Just a little taste

I’m going to give you folks (my readers) a little chance to read a piece of that story (32 pages) that I am writing. if you’re interested in more – please say so… Click on the below link to check out the lead to the story.

The dark surrounded Peter like a prison with no bars. Nothing limited him except his vision and his perception that the blackness of the night he found himself trapped in was a million miles from nowhere.

Again, he tried the key in the ignition but grew frustrated that the Mustang would just not answer. No headlights, no radio, no grind in the engine block telling him there were things wrong. Just silence. The only thing that told him things were wrong was small red light on the dashboard that read “Service Engine.” It teased him and contrasted the night that shrouded the world around him. All he knew about where he was right now was on the side of a road at night.

He tried the headlights with no avail, and then tried the hazard lights with no response as well. He crashed his head into the steering wheel and sighed in frustration. The perfect end to the perfect day is all this amounted to. He already had a million things on his mind and too many frustrations to deal with but the old Mustang just had to add another one after being his sole friend during his flight from his problems.

He opened his door and stepped out of the car and was hit by a bitter chill in the air. He tried to survey his surroundings and then peered at the horizon in all directions around him, yet all he was met with was darkness and masked shadows.

He looked directly up at the sky but not only was the sky moonless, it was covered by clouds and didn’t afford him the luxury of letting him find a familiar constellation and use some of the star facts that Karen had told to him as they searched the heavens from the balcony of their condo.

Yet he didn’t want to think of Karen right now. Karen was the reason he was here in the first place. Damn Karen. Damn her to hell and back again.

He walked into the middle of the road trying to get a better glimpse of what was on the other side but he stumbled in the blackness on a pothole on the highway, which sent him flailing several steps before he caught his balance.

“Shit, screw it.”

He walked back and then climbed into the car, slouching in the seat as best he could. He was taken aback by the cold that he hadn’t expected outside. Wearing only his button up from work, blue jeans and Nike’s wasn’t exactly the gear you would wear to face weather like this, it might have been 40 degrees outside. He had been driving for what he guessed was 12 hours straight before the Mustang had failed him and wherever he was now – the weather was much different than it had been once he had stormed out of the apartment back home.

A horn ripped through the night and Peter jumped. Bright lights shown in the distance as a large object rocketed toward him at a speed he could not predict. He opened the door and found himself squinting to verify what he already knew from the blast of the horn, a Mack truck was heading to him. He wheeled around as he walked out into the middle of the road, the head lights provided enough light for him to finally get a glimpse of his surroundings – the road wound through a valley of out-of-season fields and a broken, dilapidated Stuckey’s sign loomed a few hundred feet ahead and to the right of his Mustang’s resting point.

“Hey!” His voice carried in the cold breeze that blew through the air. He waved his arms in an attempt to get the drivers attention before screaming again.
The Mack beckoned back to him with a loud and prolonged dual honk, as if to signal he had been spotted. Peter wanted to sigh with relief but the worries of this darkness bringing out the crazy’s or that the driver would pull a sick joke and speed by him kept him on edge.

Yet the truck slowed noticeably, in it’s approach until it lurched to a stop besides the incapacitated vehicle.

The passenger door flew open and an older man with a scruffy white beard sat inside the lit cab glanced out at him with a toothy grin. “Boy, weren’t you fucked over?”

“Tell me about it,” was Peter’s only response. If only the driver knew how truth those words were, Peter thought to himself.

“Hop in, it’s going to get a lot colder out there and it’s a drive into town still,” replied the driver. He spoke almost flatly, no noticeable accent. His voice mocked the typical stereotype of truck drivers – southern accents and southern heritage. He wasn’t even dressed in blue jeans or overalls but khaki pants, Wolverine work boots almost seemed to glisten with the interior lights. A black winter coat he wore was open to reveal a denim button up underneath.

Peter climbed aboard the rig and found the warm cab cozy and could imagine it was something quite comfortable for long hauls. He felt powerful, even as a passenger, towering over the roadway as they did and sitting comfortably in the warm leather seat his ass now occupied.

Peter slammed his door shut and the driver shifted the cab into gear and the mighty Mack once again roared to life and continued on its trek into the black abyss.