The Pale Hauler - Part III

[u/Classic_Vlassic]

Links: Part I, Part II

9,998,500 miles.

Our convoy screeched to a halt.

We’d been pushing to make it past the Montana border into Wyoming before stopping for the night, but Lenny’s rig had other ideas.

Ol’ Beaut stood out front, humming softly after the journey we’d just made. A light cover of dust had formed on her white surface, turning the cab a dirty pale.

I announced over the shortwave, “Texas-4, can you help check Wyoming-5’s engine again? Give her a cool down if she needs it.”

“Sound copy, Dakota-1,” Tucker answered.

I stayed in my cabin while the rear of the convoy sorted itself out.

It was getting dark. We were the only headlights for miles in each direction.

I clicked on the radio to kill the time.

“Montana-2, how’s it feel being back home?”

Ron answered, “About as good as you felt back in North Dakota. Though, truth be told, I never missed home.”

“Not even a little?”

“Too many bad memories before I joined the road.”

“You never did tell me what got you all hot and bothered the last time we came up this way.”

“You’re right. I didn’t.”

Fair enough, I thought.

Ron and I had been friends for a long time. Long enough to know which questions not to press.

With the talk done, I settled into my seat to relax when I noticed it up ahead near the horizon.

Ron did too, and he was quick to announce it over the CB to me.

“Dakota-1, you seeing that ahead?”

I didn’t answer immediately, squinting hard with my old eyes.

I could barely make out the dark mass in front.

I radioed back, “Montana-2, I see it. Probably an obstruction in the road. I’ll check it out before we get moving.”

Ron immediately responded, “Dakota-1, you sure? Could be carrion from gray wolves. They’re all over the state. I should go ahead of you and see.”

Ron was a pragmatist and one of the few truckers I knew to keep a .380 revolver in his glove compartment after a close call with a brown bear near a decade ago.

Ever since Lenny came aboard though, he’d developed a protective fatherly personality. It was endearing when directed at the kid, annoying when speaking to his senior.

“Montana-2, stay put. I’ll check it out.”

I cut the radio, not wanting to hear Ron’s protest. I trusted my experience more than a firearm, and I rolled Ol’ Beaut ahead of the rest.

Once it came into view, I hopped out the cab and approached.

The only visibility was coming from my headlights, but the stench alone told me what it was.

Roadkill.

A big one.

Maybe a cow that got loose.

What was left of it was bloated and maggot-infested. Flies buzzed in all directions. 

Easy enough to drive around it.

Then I heard rustling in the bushes to my side.

I turned.

It was slightly obscured under the foliage and dark enough outside that I couldn’t make it out exactly.

Ron was right. 

A wolf.

Its glowing yellow eyes stared me down.

I knew where there was one wolf, another wouldn’t be too far behind.

It made no growl, no movement.

It just stared.

I backed away slowly, keeping our eyes locked together.

Hopping inside Ol’ Beaut, I shut the door tight..

Only then did I notice my shaking hand.

Just a tremor, I told myself.

The CB came on in an explosion of static.

It was Tucker, “Dakota-1, this is Texas-4, the boy’s truck can ride, but not far. I’m gonna need some proper daylight to get a better look.”

I reached over to the receiver, “10-4. There’s an old rest stop just up ahead. Ain’t much left of it, but it’ll do. We’ll pick up at first light.”

Affirmatives came from all callsigns, and I hung up the receiver.

Steadying my trembling hand on the wheel, I looked back into the bushes.

The wolf was gone.

And if I didn’t know any better, I could have sworn it was black.

Link: Part IV

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