David Wisehart - Blood Alley

Ten years ago, Joshua had almost died here.

That damn left knee wasn’t going to let him forget it.

Now the old trucker was driving a tanker truck full of petroleum, a two-tank behemoth barreling its way from Long Beach to Las Vegas.

The trip hadn’t started off so well. A few hours ago Joshua was forced to change a tire in Sylmar. He had skipped the scheduled gas station fill-up so he could clear out of L.A. before rush hour.

Now the gas gauge taunted him.

The irony of a petroleum truck running low on fuel wasn’t lost on Joshua. If his rig crapped out on empty, he’d never hear the end of it. He had no choice now but to refill at the next station—this one just up ahead, coming into view.

Joshua saw a car parked on the station’s curb.

Three kids were behind the vehicle. Their backs were to him, but from their clothes and hair they seemed young. High schoolers, by the looks of them.

The car was a bright red Hummer, and the kids were pushing on the back end, trying to get their vehicle into the station. The emergency lights weren’t flashing, but it looked to Joshua like the car was stopped dead.

Don’t want to die on this road, he thought.

God knows, too many have.

He took his foot off the gas pedal and applied the brakes. The 40-ton semi truck slowed with a groan.

The cab shook and rumbled.

Joshua felt the slosh of petroleum in the twin tanks behind him, and knew he had to be careful. If he broke too fast—if the wheels locked and slid—the big rig could jackknife.

Not a great idea when you’re hauling 9,000 gallons of liquid fire.

Joshua honked to warn the kids.

They turned to him, saw the tanker truck approach, and jumped aside.

Joshua’s tanker truck slowed and stopped just inches from the back of the red Hummer.

When the dust blew past, one of the kids, the tall athletic one—some kind of jock—stepped up to the cab.

Joshua rolled his window down.

“Sorry about that,” the jock said. “Broke down a couple miles back.”

Joshua leaned out the window. He felt the sun on his face. “You picked a bad road.”

“Well, we didn’t really mean to—”

The kid saw Joshua’s face.

A look of horror flashed in the boy’s eyes, and he glanced away.

Joshua eased back in his seat, settling into the shadow of his cab.

The kid’s reaction didn’t bother him. Joshua got that look a lot, on account of the burn scars. Truth be told, his face was a melted ruin. The accident ten years ago hadn’t taken Joshua’s life— not quite —but it did take his looks. Now everyone stared at the hideous thing his face had become. It wasn’t cruelty Joshua saw in their eyes, but a flash of revulsion, chased by pity.

If they knew the real story….

But no one listened to Joshua. No one paid any attention to a crazy old man who was hard to look at and harder to believe. Years ago he would tell his tale to anyone who’d buy a pint and bend an ear, but no one ever took his story seriously, so now he just kept the truth to himself.

Joshua nodded to the red car ahead of him. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Don’t know,” the kid said. “Just broke down.”

“Need a push?”

“Sure, that’d be great.”

Joshua saw that there was already a driver in the car, someone to steer, so he started up his truck again. He eased it forward until the front bumper of the big rig nudged the back of the Hummer.

Then he gently pressed down on the accelerator pedal.

The red Hummer rolled forward. Its tires touched the curb and met resistance, then easily rolled up the little concrete ledge.

To make sure the car didn’t roll back, Joshua gave the Hummer a final push. The smaller vehicle rolled free, towards the station.

Someone screamed.

A girl’s voice, high and hysterical. It was the driver in the car.

What’s she hollering for?

The Hummer continued to roll.

A gentle slope in the concrete led down to the gas pumps. The red car picked up speed on the slope. It was headed for the pumps. The driver turned—

But in the wrong direction.

What was she doing? Why didn’t she just pull up alongside the pumps? Why didn’t she slow down?

Didn’t that girl know how to drive?

Ah, hell, Joshua thought.

But it was too late now.

Trevor’s dead car had come to life.

Now it was a runaway.

Trevor saw the Hummer roll toward the gas pumps. Claire was at the wheel, but didn’t know how to drive.

He ran after the car, calling out, “Brake! Brake!”

From inside the car, Claire yelled, “Trevor!”

“Hit the brakes!”

“They don’t work!”

Trevor knew damn well the brakes worked. Claire was panicking.

Probably stomping on the gas pedal.

If the car kept rolling, it was going to smash right into the gas pumps.

In matter of seconds.

Trevor sprinted for the passenger side. He reached the car, grabbed the door handle, and pulled.

He jumped inside, scrambled over the seat, grabbed the steering wheel, spun it to the right, and yanked up on the handbrake.

The Hummer skidded and stopped beside a gas pump.

Trevor took a deep breath.

“That’s it,” he said. “I’m teaching you to drive.”

She gave him an icy stare.

Standing on the curb, Ethan watched Claire climb out of the Hummer. She slammed the door and marched toward the roadside diner.

She looked pissed.

They were all pissed, all except Ethan. He rarely got mad at anything. In fact, he was pretty Zen about most things. But he was definitely tired and hungry and in no mood for more travel.

There was a small building next to the gas station. Dinah’s Diner. It looked like a dump, but Ethan caught the smell of bacon.

At least there’s lunch.

The prospect of food made him feel better already.

Trevor called out, “Wait!” He chased Claire to the diner.

Ethan shook his head and said to Dakota, who stood beside him on the curb, “Here we go again.”

“They always fight,” Dakota offered, without looking up from her cell phone. She was scrolling through text messages. “I don’t know what my brother sees in her.”

“A sparring partner.”

Ethan caught Dakota’s frown. “What’s the matter?”

“No signal.”

“Welcome to the middle of nowhere.”

Dakota stopped punching buttons on her phone and looked up blankly at the horizon. She was still sweating from the heat and the exertion of pushing her big brother’s car. Her dark hair was a windblown tangle. It stuck to the skin of her forehead. Ethan thought it looked sexy. Dakota looked like she’d just gone three rounds on the bed sheets.

Ethan wanted a fourth.

He brushed the hair from her forehead.

Dakota ignored the gesture. She looked back down and tried her phone buttons again. “I’m not getting a signal.”

“I am,” Ethan said. “You’re delicious.”

“I’m hot.”

“Yes, you are.”

He wrapped an arm around her slender waist, pulled her close, and gave her a soulful kiss. It had been too long. They’d hardly touched each other since the car broke down.

Dakota broke contact. “Ethan—”

It was a tease, of course. Ethan knew she liked it. She always said he was a good kisser. He gave her some more, brushing aside her hair to nibble an ear.

She pushed him away. “Not in front of my brother.”

Ethan licked her neck. “Your brother’s a little busy right now.”

She shoved him harder, but giggled.

“Later,” she said.

He reached around and grabbed her ass through her jeans. She had a firm butt that fit nicely in his hands. He gave her tight buns a quick squeeze.