickering light emanated from inside the barn-like metal structure. Roger stepped around to the front of the building; the garage doors were open.

The mechanic he had met at the gas pumps in front of the diner when he first arrived was seated at a workbench beyond the service bays in back. A black spark shield covered his head, and he was working an arc welder. “Excuse me!” Roger yelled.

The man didn’t hear him over the crackling and buzzing. Roger stepped through the open doors and carefully made his way across the greasy concrete floor past a large, dangling engine-hoist chain. Boxes of parts and supplies lined the walls, and closed doors led to what must be storage rooms or office space.

As he grew closer, he could see that the mechanic was welding a crankshaft onto a sculpture made of various discarded engine parts. The sculpture was strangely elegant and almost organic-looking. It seemed alive as it danced and flickered in the smoke and flashing light from the arc welder.

“Hey!” Roger yelled.

This time the man stopped but didn’t turn off his welder. He looked up, his black welder’s mask still over his face.

“I’m looking for my daughter. Seven, brown hair. Have you seen her back here anywhere?” Roger asked.

The mechanic paused for a moment before shaking his head. Roger waited for something more, but he looked back at his sculpture and resumed his welding. Roger considered pressing the point but thought the better of it.

He turned away and looked out the open garage doors. The truck wash building loomed nearby.

Roger ducked back out into the rain and hurried over to the cavernous building. He stepped into the truck wash entrance and peered down the long, shadowy tunnel filled with idle hydraulics. “Lilly?” he yelled.

Roger made his way down the corridor, past the massive, lifeless brushes and shammies. He paused halfway down, considered the eerie, shadowy tunnel. This was a waste of time. She’d never go in here. Not in a million years.

Roger deliberated his next move, and that was when he heard it—several truck engines rumbling to life in the parking lot out front.

Roger raced around the side of the complex in time to see several trucks clicking on their headlights; their air brakes popped and hissed. The family from the diner was piling into their minivan. Everyone was on the move at once, for some reason.

Kat appeared at the diner doorway. “Roger!” she called.

“What’s going on?” Roger asked as he cut over to her.

“Word just went out that the top of the grade is going to get snowed in. This is the last shot at getting over the pass tonight.”

Roger watched the row of trucks getting ready to leave. Their occupants were the only remaining witnesses who might have seen something.

“Shit,” he swore, and took off.

Kat watched him make a beeline toward the first truck as it headed out to the highway. “Hey! Roger, be careful!”

Roger waved his arms and cut in front of the first truck as it rumbled toward the on-ramp. The massive beast slammed on its brakes and shuddered to a stop. Roger cut around to the cab and leaped up onto the side step. The annoyed, heavily tattooed driver rolled down his window. “What the fuck are you—?”

“I’m looking for a little girl. My daughter,” Roger panted as he craned his neck and looked into the cab.

“I haven’t seen any kids. Now come on, get off my truck,” the driver shot back.

Roger hopped off the side step, and the truck lurched away with a grinding of gears. Roger cut over to the cab of the second truck in line.

The grizzled old man behind the wheel already had his window down when Roger leaped up onto the side step. “You outta your fucking mind?” the old guy growled. “You’re gonna get yourself killed!”

Roger desperately scanned the inside of the cab. “I’m looking for my daughter. She’s brunette, seven—“

The truck behind them started blasting its horn.

“I ain’t seen no one,” the old trucker snarled.

Roger leaped off the side step and raced over to the last truck. But this one didn’t stop. It blasted its horn and kept rolling.

Roger ran up alongside it, yelling at the wiry 30-something man behind the wheel. “Hey! Hey asshole!” he shouted. But the truck roared out onto the on-ramp, leaving Roger behind in the pouring rain.

Roger staggered to a stop, catching his breath. He turned and looked back at the parking lot. Four trucks had decided to sit out the storm at the truck stop. One was the cream-colored rig with the pearly finish that belonged to the spiky-haired woman and her son Daniel. Another was the maroon-colored rig that belonged to the amiable favorite-aunt type woman. The third was the beat-up old Mack with the Georgia plates that belonged to the man with the Confederate flag and the guns, and the fourth one….

Roger wiped the water from his eyes and focused in on the fourth remaining truck. It was the muddy old tanker truck, the truck with the cab he had looked into earlier and seen the gaunt-looking driver with the hollow, sunken eyes staring back.

Roger cut back across the parking lot, heading straight for the foreboding old tanker. All the lights were off in the cab. He stepped up to the door and knocked.

Thunder rumbled in the black, wet sky overhead. Roger knocked again. No answer. He climbed up onto the side step and peered into the window. The dark and mud were impervious. He used his hand to try to wipe the mud from the cab’s windows, but it streaked and smeared across the opaque glass.

Roger gave up and stepped back down. He crossed around the front of the cab, carefully scanning the old truck as he went. There was something out of place about it; it wasn’t kept up like the others. It was as if the driver didn’t care.

Roger considered his options. If the driver wasn’t inside his truck, then he had to be in the truck stop somewhere. Roger would at least have to track the driver down and question him the way he had the others. One thing was certain; he would have to keep a close eye on this truck.

Roger turned away and was about to head back to the truck stop when a flicker of lightning lit up the turbulent sky. Roger hesitated; something caught his eye in the pale glow.

He looked down at the front wheel well of the tanker truck. Strange, thin, wet strands hung from underneath. Roger kneeled. He reached behind the muddy tire and pulled at one of the strands. It slipped away from the greasy axle. Roger held it close for a better look. It was human hair, clotted with blood and bits of pulpy scalp clinging to the ends.

Roger swallowed dryly; his heart began to thunder in his chest. He dropped to his hands and knees and looked up under the wheel well. The rainwater dripped down through the oily engine. Roger waited for his eyes to adjust to the new level of darkness, and he saw something else caught up in the struts. It was pale, soft, and irregular, with something dark hanging from it.

Roger scooted farther under the truck. The closer he got to the hanging object, the more details he could make out. The dark hanging shape was the cuff from a torn pair of jeans, but there was more than just fabric there.

He squinted as he scooted closer and reached out. The second he touched it, he knew what the fabric contained. Human flesh. Cold, dead. An ankle. A toe. It was a human foot severed at the ankle; the blood was thick and oozing from the tattered flesh.

Roger withdrew his hand, startled. He wrenched around, started to squirm away on his stomach. He was almost out from underneath when another flicker of lightning flashed overhead, illuminating the greasy undercarriage. A human face was in front of him. It was a head, severed at the shoulders, mutilated and bloody, and it was caught in a corner of the tight space. The body had obviously been ripped away from it.

Roger cried out, horrified, and the dead eyes on the severed head snapped open and stared right at Roger. Its mouth dropped, oozing blood, and it began gurgling in desperate pain, “Hel…help me….“

Roger froze in horror at the bizarre sight, and he closed his eyes tight. This had to be one of his visions.

He remained for a moment with his eyes clamped shut; then he took a steady, deep breath. He opened his eyes again. Sure enough, the mutilated head was gone. There was nothing under the truck but engine parts and grease.

Roger let out a long, steady breath. He reached up, grabbed the outer edge of the fender, and pulled himself out from under the truck. He staggered to his feet.