Mack
Written by Donald R. Anderson
He held late night sessions listening to the waves on his emergency radio with his teen peers eating pepperoni pizza and stockpiles of soda from the parent’s garage. They were situated in a small room, almost the reverse of an attic—that is, it had all the attributes of an attic except for it was on the side of the house instead of top. Dusty knick-knacks, statuettes, books on a mahogany dresser, old starched sheets, and packed boxes made it kind of crowded but they sat anywhere they liked, unlike the rest of the pristine house which was mostly ornamental antique furniture with doilies everywhere one would like to sit with mud-caked jeans after a long day, and fragile things everywhere you’d like to set a glass. They had plenty of paper plates, but someone had forgotten to bring the cups, so they were chugging from the 2-liters like old miners kicking back after a good haul of nuggets. It was late in the afternoon, and late in the fall, when the twilight was starting to come early and the warm rays broke the freeze of the air through the yellow aged glass window panes. The only entrance to the room was a trap door, oddly enough, in the wall connecting to the rest of the house. It was like one of those trick architecture haunted mansions that they have staircases leading right into the ceiling, or windows in the floor, only it was much brighter than any of those, as if glowing with an inner heat of energy, and they had the energy after all... they were classmates in science class and had just managed to pass a particularly mutilating test by the skin of their teeth, after last night’s study crunch in which they had quizzed each other then in the morning gotten a caffeine boost from Laura’s coffee. Laura was the mom of the house, Linton’s mom.
Anyway they sometimes heard the trucker’s communications back and forth as well, but it was almost always on a different frequency than the police lines. Soon they would be seriously wishing they had two emergency radios, or one emergency radio and a CB radio.
Some chatter came on as they were discussing what they would do with a million dollars if they ever had it. A highway patrolman was calling for backup and an ambulance. “Diesel, 16 wheeler, hit and run kept going when it blocked an minivan from merg—“ it was at this time that James had the brilliant notion to search for the CB channels, to the dismay of the others, but it was unspokenly decided that it would be just as well. A gruff baritone: “Hey Mack you copy?” (Static for a few seconds, in which Linton almost changed it back.) A younger, somewhat exasperated voice came on: “I told you, I don’t want to talk about it Cougar. The truck just revved up faster like it had half a mind to run her off the road. Saw the kids with their hands making words in the glass as they went in the ditch. Then it wouldn’t respond. End of story. Lord knows where it’s taking me, I’ve taken off my seatbelt.” “... Mack, I know you’ve had a long haul but just find a turnoff and grind it to a stop.” “I’m telling you, nothing’s responding. I pull the wheel and it’s like it’s stuck, then when a turn comes up it does the turn on its own. Either I’m having a very bad nightmare or imagining it or this truck is possessed.” (Static, then crackles as Cougar cracks into a little chuckle.) “All you had to do is tell us you’re running for it and we’d back yah Mack. I mean, no sense in making stuff up. No one will go for it.” “I’m not making this up, Cougar. I’m doing it. I’m getting out. I’m jumping.” (Cougar curses under his breath.) “Mack, I didn’t mean to accuse you of lying. It’s just you’ve had a long day and might not be seeing things exactly in the right light. 16 hours on 16 wheels ain’t exactly an easy pull—” Mack mutters: “Damn.” “What?” “The doors won’t open either.” (Moment of static then Mack speaks again.) “Any idea on how to stop an out of control diesel or disable to auto door locks?” (James says for the group’s benefit, almost speaking too loud to hear the rest, that some vehicles had locks that prevent doors from coming open while the engine is running, in the newer ones anyway, his grandma had tried to open one once when they were going down highw—) “—ray for me,” Mack said. Everyone grew quiet, and could hear Mack’s breathing as he had not yet let go of the sending trigger. Then Cougar says, “Sure, Mack. Just stay with us. We don’t want to lose you.”
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James turned it back to the police channel, with no complaints from the group. Tim, who usually was the quiet one, said, “Do you believe in ghosts?” As they listened to the police channel and discussed the afterlife and possessed trucks and haunted houses, the highway patrolman didn’t come back on, just the usual common stuff. They went home kind of quiet that night, but they said they’d come back the next night, Saturday, to listen again, and all of them seemed to not want to talk much when each got to their homes. But the hours were full of heavy thoughts, and windows drew their gazes with the squeaks of truck breaks, and the ticking of grandfather clocks and the distant whine of sirens all brought thoughts of uneasy wish to listen close to those invisible waves across the air.
Linton didn’t have to call anyone to remind them, they all showed up rather early, and Laura questioned their apprehensive postures outside the door with her wishes to see if any of them needed anything, and yes everything was all right, but inside there was the mark that showed in their glances at one another, a secret concern, an unspoken wonder. James was unspoken Tuner In Chief, as they started off with the highway patrol channels. It didn’t take long. “16-wheel 51-50 from Friday headed southbound from the canneries.” “Roger that. Switching over to try to talk him down again.” “Won’t do no g—” James hastily switched to the CB channels they had it at before. Static. More static.
“You think it could be the wrong—” “Shhhh.” Still more static as they waited for something to sound off. Then at last, they heard the patrolman: “Mr. Macabee, I presume.” Static. “I think that much still makes sense, yes.” “Do we have your cooperation?” “Tell that to the truck. I’m in it for 48 hours so far, and though I’ve had to do some inhuman acts out of nature calling I could use some refreshment, it’s headed down to L.A. as far as I can tell.” Static. Then Cougar chimed in the same line: “Mack they likely would have a roadblock far enough ahead by now to stop any way out I’d say you’ve got a lifeline. You’re in our prayers, I’m tailing you by about 100 feet, I don’t see anyone at the wheel, I would think you’d be out of gas but you may have stopped somewhere, God knows where you were last night when none of us could find you.”
Mack said: “Tell my wife and kids back home I love them. (555) 555-5555.” The patrolman said: “I doubt that there’ll be any casualties if you coopera—” Laura knocked on the side door, and Linton opened it. Laura said, “You guys can come in here, it’s on the news.” There was murmuring between the group and startled looks, and they started to stampede through the little trap door. The TV anchorman was saying, “and they’re approaching the roadblock on the Interstate... he was missing presumed dead last August... and here the truck comes, Mr. Macabee is wanted for hit and run resulting in the ... the truck is pulling to a stop, though there is no driver to be seen, it appears that...” But the rest was self-evident. They couldn’t really see inside the truck anyway, it was fogged up with the steam pouring out the front of the truck and seemed to float off and swirl around it, a radiator problem was the only thought they could think of. As the truck slowed to a stop the steam thickened around it, and in the swirls the outline of the truck seemed to fade into the air itself, as the mist dissipated into the air and the truck was gone. |