Shepherd

ELEVEN

As the road went on, vanishing at times behind walls of dust and liquid midnight, Shepherd wondered what had happened to the other rigs. In truth he'd expected to have caught them up by now, maybe seen their taillights in the distance or spotted some of them stopping to sleep by the roadside. Instead there'd been nothing, not a sign or a sound of them.

Had it not been for the delicate load, Shepherd might have made most of the journey already. But being in dangerous territory, carrying what he did, going much over fifty-five wasn't really an option. Ambling along, taking the bends easy seemed to be the safest choice and if danger did come his way he'd at least have a chance to react.

The night was thick with cloud and darkness. Occasionally a star could be seen for a moment, only to disappear behind some glowing wisp or thick wall of invisible cover. The headlights did their best, shining forth like the eyes of a great beast, but even they lacked the luster to cut through the strange clouds that swamped the road. It was only when they reached Billings to make the turn off onto the MT-3 that he finally realized what was wrong.

Checking the dashboard, he found that the Geiger counter wasn't switched on. This was normal; he didn't drive around expecting to find pockets of radiation most days of the week but the feature was standard on rigs like his. Tapping at the display, he brought up the system settings and activated it. Martha, dozing in the chair, jolted awake and let out a gasp as the crackling sound filled the cab like a million angry insects.

"What the fuck, Shep?" she cried. "What's that noise?"

"A spike of radiation just beyond your window there," he replied. "I'd stay right where you are if I were you."

"Are you kidding?"

"Does the counter look like I'm kidding?"

"Oh my god."

"It's high enough to pose a danger but don't worry – it isn't some nuclear attack."

"Are we safe?"

"We're just fine in here," he said, sitting back.

"And you only just noticed?"

"I guess."

"It's a wonder you're still alive," she groaned. "Fuck. Now what do we do?"

"Nothing," he grinned. "Drive right on through. What else?"

That was something far easier said than done. The fury of the dust storm increased and it got harder and harder to see more than a few feet in front of the rig. As they made their way slowly up the MT-3 to join the 12 at Lavina, Shepherd began to grow increasingly worried about hitting something big. A shattered window, a damaged air recycler and they'd be glowing in seconds.

"I'm pulling over," he said after another ten minutes. "We can't do anything in this."

"What are we going to do?"

"Wait it out. Nothing much else to do. Why don't you take the bunk and grab some sleep?"

Martha shot him a wild-eyed stare and snorted out a laugh.

"How can I sleep with all that death waiting on the other side of the glass?"

"Well if it's okay with you," he said, getting up. "I'll take five myself. I need to piss and change my smalls. No peaking now."

"Don't tempt me, boy."

He walked into the back of the rig, through the kitchenette to the little table and chair at the far end where he sometimes ate his meals or read a book. In an overhead locker was his bag and he took it down, finding a pair of fresh shorts and socks before disappearing into the shower stall to change. When he was done, he slid his boots under the table and climbed up onto the bunk, shuffling himself into the sleeping bag waiting for him. There were times he could still smell Nat's fragrance in the fabric, see her lying next to him or running her hands through his hair. It always gave him sweet dreams but as he lay there, staring at the darkened interior, he wondered if Martha had been right. How could he sleep knowing that death was smothering the little box they were hiding in, that only some lead shielding was all that stood between them and the radiation.

He looked again at the scuff mark in the glass, barely visible now. He dismissed it. If he died, Shepherd thought, he died. He was long overdue his end and he knew that. There were times before, moments when he should've died and hadn't. He lay there and thought about it before Martha slipped into the kitchenette and began making herself some tea.

"Penny for them," she said to him.

"You'd be overcharged," he replied, turning over to stare at the wall. "They ain't worth that."

"Nat is though, isn't she?"

"She certainly is."

In a moment or two, he was asleep. He had to be because the next thing he knew she was there snuggled under his arm as he read poems to her in the cabin bed that overlooked the pine forest around their home. She was listening to him breath, one hand placed gently on his chest and as it rose and fell she let out a sigh.

"I love you, Shep," she whispered. He said something, he couldn't really understand what, and then she turned and smiled at him. Then, in a heartbeat, that lovely expression vanished. The windows darkened and the room turned ice-cold.

"You'll die on this road," she snarled as her eyes turned to a pale, milky-white. "You'll die here and no one will ever know."

Shep tried to move but he felt stuck to the bed like glue. Nat's body writhed on top of his but not in the way they knew, like a serpent might, preparing for the final strike. He felt its heavy weight on his chest, pressing all the air out of his lungs and he found himself gasping for breath, clawing at the covers on the bed to try to free himself. Nothing worked and the more he struggled the worse it got.

"Shep!" hissed the voice. "Shep! This way, Shep. You must go now, Shep. Now, Shep."

He couldn't speak. His mouth felt like it was stuck fast and his throat felt dusty and dry. He wanted to wake up, he wanted it to be a nightmare but it felt so real to him that it terrified him to the bone.

"Shep!" The voice was more insistent now, more eager to set him free. "Shep – hurry!"

Shepherd woke with a violent shudder. He was sweating and breathing heavily and the fear still clung to him even as he began to realize where he was. The voice that woke him had been Martha's and now she was standing beside his bunk, shaking his arms.

"What the hell is it?" he asked, feeling the dryness in his throat again.

"Something just went by!"

"What was it?"

"A truck – one of your trucks I think. I heard him pass but then I heard something else too."

"What? What did you hear?"

"A crash, a loud crash somewhere up ahead. I think the driver hit something."

Shepherd got out of the bunk and tried to stand. He felt very weak all of a sudden but Martha was there to steady him.

"Was he heading our way?" he asked her as he clambered into the driver's seat.

"Yeah – he was a big rig, like this one."

"Anything else you can tell me?"

"It's dark – I couldn't see much."

He checked the dash clock – he'd been out for five or so hours. It'd be dawn soon.

"I'll check the cameras," he said, swiping through the displays. He found what he was looking for quickly. In spite of the dust, the image was pretty clear as the truck thundered past.

"Well?" she asked.

"I know that rig," he said, leaning forward to get a better view. "Fuck – I know that rig."