Dead Stop (7 page)

She didn’t dwell
on it though because that would lead to thoughts of possible future remedies,
and Libby preferred not to think more than a couple of days ahead. The future
was a place best left unconsidered…at least until her winning lottery number
arrived someday and changed everything.

The blast of an
impact wrench sounded through the thin metal bay doors of the garage, causing
Libby to jump.

Damn! Arnold was
still here, and must be working late! The Textro’s mechanic was a mean-hearted
old shit who didn’t like her hanging around “his” building. The last time he
had caught her out here he had cussed her out royally. And of course she had to
take it or he would run to Big Earl and start trouble.

Growling a
curse, the woman threw away her cigarette and left the slight shelter of the
buildings corner.  It was time to get to work anyway, so she headed
towards the row of trucks. She didn’t even bother to look at the showers and
bathroom as she walked by, other than to note the light was on inside, since it
was another area forbidden to her. Big Earl had restricted her hooking to the
side of the lot near the diesel pumps, and the rows of trucks themselves. He
said it cut down on complaints.

She had her own
ideas about the complainants and what they could do with their whiny bitching.
She had to make a living, dammit.

At least she
recognized a couple of trucks.

There was a
rough old Peterbilt belonging to “Leaping Larry” Brown, which counted as a
minor bit of good news. Larry always had twenty bucks for a blowjob, which
meant he was a reliable client and quick and easy to please. At least she would
be able to pick up a couple of cheap bottles at the liquor store tonight.

 There was
also a big new International ProStar owned by Gary “Buddha Boy” Norville. On
the bright side he was actually semi-polite to her, and also willing to pay
well for the full deal. On the downside, he was completely hairless and weighed
well north of three hundred pounds…and he insisted on being on top. Doing
business in his sleeper cab was kind of like having Moby Dick repeatedly land
on you while you were both stuffed in a sardine can.

“Beggars can’t
be choosers,” Libby opined philosophically, but relegated Buddha Boy’s truck to
the end of her list of intended stops.

Lightning
flashed again, dotting the parking lot with the shadows of the gyrating birds
overhead, and she quickened her pace towards the trucks while holding her purse
above her head. She could smell the rain in the wind as it picked up. The storm
was almost here, and getting caught in a downpour was almost as bad as getting
plastered in a mass crap attack by a flock of birds.

Libby reached
the first truck in the row and wasted no time in pulling herself up on the
passenger side step and hammering on the door.  Being coy didn’t pay in
this business.  It wasn’t expected of her, anyway. After waiting for about
ten seconds, she knocked again on the truck.

Still nothing.

When no lights
came on, she assumed the trucker was either in the restaurant or ignoring her
and waiting for her to go away. Nice way to treat a lady with it being about to
rain. Bastard. The prostitute gave the door a third good banging, just to be
sure, then climbed down from the side of the vehicle.

The first try
seldom got results anyway, but one had to start somewhere. She slouched her way
around the front of the big semi, and winced at the rumble of thunder. A glance
at the distant store and restaurant reminded her that if it started raining
now, there would be no way to avoid getting drenched. Her best hope lay in
getting admitted into one of the cabs, and catching a ride up to the store
later.

Coming to the
other side of the semi, she paused briefly at the blackness filling the gap
between the large rigs.

A tiny flash of
instinctual caution tried to assert itself, but another growl of thunder
intruded. This time a brief spatter of drops accompanied the rumble, and Libby
realized her time to find shelter might be measured in seconds rather than
minutes. Fortunately, the next semi belonged to Larry.

She hopped up
onto the step and knocked.

No answer.

“Oh c’mon,
Larry!” She now banged on the door with enthusiasm. “It’s starting to rain!”

Nothing.

Either Larry was
up at the restaurant having a cup of coffee, or he just wasn’t in the mood.

“God dammit!”
she yelled and tried to kick the door. Being too close to do it with any force,
she settled for banging her knee against it instead. That didn’t satisfy very
much either. “Screw you, Larry! I would have done you for free if you had let
me in!”

This wasn’t
getting her any closer to shelter, and Libby could now hear the rain falling in
the corn field behind the big rigs. She was about to get wet. Grumbling in
frustration, the woman turned to get off the truck and stopped…

Somebody now
stood on the ground in the darkness directly behind her.

And he stank.

“Sweet Jesus,
Larry!” She wrinkled her nose and tried not to gag. “What the hell have you
been rolling in? Look, I’m sorry for losing my temper but don’t start giving me
shit about kicking your truck till we’re inside. Okay?”

The figure
didn’t answer.

“Okay?” she
repeated, then thought better of it. “Hey, don’t paw at me. You know, on second
thought just forget it. You smell awful and I would rather get wet than be
stuck inside with y…”

That’s when fate
chose to have another flash of lightning illuminate the area, and the face of
the figure in front of her.

It wasn’t Larry.

The skeletal
face grinning up at her parted its jaws in wolfish anticipation, and Libby’s
mind screamed while her body struggled to catch up and join in. She never got
the chance.

Just as she
inhaled to shriek the thing struck.

It drove a
powerful open palm into her bare midsection, pancaking her pudgy belly against
her back and pinning her to the side of the truck. Libby’s air exploded out of
her before she could make a sound. Bile rose in her throat and she doubled over
in nauseous pain. Even worse, her head came to rest on the bony shoulder of her
assailant, causing its stench to envelope her head like a fog.

Then the
immobilizing pain in her gut blossomed into molten anguish as the monster
closed its hand, driving spike-like fingers through the skin and muscle of her
abdomen and hooking them into her viscera. It hurt…it hurt really bad…and Libby
gagged from both the pain and the horrific smell while fighting to draw in
breath to cry out. Then, just as she thought it couldn’t possibly hurt her any
worse, it yanked back just as hard and she could feel skin and muscle rip free
in a white hot explosion of tearing agony.

She had been
torn open!

No longer pinned
to the truck, the wounded prostitute rolled off the shoulder of her attacker
and fell to the asphalt below. She managed to twist as she fell, landing on her
back and shoulder. Loose pebbles drove into her back and side, and the asphalt
grated a good slice of skin off her bare shoulder as well. The stricken woman
writhed on the pavement, battling to maintain consciousness.

Instinct told
her she needed to get a handle on things fast.

 Looking up
from the ground, Libby could see the silhouette of the thing shoving the chunk
it ripped out of her into its jaws. It was eating her! Yet she had no time to
try and wrap her head around that right now. She gripped her gut in agony,
feeling wet insides trying to slither out of what felt like an enormous hole.
The woman realized she had to get help fast or she was going to die.

The problem was
the monster stood between her and the way out between the trucks.

Regardless, it
was move now or die.

Using one hand
to hold her intestines in her body, she pulled her knees under her in an effort
to start climbing to her feet. She didn’t know how she intended to get around
the creature, as the trucks were rather close together and it could probably
reach to either side just by taking a step or two. The idea of going out the
back way occurred to her, since it would be going away from the monstrosity
anyway. But it would also mean going all the way down the length of the trailer
and coming back up the other side…and Libby didn’t know how many steps she had
left in her before she dropped. Then she realized there was a better way.

Keeping a tight
grip on her ravaged stomach, she rolled underneath the cab of Larry’s rig.
Behind her, she could hear the thing shuffling back and forth. She had no idea
if it was looking for her or had lost interest and still focused on chewing the
piece of her it had. She thought about crawling, then figured out it would be
easier just to keep rolling.

That would allow
her to protect her stomach with both hands, and probably get to the other side
faster. Besides, she didn’t want to come out from under the front of the truck
because her attacker would be able to see her before she could get to her feet
and get moving. No, it would be better to keep rolling and come out the other
side of the truck…or maybe even the next truck over.

Still, she was
bleeding badly and time was running out.

Clutching her
middle, Libby started to roll away from the dead thing and towards the other
side. She didn’t know if it understood where she had gone, but tried to move
quietly just in case it lost track of her. The effort nearly made her pass out
from pain. Every turn onto her stomach hurt like the fires of hell itself, and
the act of rolling must have involved abdominal muscles because every effort
brought screaming anguish to her midsection.

The woman choked
back a whimper with each move. She was a self contained universe of misery. It
took a supreme act of will just to keep going through the motions required to
keep her moving. She didn’t even realize she had rolled out from under the
truck…

…until she
struck the thicket of legs standing on the other side.

This time Libby
managed to scream as she was hauled to her feet by viselike grips and pushed up
against the side of cab. Teeth sank into her arms and shoulder, and several
more withered hands plunged like gnarled spears into the gaping hole in her
stomach. Now her whole body became a mindless blossom of agony. The pain before
had been nothing compared to this. She could feel their claw like fingers close
around the vitals inside her before twisting and tearing them free.

Yet despite the
hopelessness, the all encompassing pain, and the knowledge she couldn’t hope to
survive the damage now done to her, Libby still writhed in ever more feeble
attempts to jerk free. She still didn’t want to die.

Not now.

Not like this.

Above her, the
sky erupted with a harsh cacophony as a thousand crows started calling at once.
Lightning flared again, and Libby got one last look at the world.  She
couldn’t see the faces of her assailants, as they were all pressed up against
her arms, body, and legs while eating her alive…but that meant she had a clear
view over them.

Libby’s last
vision on earth was of even more of the skull-faced horrors pouring out of the
cornfield before the darkness closed back around her forever.

Chapter Three:
Nightfall

Nightfall -
Holly

“You see,
Holly?” Gerald gestured out the window of the Textro’s diner after a flash of
lightning. “It’s going to rain. Those idiots at the game are going to get
soaked while we can enjoy the weather from in here.”

“I suppose,”
Holly sighed and picked up the menu. She really didn’t feel like going into
this. Disagreeing with him would only make him get defensive and loud, and his
nasal voice carried enough as it was.

“You suppose?”
The plump redhead waved his hand in exasperation. “Come
on
, Holly. I
know this is your home state and you feel obligated to defend its honor and
all, but at least you’re a city girl…this is knuckle dragger territory.”

Holly kept her
face blank and started perusing the menu. As a suburbanite from South Houston,
she did qualify as a city girl. But she had still looked forward to spending a
long weekend home from the University of Texas in Austin, getting together with
her old high school friends and cheering on her Bulldogs against the hated
Pirates.

But it wasn’t to
be.

At the last
minute, Gerald had showed an uncharacteristic interest in her origins and
insisted on accompanying her on this get together. She had initially been taken
aback. The little dilettante seldom liked travelling outside his circle of
coffee shop friends, or wandering far from an internet connection. Then a flare
of hope had occurred along with the idea of him finally starting to take a
healthier interest in her as a person.

Just maybe her
long suffering patience was beginning to get through the wealthy little nerd’s
shell of narcissism and awful social skills.

She should have
known better.

Gerald had
demanded they take his BMW as opposed to her old Toyota Scion. That should have
been her first clue of trouble brewing.

Usually he
preferred her to drive, especially if they were going to unfamiliar territory
for him, but this time insisted he needed to road test “the beamer” since it
was fresh back from an overhaul and detailing. But once underway he had fussed
about the dust and dirt from driving the three hours over rural highways he
assured her only the most desperate of Neanderthals would ever dream of living
along. Then he insisted on stopping at a carwash before meeting her friends.

By that time she
had already begun to smell the disaster coming.