The Storm

The Storm

Roy felt the truck sliding towards the ditch, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He tried to remember exactly where he was, and whether he was about to crash into a cliff or fall over one.


It was a really shitty night to be driving, and after all the years he’d been on the highway, he knew better. This load was supposed to be in Crofton by morning. By the look of it, he never would be able to deliver it, not tomorrow, not ever.


Then he remembered the girl still in the sleeper, totally oblivious to the situation. If they went over the cliff, neither one of them would survive the crash, but maybe she’d die quickly, before she ever regained consciousness.


The girl. She had been standing at the side of the road, hitch-hiking in the pouring rain, in the middle of nowhere. Roy didn’t usually pick up hitch-hikers, but even in the glare of the headlights he could see her shivering, and if he hadn’t picked her up, she wouldn’t have lasted another hour in that cold before hypothermia got her.


Now that they were about to crash into God knows what, maybe he hadn’t done her such a great favour after all. Dead was dead, no matter what the cause.


The truck hit some gravel, then began to lean to the left as it careened off the highway. Whatever was out there was going to come through his door before anywhere else, and he leaned to the right of the big steering wheel by instinctive reflex. It seemed like hours, but it was only a second or two before the side window exploded into a million little shards of glass and sheet metal crumpled like paper all around him.

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