Truck Stop (11 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Roger dumped a six-pack of Red Bull, several Monster Energy drinks, and a couple of packages of NoDoz onto the booth table.

Kat hurried in from the kitchen with a defibrillator kit. “We’ve had it here for a couple of years. I’ve never used it.”

Roger poured out a handful of NoDoz and washed the pills down with a Red Bull. “Hopefully you won’t have to. Just keep an eye on me.” He downed more NoDoz, finished off the can of Red Bull, and opened another.

Kat grabbed her purse and dug out a small plastic pouch. “Here. Not much left, but it might help.”

Roger took the small pouch and opened it. “Coke?”

“Big party in Salt Lake last week,” she said, as she rolled up a dollar bill.

Roger tapped out a line on the table.

Kat gave him the rolled bill, and he snorted up the line. “What else you got?”

“I wish,” Kat smiled faintly.

Roger wiped the residual coke off the table, rubbed his gums with it. He cracked open a Monster drink, poured out another handful of NoDoz, and washed them down. He paused, took a sudden deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m feeling it.” Roger pushed the unopened drink cans aside and lay down on his back on the table.

“So I just watch you?” Kat stepped closer, concerned.

“If I stop breathing, zap me.” Roger took another deep breath and started to focus his thoughts on his surroundings. The smell of the burned flesh in the kitchen filled his nose. He could hear the light sound of the rain outside, the low rumble of a truck’s generator in the parking lot. He could feel the cool Formica tabletop against his back, and the way the edge of the table cut into the back of his ankles as they extended off the end. He was becoming hyper-aware of everything around him.

Kat watched him breathe deeply in and out for a moment. “Roger?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah?”

“If you see my Mom, tell her I love her.”

“I will.”

Then it started. Roger’s breathing began to speed up involuntarily. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. Everything around him began to become saturated and vivid. He closed his eyes and sank into the blackness.

The moment Roger opened his eyes again, he remembered the hollow feeling inside, just as when he had done this before. His impulse to breathe became unnecessary. He could simply exist.

He was standing over himself at the booth. Kat was still at his side, watching him carefully. It was cold and eerie. All the color was gray and monochromatic. The sounds were isolated and dead. It was the inverse of the living-world.

Roger stepped away from himself and crossed the diner, heading for the back wall. His footsteps fell in dull thuds against a floor that felt like it was made of thick clay.

A guttural gagging sound drew his attention to a nearby booth, and he looked over. A middle-aged truck driver, dressed from some time in the late ‘60s, was on his knees, choking to death on his food. His desperate eyes met Roger’s as he convulsed and clutched his throat.

Roger looked the other way, then he stepped right through the back wall and out into the dull, gray parking lot. It wasn’t night or day here. It was some time caught in between, a perpetual twilight.

He started down the side of the building and passed a woman from some time in the 1970s. She was sprawled out on the ground, clutching her chest in the throes of a heart attack. She pleaded desperately as Roger passed, “Please… please…hel…help….”

Roger kept moving straight ahead, being careful not to get too close. He rounded the end of the building and came upon a bleeding homeless man.

Roger stopped short, backed away.

The old man groaned in agony as he clutched a knife wound in his gut.

Roger slipped quietly around him, stepped through the broken chain link fence, and entered the junkyard.

A woman’s desperate cry for help swirled out of the eerie dead stillness. Roger started toward the sound. This was it. This was who he had come looking for.

As he approached the old shed, the bloody, mutilated woman in the tattered ‘90s dress staggered into view. She looked behind her, trying to get away from her unseen assailant.

This was Roger’s chance. He cut around behind the woman and reached out to her. A jolt of energy surged through Roger’s body as he touched her. There was a blinding flash of white light; Roger’s entire being vibrated with a jittery charge of adrenaline. Then the whiteness faded, and Roger could see what the woman was seeing through her eyes.

The killer’s hand was looming right at him with a large hunting knife. The blade plunged downward. Roger looked down at the woman’s body as the blade sunk deep into her stomach. Her scream shattered Roger’s ears. He looked back up and saw the killer’s face.

It was Kincaid, the truck stop mechanic.

He was twenty years younger but recognizable. There was an anxious, panicked look in his eyes; sweat glistened off his pale face.

Roger yanked his hand off of the woman and staggered back, reeling from the vision. Of course, it all made sense. This was Kincaid’s own backyard. He had been working here for at least the last two decades.

Roger backed away from the dying woman; he had to get back to the diner and tell Kat. As he turned to leave, he came face to face with the real, living-world Kincaid.

Roger tried to duck out of his way, but it was too late; he felt a flash of unbearable heat flood his numb body as the living-world Kincaid passed right through him as though he wasn’t even there.

Roger staggered back and watched, horrified, as the living-world Kincaid entered the back door of his repair garage.

Roger hurried over and passed through the garage wall in time to see the living-world Kincaid open one of the doors and grab a shotgun from a storage room in back. He crossed over, yanked open a drawer in his workbench, grabbed what looked like janitor’s keys, and picked up a fresh box of ammunition. He emptied the box of ammo into his jacket pocket, tossed the carton away, then reached back into his pocket and took out a couple of shells. He started to the door, loading the shotgun as he went.

Roger scrambled out of Kincaid’s way as he passed within inches, then hurried out after him. Kincaid racked the shotgun and made a beeline to the back of the truck stop. He was heading to the diner to finish what he had started. Kat and Roger would soon be dead like the rest.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Roger took off running as fast as he could to the diner. He had to rejoin his body and get Kat out of there before Kincaid could get to them.

Roger rushed to the side of the building; he was about to pass through the wall to the diner when a bloody hand grabbed him from behind. Roger felt himself tumbling, and he hit the cold, mud-like ground, hard.

He twisted back and saw Ben’s spirit, grimacing in agony, bleeding from the shotgun wound in his chest. His highway patrol uniform was soaked in fresh blood. “Don’t…don’t leave me.” The words gurgled from Ben’s throat as blood oozed out of his mouth.

Roger desperately kicked and struggled to get free from Ben’s spirit, but Ben clung tight to Roger. Fear and confusion filled Ben’s eyes; his death was fresh and his spirit was strong. He was much stronger than Claire’s spirit had been all those years ago, when Roger had been foolish enough to have crossed over before.

Roger looked over and saw the living-world Kincaid enter the back door of the truck stop. Roger renewed his effort to free himself from Ben, but the spirit held him in an icy death grip. “Help me…don’t leave me….”

Back in the living-world inside the diner, Kat could tell something was wrong. Roger’s breathing was becoming shallow and slow.

She shook his body. “Roger? Roger!”

But it was no use. Roger’s breathing slowed even more. Then she heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the hallway door.

She looked over in a panic. The footsteps stopped outside the door. There was a moment of silence, then the doorknob twisted slowly back and forth.

Kat spun back to Roger and shook him violently. “Roger! Come back! Hurry!”

In the dead-world outside, Ben’s spirit held Roger’s leg in an icy grip as he pleaded desperately. “Please…take me…take me back with you….”

Roger began to grow weak, unable to fight back against the powerful spirit. His life force was dwindling fast; he could feel the bone-numbing cold creep up from where Ben was holding onto him. Roger knew he was losing his hold on his body in the living-world, but he was powerless to fight it. The icy feeling that was spreading up his legs would soon consume his soul completely.

Back in the diner, Kat frantically opened the defibrillator unit and took out the paddles. The step-by-step instructions were large and illustrated; she read step one and threw the switch. The unit began to warm up.

Across the diner, the door lock sprang open. Kat looked over in a panic. Whump! The door slammed open into the chair that Roger had put under the knob.

Kat screamed, terrified. She ripped open Roger’s shirt and grabbed the defib paddles.

Outside in the dead-world, Ben’s spirit clawed his way up Roger’s leg hand over hand. Roger gasped weakly; the fight had left him. All that was left was to give in and accept his fate. He closed his eyes and felt the icy numbness wash over his torso and spread out to his limbs.

In the diner, Kincaid slammed the door repeatedly against the chair. He moved it several inches. Just enough. His hand groped inside for the chair. If he could shove it out of the way, he could open the door; his fingers managed a tentative purchase on the back of the chair.

The defib unit beeped. It was ready. Kat jammed the paddles into Roger’s chest. They zapped loudly. Roger’s body jerked spastically, his back arching off the table.

At the same instant in the dead-world, a jolt of energy shot through Roger’s soul. His eyes snapped open; he reached down, yanked and kicked hard at the same time, sending Ben’s spirit crashing backward. Roger staggered to his feet, backed away from Ben, then turned and stepped through the diner wall.

Back in the living-world, Kincaid gave a final shove on the metal door, and the wood chair shattered to pieces.

Kat dropped the paddles and screamed. Kincaid kicked the door open wide, and at the same instant Roger bolted upright on the table, inhaling sharply.

“Roger!” Kat yelled. He was back and awake. But her relief was short-lived. BOOM! Kincaid took a wild shot as he barged in through the door.

Roger rolled off the table and tackled Kat. Another gunshot echoed through the diner. Buckshot shredded the table above them as they scrambled, on their hands and knees, to the other side of the wait-station.

Kincaid racked the shotgun, strode through the shadowy diner. His expressionless, cold eyes scanned the darkness for them. This was going to be over soon.

Kat and Roger crawled their way quietly under the tables and chairs until they reached the front of the diner. Roger looked back and saw Kincaid’s feet pause several yards away.

Roger turned to Kat and whispered, “Follow me.”

“Where?” she whispered back.

“The window.” Roger reached over, grabbed a chair leg. He gave Kat one final nod, then leaped up and heaved the chair at the large front window. The chair exploded through the glass.

Kincaid spun around, took aim. Roger and Kat dove out the window as Kincaid fired. The buckshot tore through the remaining glass, just missing Roger and Kat.

They tumbled into the wet parking lot. “Up! Get up!” Roger yelled as he grabbed Kat’s shoulder. They took off across the dark lot to Frank Rucka’s dilapidated truck. Roger pounded on the cab door desperately. “Hey! Hey, open up!”

“Help us, please!” Kat joined in.

Roger looked back at the diner and saw Kincaid’s shadow looming inside the shattered window; he racked the shotgun again.

Roger gave up pounding and tried the door. It was unlocked. He shoved the door open and revealed a horrific sight: Frank’s dead body behind the wheel.

He was slumped forward; the back of his head was blown open, his pistol still in his mouth. There was blood everywhere. Tatters of brain and flesh covered the seat behind his head. He had done what he had promised himself he would do. He had left his misery behind.

Roger stared at the sickening sight, stunned “Jesus,” he said. Kat recoiled, gagged and wretched.

BOOM! Buckshot shredded the truck next to her.

Roger grabbed her and they took off toward the next truck. Before they could get there, the cream-colored truck rumbled to life. Pop. Hiss. The brakes released.

“What the fuck’re they…?

The truck lurched forward and the headlights snapped on. In the pale glow of the cab, they could see Ida behind the wheel with a terrified look on her face. She swung the wheel wide, and the truck pulled away from Roger and Kat, heading for the highway.

“Fucking bitch!” Kat screamed. The truck sprayed them with mud as it roared past.

“Hey!” Kat yelled desperately. But Roger knew it was useless. Ida wasn’t about to stop, and they’d need another plan. He looked back across the parking lot. Kincaid was climbing out the broken diner window.

Roger grabbed Kat’s hand. “Come on!”

They ducked over to the maroon truck, and Kat pounded on the door. “Florence! Flor…!”

Before she could yell again, the door popped open, revealing the sweet older woman brandishing her pistol with a hardened look on her face. “Get down,” she commanded.

Roger and Kat ducked, and Florence opened fire.

Her barrage strafed the diner window across the dark parking lot. Kincaid took a dive back inside the safety of the diner.

Florence emptied her clip, popped it out, jammed in another, and reached down for Kat’s hand. “Come on, honey. Inside!”

Kat reached up for the woman’s hand, but before she could take it, a shotgun blast rang out from the diner. The heavy slug punched into Florence’s chest. The older woman teetered, looked down with a surprised look on her face, then pitched over and tumbled out onto the wet pavement, dead.

Several more rounds exploded from the diner. Roger and Kat ducked. The slugs pummeled the truck cab, shredding the dashboard, which sparked and popped.

Roger looked around desperately. They had no place to run. No more trucks. He looked back at his car, still parked right outside the diner. If they could lure Kincaid away from the diner, maybe they could circle back and get to his car. Roger scanned the parking lot again; his eyes locked on the large, shadowy truck wash.

“Come on!” They took off together across the parking lot.