"James van Pelt - Parallel Highways" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pelt James Van)

Parallel Highways

by James Van Pelt




as it appeared in the hardbound After Shocks anthology, ed. Jeremy Lassen, Freak Press, copyright
2000


The semi-trailer truck's rear tires rumbled a yard from Jack's window. A faded sign in red, HORIZON
TRANSIT, in giant letters, decorated the trailer. In the rear mirror, another eighteen-wheeler's grill
loomed just off the bumper, and in the right lane a line of cars slid by, no more that a half a dozen feet
between them.

White knuckled, Jack gripped the wheel. Backwash from the semi rattled his little car, and he fought the
tug that pulled him toward the tires spinning to his left. Blurred at the tip, the speedometer needle hung
just beyond eighty-miles per hour.

"He's coming over," said Debbie. Her voice cracked. From the corner of his eye, Jack could see she'd
balled a handful of skirt into her fist. She sucked in a breath as if she were about to scream, but instead
she murmured, "He's coming."

"I can see," he snapped.

The semi's trailer of ribbed aluminum, rivet studded and coated with dust, crossed the line, narrowing the
space. In the truck's mirror, dark glasses hid the driver's eyes, but he seemed to be looking right at them.

Jack whipped a glance over his shoulder. The other semi behind them had moved up, now nearly
touching their bumper. No break in the line of traffic to his right, but he signaled anyway, stomped on the
accelerator and slid over, hoping for a gap. Traffic behind him stretched in a domino row of glaring
windshields, and he realized no one was going to let him in. They couldn't let him in.

Inexorably, the truck closed the distance, squeezing the lane.

"Oh, no," Debbie moaned.

"I've got it," Jack said. "I've got it."

He dumped into fourth gear, winding the car's little engine into the top of its RPMs; it jumped forward.
They passed the trailer's front wheels. A woman in a beat-up station wagon on their right leaned on her
horn, flipping them off, but she moved over a bit, and so did the Volkswagen in front of her.

Jack scooted close to them, crossing the lane stripes, passing the station wagon, the semi's wheels
roaring in his ear. He juked the car right, bumping the Volkswagen; metal crunched, and Debbie fell
against him, her chest heaving, her arm slippery with sweat.

The face in the Volkswagen contorted in anger and fear.
Better you than me, Jack thought. Although his car was small, he knew the Volkswagen didn't have any