The Hatcher (a work in progress)

THE HATCHER

One

She was surrounded. Being concerned about that fact was acceptable but being anxious about it was not; anxiety was weakness and weakness could get her killed. The town was well kept, every lawn deep green, every house and business tended to, but everything good was on the surface—below the surface were armed men and women who wanted to kill the stranger in the car with the out of state plates. The woman understood her concern was transforming into anxiety and drew a deep breath—

A police SUV pulled out of a McDonald's parking lot. Was it following her? The woman made a right turn and a few seconds later the police SUV did the same: Yes, it was following her. That realization and then the lights on the upper windshield of the cop car came on. The woman thought of the guns tucked within reach but they were useless; you shoot one cop and a dozen take their place bent on killing you.

This is not helping—the tags are current as is my license. The title is in my name and I have no warrants. Everything is okay.

She pulled over, rolled down the front windows, and placed her hands on the steering wheel. Her plates were out of state but Kansas was seen as an agreeable state to the state she was driving through. The cop emerged from his SUV. Bulky man, thirties, goatee beginning to go gray. Sunglasses. Expressionless face. As he walked towards the car the woman willed herself not to grip the steering wheel, not to give away the anxiety she was struggling to contain.

“Good afternoon,” The cop said through a tight smile, drawling in the manner she expected. “Do you know why I pulled you over, this afternoon?”

He could be one of them…shoots me and plants a gun, well, another gun, in the car—

Stop that shit. Not helping, not helping at all.

“Nope, officer. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t speeding.”

“Pretty sure?” He leaned forward to look in the car. “You’ve got a certified speedometer…”

“Completely sure,” she managed a smile.

Something is off, there is something off about this cop…

He’s one of them, getting you to let your guard…

No. Stop, just…stop.

“We saw you come into town,” the cop continued. “Don’t see too many Crown Victorias any more. Another officer ran your plates and they came back clean as you intended.”

As you intended?! Not good, not good at all.

The woman struggled to keep her hands relaxed, not gripping the wheel and kneading it.

“What do you mean, officer?” She asked.

This is it, The Moment.

The closest gun was in a secret panel in the dash—could she grab it before the cop drew his service weapon?

Stupid. You kill a cop and then you have all the cops in the world on you.

The cop looked up and down the street and around at all the houses. Was his arm closer to his sidearm?

“I mean,” he said without looking at her. “You shouldn’t be in a car that stands out.”

That said, he looked in her face and nodded.

“The water is deep and fast,” the cop whispered, a hint of a smile changing his mouth.

Those words, how could so much relief be released with those five words?

“But we know where to cross.” She finished for him.

“How long do you need?” He asked.

“Fifteen minutes depending on the pickup. She’s at 4317 Davis and then I take the highway east.”

“Solid estimate,” he said with another nod before tapping the door with his right palm. “Travel safe.”

The Driver just nodded, too shaky to form words.

4317 Davis was a large house, single story with brick facades. Older neighborhood, posh but established posh, old money posh. There was no one out front.

“Where the fuck are you?” The driver hissed.

She drove on, picked up her phone, and texted a message along those lines.

“Sorry, overslept,” came the response followed by. “B right out.”

The driver circled the block, watching for oversized pickups and SUVs with US flag stickers. Sometimes they were obvious like that but sometimes they came at you in a Tesla or a Prius—preconceptions, like anxiety, could get you killed. On the second pass of the house, a woman in her mid 20s with light brown hair was walking down the path from the house to the sidewalk. She was tall for a woman, thin but with breasts that may or may not have been fake. An expensive looking bag was carelessly slung over her shoulder. She frowned when she got in.

“This car is old,” the younger woman said.

“But, unlike you, it is on time.”

“No need to be a bitch,” the passenger said as she climbed onto the back seat.

The driver turned to look back at her.

“I have to be a bitch,” she said to her passenger. “This is very serious business, there are people who will try and stop us with any means at their disposal.”

The passenger lost her insolence, looked scared. This made her more human to the driver, something she wasn’t sure that she wanted.

“Really? I thought the Libs just said that to scare people.”

“No, it is as dangerous as they say, but I will get you there safe.”

The driver faced forward again, reaching down for the stick shift.

“Please fasten your safety belt,” she added.

Because the woman hadn’t been ready, it was nearly twenty minutes before they were on the highway east and leaving the small town behind.

“Do I have to be Jane?” The woman in the backseat asked.

“Pardon?”

“Jane, the name they gave me when I made arrangements. I asked for another name but the last message I couldn’t reply to.”

“It’s just a temporary name—“

“Yeah, I know, but—“

“Okay, what would you like to be called?” She saw a familiar expression on the passenger’s face and added. “And it can’t be your own name.”

“Abigail,” she said brightly.

“Abigail?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, we don’t have an Abigail on this trip so, sure…why not.”

“What about you? What do we call you?”

The driver felt a familiarity growing between them and familiarity could lead to friendliness which could lead to bad decisions based on emotion.

“Just the Driver,” she said firmly.

“The Driver?” Abigail sounded unsure.

“Yeah.”

Two

The Driver watched the fuel gauge, they were now below half a tank. All fuel stops had been planned, it was all part of the choreography, but she still didn’t like being below half a tank. After forty-five minutes of driving they came to a large city. The Driver hated traffic, all the vehicles in a big rush, the Driver allowed herself the luxury of kneading the steering wheel and cursing under her breath. After fifteen minutes, they came to the exit she sought. It lead to a busy area full of box stores and fast food restaurants. Suburbia. In the beginning, the Driver had the preconception that the danger she faced would mostly be in rural areas or small towns like one she had picked Abigail up in. When she voiced that opinion, her trainer had looked at her like she was an idiot.

“That is a preconception,” he had said. “And preconceptions will get you and your charges killed.”

The driver followed the surface streets until she came to a gated community. The gate was a problem, a guard in a booth scrutinizing her, the car, and the woman in the backseat. Maybe they were trained to see things, maybe they weren’t. Maybe they were benign or maybe they were part of the groups that wanted to neutralize people like the Driver.

“Good afternoon,” a blonde woman in her late forties smiled from the booth. Her teeth were perfectly white and her polo shirt ironed.

“I am here to see the Blitzens,” the driver smiled. “My name is Ruth Jacoby, should be on the list.”

“Let me look that up, Ruth,” the woman smiled before picking up a tablet.

There was a moment…the guard was smiling but she looked at the car and her eyes changed…

Paranoid. You are totally fucking paranoid.

“You are good to go,” the guard said after a few moments, turning back to “Ruth” with a smile but—

The smile is different, and it’s a billion miles from her eyes. This is not paranoia, we’ve been made.

“Thank you,” the Driver struggled to keep the tension she was feeling invisible and smiled up at the guard before driving on.

“Something’s up,” Abigail said from the back seat.

“Pardon?”

“Your energy changed,” the passenger explained. “Don’t worry, I pick up things like that, I’m kinda psychic.”

The driver rolled her eyes and listened as her phone gave directions to the house she sought.

The house was two stories high, newer, pale red stucco. Not pink, pale red. Tidy lawn in the small front yard. Newer SUV parked in the driveway with a US flag sticker in the back window. Large, cloth US flag fluttering on a pole mounted to the front of the house. The Driver stared at the flag and thought back to her orientation.

“Keep in mind there will be plants,” her trainer had told them. “Women looking for our help who will set you up and compromise your situation.”

A tapping on the passenger window, the Driver jolted back into the present, her hand automatically going to the gun in the pocket built into her door. It was a woman around forty, bland but attractive face, maybe thirty pounds overweight but making the most of it with a well chosen, dark blue blouse and matching skirt. The driver motioned for her to get in. The woman smiled pleasantly to both the driver and Abigail.

“I’m Mary, I guess,” she said to the other passenger.

“Abigail,” the younger woman smiled back.

The smile left Mary’s face and she looked at the woman behind the wheel for help.

“She wanted to change her name,” the Driver sighed. “Please…fasten your seat belt.”

As Mary got situated, the Driver sent a coded text about her suspicions about the woman in the guard booth. A few moments later a coded text came back: Stay the course.

“How long of a drive is it?” Mary asked.

Something about the tone of her voice made the Driver suspicious—

You’re seeing saboteurs everywhere, this is not helping the situation.

“Fifteen hours,” the driver replied. “We have one more passenger to pick up.”

Three

Yes, the white Tesla was definitely following them. The driver wanted to change the route and evade them but she had been told to stay the course. They got on another interstate, this one heading north. The three women passed a billboard for a local megachurch, another reminding them that Jesus had died for their sins, and a third billboard advertising a new housing community. The fuel gauge was now at a third. The white Tesla was staying back but keeping them in sight. They knew how to tail, this was a bad thing, it indicated skills and knowledge the Driver didn’t want to confront. There were many large pickups and SUVs with US flag stickers but not everyone of them was a potential danger—right? The air conditioner struggled against the humidity. Abigail mentioned it and the Driver turned the air conditioning up.

After an hour they got off the interstate and traveled east on a local road winding through farmland and small towns. It made the Driver uneasy, dug out all her preconceptions, she forced them back down.

“Why do they call you guys Hatchers?” Abigail asked brightly.

“Please, we don’t talk about that—“

“Why? It’s just us; we’re all in this situation.”

“We need you to follow the rules, Abigail. Please understand the rules are there for a reason.”

The woman in the back seat allowed herself a bit of a pout.

What’s her story, anyway? A good time girl who got careless? Drunk mistake?

Speaking of rules, what about the one about becoming familiar with the passengers?

“Can we have some music, at least?” Abigail asked. “The silence is murder.”

The Driver cringed at that word but turned on the radio. Mary was quiet, too quiet, she seemed a friendly chatty sort but she was really quiet and that made the Driver suspicious.

They came to a college town, older brick buildings, lots of trees. Students on bicycles, men with beards and messenger bags. The Driver found the apartment building they sought. A woman in her mid twenties with an eyebrow piercing and cropped hair saw the car and walked towards it. She was dressed all in black and wearing Chuck Taylors. The young woman climbed in next to Abigail.

“Sweet ride,” she said to the Driver. “Didn’t know these came in a stick.”

“They don’t,” the Driver replied. “I had it done custom.”

She found herself liking the third passenger but quickly shut those emotions down—

Don’t get attached, don’t get attached, how many times did Larry drill that into us?

“You must be Rose,” Mary smiled from the front seat.

“Yeah, and you guys are Mary and Jane.”

“She changed her name to Abigail,” Mary’s smile wavered a little before she forced it back into place.

“Abigail is a good name,” Rose smiled agreeably.

The Driver wasn’t listening to their soft greetings, the Tesla was still there.

They backtracked to the interstate. The gas gauge was at a quarter tank and the fuel stop was roughly an hour and a half north. Everything was planned, everything was calculated for as few stops as possible—stops could be dangerous. Who knows what the Tesla would do when they stopped for fuel and the bathroom? Scheduling bathroom breaks was impossible, considering the condition her passengers were in.

“I’m sorry,” Abigail said. “But I need to use the ladies room.”

It was unfortunate but things like that came up.

“There’s a rest area eight miles ahead,” the Driver said. “Why don’t we make it a group stop?”

The others voiced their agreement.

Four

A Tesla held, what, four people at most? Four people with guns, could be amateurs or they could be ex-military. The Driver tucked her favorite gun, a Smith and Wesson .357, into the back of jeans and leaned against the hood as the passengers went to relieve themselves. The Tesla parked a few spots down, only one shape inside. One shape, one shooter, that was workable…the last thing she needed but workable. A man got out, he looked eighty with white hair and a matching full beard. Stooped from age. Long sleeve button down shirt, khakis, and sneakers the Driver associated with aging mall walkers. The stranger was smiling, not at people, just smiling. He walked over towards the Crown Victoria and the woman with the gun like a jawbone down the back of her jeans.

“Lovely day, isn’t it?” He laughed lightly.

The man seemed harmless but he had been following them since the second stop so he wasn’t harmless, he was one of Them.

“Yep,” the Driver replied flatly.

The old man looked around and nodded his head in appreciation.

“We are truly blessed with days like this, aren’t we?” His smile thinned and something lit up in his eyes as he continued. “Mara.”

The Driver kept any discomfort at the old man knowing her name buried.

“You need to take your little game elsewhere, mister,” she hard stared the stranger.

He didn’t flinch, if anything he took a step closer.

“This woman,” he announced loudly, turning to address the others at the rest stop. “Is doing something illegal! More importantly, she is doing something wrong!”

People were looking over, some frowning—were the frowns about being annoyed by the loud, old man or because the Driver was “doing something wrong”?

“She is taking three women,” the old man proclaimed. “Three poor, misguided souls, to have their babies murdered!”

“Shut up you old fucktard!” Rose had come out first and was stepping up to the old man. “You may be a thousand years old but I will beat your ass, you Trump loving shitheel!”

The old man looked startled than pleased at that; he let Rose see that she had played his game for a moment before becoming the voice of righteous reason again.

“Poor girl! So misled!” He cried, his voice cracking meaningfully, shaking his head to bring it home.

“I am so warning you,” Rose snarled.

Mary was at her side, taking an arm.

“Rose, he’s an old man!” The oldest of the women said. “I’m sure he has a good heart and has good intentions.”

Rose shook her hand off and got in the car. The Driver half heard them but was focused on the other people in the parking lot. There were large pickups, one with a big US flag in the bed, probably with guns in the cab.

She motioned everyone back into the car and once everyone had their safety belts on, drove them out of the rest stop. No one followed, not even the old man in the Tesla.

Five

“You didn’t need to say those things,” Mary chided, looking through the windshield with a minute frown. “You didn’t need to use such language.”

“It’s backwards assholes like that who voted for you know who and created this situation,” Rose muttered, gesturing around the car at her fellow passengers and their driver.

“So…everyone who voted for Trump is a backwards asshole?” Abigail asked.

“I don’t like this conversation,” the Driver said firmly. “We have to be unified, there are still many miles between here and where we’re going.”

“Sorry,” Mary mumbled.

“Biden was a joke,” Abigail muttered under her breath.

“Abigail…no,” the Driver said strictly.

“I apologize for swearing,” Rose sighed. “I’m just frustrated.”

No one said anything in response. The Driver texted her handlers to keep them in the loop about the situation at the rest stop.

The Driver had contemplated wearing an adult diaper for the trip but when she had done so in the past it had been uncomfortable and she had developed a rash. Reluctantly, she locked the car and followed the others into the bathroom after filling the car. Her passengers had urinated quickly but the Driver realized she had to do something more.

“We’re going outside for some air,” Mary said to the stall of the door the Driver was in.

“Keep your eyes open. If there is a problem, come get me.”

“Just,” Mary paused, the Driver could hear a cringe in her voice. “Do what you need to do.”

She did. Mara. The old man knew her real name, probably the surname as well. It didn’t matter, the Driver didn’t have a house to bomb or loved ones to be terrorized. The Driver cleaned up and flushed. Two women were in the bathroom, one white and blonde and the other black with long,straightened hair. They were looking right at the stall door, waiting—

And the blonde one was moving her arm and something was at the end of the arm, something bad. The dark haired one was reaching for something, something probably worse—

But the blonde was closer. If only one of them had combat training the situation was fucked but the blonde was easily disarmed, the knife clattering onto the floor.

“Pick that shit up,” the dark haired one said firmly.

But she made the mistake of looking over at her companion and that was the opening the Driver needed. She disarmed the second one who struggled which led to a bone in her forearm being snapped.

“Ah, fuck!” She cried, dropping to her knees and drawing her injured arm to her chest.

Now the Driver had her own gun leveled at the blonde.

“We know you, Mara,” the blonde said. “This doesn’t stop—“

Anger rose in the Driver and she was helpless against it, pistol whipping the blonde to the tile and then hating herself for giving into emotion—when you gave into emotion you were playing Their game.

The Driver walked out quickly. The others were waiting at the front of the car. The Driver unlocked the Crown Victoria with the fob.

“Get in,” she said firmly.

The other three women did. The Driver got behind the wheel, anxiety—like the urge to pistol whip the blonde—rising with such vigor she wasn’t sure that she could force it back down.

They attacked me, but if the cops in this area are with Them the only part of the story that will become official record is that I drew an illegal weapon and assaulted both women.

Two women were approaching the Crown Victoria, both were soft looking and in their mid-fifties. One had moved into the path of the Crown Victoria—

Do I run her down? How far do I take this?

The other older woman was motioning for the Driver to roll down her window which was done reluctantly.

“The water is deep and fast,” she said carefully after looking around the parking lot.

“But we know where to cross,” the Driver replied. “There are two of them in the bathroom.”

“Okay, okay,” the older woman was thinking and then looking at the women in the car with a kind smile. "Don’t y’all worry, you got friends around here.”

“Thank you,” the Driver said.

Six

“Who were those women?” Abigail asked as they got back on the interstate.

“Rules, Abigail, rules,” the Driver sighed, getting up to eighty-five.

The women in the parking lot didn’t appear to be trained in situations like “cleaning” the bathroom, had someone else got in there before the women? Maybe someone aligned with Them?

“We’re part of this, too,” Abigail continued.

“You’re part of it for sixteen hours,” the Driver corrected her. “Those women, me, this is our life now.”

“But, we’re doing something illegal, too—“

“None of us are doing anything illegal,” the Driver said firmly. “I am driving three women for an unspecified medical procedure in Denver.”

“What’s with you, Mary?” Abigail leaned forward. “You seem like the last person in the world who’d be doing something like this….”

The older woman looked uncomfortable, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

“Abigail!” The Driver said more firmly, raising her voice.

But then the woman in the backseat and her rule breaking had become unimportant—two large, black pickups were closing on them. They had the same front license plate brackets, US flags set into chrome; the Driver recognized the brackets and understood who was closing on them.

“Okay,” she sighed. “We’re gonna go fast now but everything is going to be okay.”

“We’re already going 85,” Mary leaned over to see the speedometer, concern in her voice.

“It’s okay,” the Driver said, softer.

Seeing a gap, she dropped into fourth and floored the accelerator quickly reaching a hundred before going back into fifth gear. The trucks were, surprisingly, keeping up, clearly modified. How fast would she need to go? One-twenty? One-thirty?

“Shit, this is fast,” Rose said through clenched teeth.

“Please don’t swear,” Mary said weakly.

Traffic was moderate, and the Driver struggled to weave through it, feeling a sheen of sweat in her armpits and on her hands. The trucks were struggling more, their center of gravity working against them.

They are not trained drivers, that gives us a chance.

They were now at 115. One of the trucks overcorrected changing lanes and lost control, swerving and then doing a barrel roll into the opposite lanes, colliding with a few cars.

“Oh, Lord,”Mary moaned. “Those poor people!”

The Driver got up to 120. The remaining truck couldn’t keep up and was finally lost when the Driver jerked over onto the shoulder to pass slower moving cars.

Seven

“That was literally insane.”

The car had been silent for a few minutes before Abigail said that.

“If you hadn’t voted for that asshole, this situation wouldn’t exist,” Rose said, anger clear in her voice.

“Are you really blaming us?” Mary asked, she sounded hurt.

“Ladies!” The Driver said firmly. “We don’t need this now, we have many hours left, we can’t be fighting each other.”

“That was nuts,” Rose said quietly. “I didn’t expect that.”

“That wasn’t the end of it? Is it?” Abigail asked.

“No,” the Driver sighed. “We’re still in an Anti state.”

But that wasn’t it, the Driver understood why her car was being targeted but also understood that suspicion was not to be shared with her passengers.

An hour passed. The radio was playing pop music that none of them were enjoying so the Driver switched it off. As her hand left the controls, she realized a familiar sort of vehicle was coming up fast behind them: A state trooper SUV. The Driver grabbed her phone, sent a coded text. Was she going the speed limit? Yes...not that it mattered. The state trooper could be benign, responding to reports of the chase, or the driver could be one of Them. The Driver got in the slow lane. The trooper got behind the Crown Victoria and turned its lights and siren on.

“Fuck, I mean, crap,” Rose said.

“This is one occasion where the first word fits,” Mary said softly.

“It’s okay,” the Driver said. “Worse case scenario, they arrest me and deliver the three of you home—-“

Mary leaned forward and started sobbing, Rose moved to comfort her and the older woman didn’t resist.

“Sorry,” Mary said, composing herself. “That snuck up on me.”

“We’re going to get through this,” the Driver said firmly.

“I’m almost out of time,” Mary shook her head.

“I’m not the only one, Mary. We can have another driver pick you up tomorrow—“

“You don’t understand,” the older woman smiled bitterly.

And the cop was rapping on the driver's side window. The Driver rolled it down.

“Please shut your engine off, ma’am,” the trooper said grimly. He appeared Hispanic and roughly forty, clean shaven.

The Driver did as instructed and put her hands on the steering wheel.

“What is this about, officer?”

The trooper laughed at that, a cold mechanical laugh.

“I have had many reports of a vehicle matching this description driving erratically at a high rate of speed—“

“We are a car full of women, officer,” the Driver said. “The men in those pickups made obscene remarks and were chasing us.”

“You’re already going to Hell, Mara,” the officer put his hand over his service weapon. “What’s adding lying to a long, long list?”

A minivan pulled up behind the trooper’s SUV, the cop motioned for it to drive on but a white woman climbed out as did her four passengers, all of whom were filming the cop with their phones.

“Why did you pull them over, officer?” The minivan driver asked.

“Ma’am,” the trooper said firmly. “I need you to get back into your vehicle and get back on the highway!”

An SUV pulled up behind the minivan. It was driven by a black man somewhere around forty wearing a blue suit. His three passengers got out and began filming the officer with their phones.

“Please explain why you are detaining these women, officer,” the SUV driver requested politely.

The cop’s hand was hovering over his sidearm, the Driver could tell he was weighing his options.

“Enjoy your momentary victory, Mara,” the trooper said without taking his eyes off the people surrounding the minivan and the SUV. “This is a big state and there are a lot of miles between here and the border.”

The trooper climbed back into his SUV and drove off. The Driver climbed out of the Crown Victoria, made eye contact with the drivers of the SUV and minivan and nodded to both in turn.

Eight

“So…your name is Mara?” Abigail asked a mile down the road.

“If she wanted us to call us that, she would have given us her name,” Mary interjected timidly.

“And what about you?” Abigail continued. “You seemed extremely upset about the idea of going home.”

“Maybe we should drop both things,” Rose muttered.

Abigail turned on the other woman on the back seat sharply but Mary leaned back and put her arm between them.

“I can’t have another baby with my husband,” she said. “I can’t bring another child into that world.”

“What world is that?” Rose asked gently.

Mary just shook her head and sat facing forward again.

“His family is always watching,” she continued. “They saw me being picked up by a car with out of state plates, this is my one chance, once I am back there I will be even more tightly controlled.”

“What about when you go back after the procedure?” Abigail asked. “What—“

“I don’t know,” Mary snapped. “I can’t…I can’t think that far ahead, I’m scared to, all I know is I can’t bring someone else into that world.”

The other passengers slipped into a respectful silence.

“Can I ask one question, driver?” Rose asked.

“I guess."

“Do you do this because you’re a woman?”

A long pause, the Driver moved into the fast lane to pass a fuel truck.

“No, I do this because I’m a human being.”

The Driver stayed at five over the limit. They had other cops in their ranks, more yelling old men in Teslas, other people in oversized pickups that would chase them. It was the same on every delivery and she had always made her deliveries, all thirty-three of them but—

How long would her luck hold out? This time she had broken an arm, pistol whipped one of Their ranks, embarrassed one of Their cops—surely They would not let that stand.

“You seem tense, driver,” Abigail said.

“It doesn’t take a psychic to see that,” the Driver grunted.

“You’re good at this,” Abigail continued. “I’m guessing you’ve done this a lot.”

“This is my thirty-fourth delivery.”

“Delivery?” Rose asked. “Is that term supposed to be ironic or clinical?"

The Driver didn’t get what she meant, maybe that it sounded like a cold term for transporting other human beings.

“We can’t look at you as human beings,” the Driver said. “We have to remain completely removed from this emotionally.”

“That’s weird,” Rose replied. “What’s so bad about emotional attachment?”

The Driver just shook her head and they drove on in silence.

Nine

“I think we need to change up with route, they keep locating me,” the Driver sent an encoded text.

The response came three minutes and eight seconds later:

“Copy that and agreed. New route is attached. It will take you out of the way, but They won’t expect that.”

The passengers were using the restroom. The Driver hadn’t needed it; she was drinking as little as possible so she wouldn’t have to leave the car unattended; They kept finding her, They were capable of sabotaging the car.

The pursuers had her marked as she had made the most deliveries and, as others had pointed out, the Crown Victoria stood out, but the Driver’s instincts were telling there was something else—

A tracker. One of the people in the car has a tracker…but which one? I would bet against Mary, her fear of returning home without the procedure was palpable….

“Nice, hadn’t noticed this before,” Rose was smiling and pointing at the trunk lid where a white sticker with red numbers was attached to the metal: 062422.

The Driver just mumbled something, craving a cigarette, craving many escapes from the stress that kept climbing up from the murk.

“My sister is in a wheelchair,” Rose continued quietly. “She got beaten during the protests in Portland…do you remember—“

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” the Driver said firmly. It could be her

Rose looked confused so the Driver continued.

“This personal shit, I can’t do it, it’s just how this works—okay?”

The passenger looked hurt but was working to push it back down, she nodded and got in the back seat. Across the parking lot Abigail was flirting with a couple of guys in their 20s. When she looked over, the Driver gestured towards her. The younger woman touched one of the guys on the shoulder and then walked back to the Crown Victoria. She was getting in as Mary approached from the truck stop and they were off.

“Why are we going the opposite direction?” Abigail asked as they merged back onto the highway.

“They keep finding us,” the Driver explained. Is it you, Abigail? “Need to mix things up a bit.”

Four miles down the highway, she turned onto a secondary road heading south and then west on a road so narrow there wasn’t a yellow line. The Driver got up to eighty. When Mary sucked air through her teeth the Driver automatically smiled.

“You have nothing to worry about; this car may be twenty years old but I take really good care of it…it’s my partner.”

“That’s an interesting way to put it,” Rose said.

“That seat folds down into a bed,” the Driver explained. “Everything I own is in the trunk.”

“Where do you go to the bathroom?” Abigail asked, doubt in her voice.

“Truck stops, side of the road…”

What are you doing? What is one of the top rules? Don’t make friends. I know you want to, fuck, it’s a human need, but it one of the big rules.

The internal chiding was broken by a dot in the rear view mirror. A car? The Driver looked down at the speedometer, she was at 75 after slowing for a curve. If someone was approaching like that they had to be going 90.

“Everyone’s seatbelt on good?” She asked firmly.

“I hate it when you ask that,” Abigail pouted.

The Driver got up to 90. Narrow as the road was, the asphalt was in good condition. On one side was a sparse wood with trees she couldn’t identify, on the left some sort of farm, maybe sorghum. The dot was still closing.

How? They would have be pushing 110.

It had to be Them which confirmed the tracker which made keeping her distance from the passengers a little easier.

Fucking tracker; there is no doubt now.

How long was the road? Twenty miles? That gave her ten minutes or so alone with the vehicle, hopefully it was just one. Smooth as the road was, there were curves; they were gentle but even gentle ones at 90 made the car lean and the tires resisted a little. And the dot was not longer a dot, it was a big truck, maybe a Ford F650, with a big, metal push bar on the front, the kind for moving stalled cars off the highway—

Or ramming a Crown Victoria off the road.

She didn’t like the truck but more so the Driver didn’t like how the driver was able to keep it under control at such a high rate of speed. It was—

It’s not a truck, it is the Truck.

After all her deliveries the Driver was finally face to mirror with the Truck, the legendary vehicle that had forced four Hatchers off the road, killing a total of eight people. All three passengers were looking in the rear view mirror.

“How can a truck like that go so fast?” Mary asked, openly fearful.

“Probably custom engine and suspension,” Rose replied. “It’s actually kinda cool.”

“Shhh,” the Driver admonished them. “I need to concentrate.”

The Truck closed the distance until it was one car length behind them at 105 miles per hour. The Driver had been forced to look—along with other Hatchers—at photographs of the Truck’s victims, mangled cars and bodies.

“This is what we are up against!” The trainer had yelled, jabbing each photo with an angry finger. “This is the evil we are working against!”

And now it was on her rear bumper.

“Okay, God,” the Driver said softly in the present. “If there was one time I could use a hand, this is it.”

“Are you okay with us praying?” Mary asked.

“Yeah, but silent prayers.”

The Driver got up to 120. Now the graceful curves were tests of her nerves and skill; if she dropped off the Truck would be on them. The car leaned and the tires chirped, when they did Mary’s lips began moving frantically as she colored her prayers with fear. The Truck was several car lengths behind them, obviously even its driver had limits—

But a long straightaway was coming up.

I can hit 130 even when the passengers but even though this road is smooth---

No doubt. There can be no doubt right now.

Coming out of the last curve, the Driver floored the accelerator and the certified speedometer slowly rose from 120 to 125—

The Truck was still coming on.

“How can a truck go that fast?” Abigail’s voice was shaky. “Fuck…I fucked up, Jesus. This is your way of showing me I have sinned and need to be punished—“

“Stop it!” the Driver yelled. “If you don’t let me concentrate we will crash!”

The speedometer edged past 130 but its progress stopped short of 135. She had never driven the Crown Victoria that fast, 120 was the old record. The Truck was right on their bumper, then dropping back a few car lengths, then right on their bumper.

How could they make a big truck go that fast? The thing is, it can clearly go even faster…

Maybe Abigail is right, maybe it is a vessel of God—

Stop. Just stop that shit, can’t be thinking like that.

The road they needed to turn on was coming up. How fast could the Crown Vic make the turn safely? Even at sixty the rear end would come loose—and the Truck would probably ram them.

“Okay, guys,” the Driver said quietly. “This is gonna be a little dicey—“

“Dicey?” Mary asked, eyes wide.

“You mean dicier?” Rose asked.

The Driver hit the brakes, quickly dropping below 100, the Truck was right on them but the driver of the Crown Victoria jerked to the left, taking the car onto the shoulder of loose dirt and into a lightly banked culvert. The Truck didn’t dare follow, the combination of loose dirt and its much higher center of gravity…the driver of the Crown Vic was counting on that. She slammed the brakes on right before the turn, driving on the loose dirt, off balance because she was partly in the culvert, it was worse than driving on ice. Jumping onto the crossroad, the Driver spun the wheel left and the tires bit on the pavement, the rear end coming loose as she expected. She dropped into third and the engine roared in protest as the revs climbed well into the red—

And she was back in control, moving up to fourth and getting up to seventy and shifting up to fifth.

“Where did it go?” Abigail was looking out the back window, her arm across the back of the seat.

The Truck was gone.

Ten

The passengers were rattled, not just by the chase, but by how the Truck had just vanished:

“How could it just disappear like that?”

“We’re being punished, we’re being punished…”

“I mean, where did it go?!”

“God sent it, I got lost, I just…”

Only Rose was silent, she was rattled as well but not as much as the others.

She would be the perfect plant, a Progressive…or so she is playing.

The Driver felt stress but she also felt pride: She had handled the car like a pro and had even survived a run in with the Truck.

“Some call the Truck the elephant,” the Trainer had told them after showing the grisly pictures.

“Because it’s really big?” One of the Hatchers had asked. Jakob, he had been gunned down after being forced off the road by a couple of pickups a month after the Trainer’s presentation.

“Partly,” the Trainer had chuckled at that. “Back in the frontier days, people coming west had to cross a vast desert in Utah and Nevada. They called it seeing the Elephant when they got overwhelmed and had to turn back. We’ve lost five of you guys to the Truck, two quit after being chased by it, and three were killed as you see in these pictures.”

“The Elephant,” the Driver murmured to herself in the present.

“Pardon?” Mary asked, she had finally calmed down.

“If I want to back out,” Abigail said. “What do I do?”

“When I get you to the hospital in Denver, you tell them you want to go home.”

“Abigail,” Rose looked over at her seatmate. “We just went through a traumatic experience…”

The other woman just held up a hand to silence her.

“What the heck am I doing?” Abigail asked thoughtfully. “I got in this situation because I was out, drunk, cheating on my guy…”

Her voice broke up and a line of tears popped out of her left eye. After a few seconds she composed herself.

“Mike…I am so lucky to have him. He stood by me even after I explained to him how I got pregnant, offered to marry me, the whole deal. But I didn’t want that, a husband and a baby would just get in the way of me just…I don’t know, living…I don’t know how to say it.”

She paused, looked out at the fields passing her window.

“And I was flirting with those guys at the truck stop,” Abigail continued. “The Truck…I don’t know, if you can’t see you can’t but I do.”

Rose had no response to that.

“We need music,” Mary nodded. “Driver?”

“Yeah, sure…as long as it isn’t that newer crap they play on the radio.”

Mary chucked at that, even Rose and Abigail smiled.

“Do you know what you’re going to do, Mary?” Rose asked.

“Come on, Rose—“ the Driver chided.

“No, no,” Mary smiled. “That’s fine. I am going to see about having an additional procedure when at the hospital.”

The others in the car understood what she was inferring: I am going to get my tubes tied.

“Mary,” Abigail said. “I know people who would love to take you in—“

“No,” Mary said firmly. “My kids need me.”

Abigail leaned forward, put a hand on the older woman’s shoulder, and appeared on the verge of tears.

“The way you described your man and his people…they are going to give you a mean welcome home party.”

“I know,” Mary replied, almost too quiet to hear.

“Listen to me,” Abigail said more firmly. “You ain’t no use to your kids dead—“

“They won’t kill me,” Mary said, trying to be strong. “They’re more creative than that, but things will settle after a while.”

Abigail just sat back in her seat shaking her head.

Eleven

“Fuck! That is so, so beautiful!” Rose cried.

“Language, please,” Mary replied, but she was smiling as they passed the Colorado Welcomes You sign.

“They still operate in Colorado,” the Driver said, trying to keep the others grounded. “We could still be—“

“No,” Abigail beamed. “We’re going to be okay, I can feel it.”

The Driver kept thinking of the Truck—the Elephant—as the miles passed.

“What is your car’s name?” Rose asked out of the blue.

“Pardon?”

“Every car needs a name,” the woman with piercings continued.

The Driver had to think about that for a few moments.

“Ruth?”

Rose seemed pleased by that and sat back in her seat with a smile. The Driver caught herself smiling at the rear view mirror but forced the smile off her face: It could be her, she could have a tracker in that bag with the Siouxside and the Banshees badge on it.

“Guys, I hate to do this but…”

“Yeah, yeah, the rules,” Abigail smirked.

“That’s right.”

Rose put Abigail’s blindfold on, the Driver helped Rose with hers and then put one on Mary.

Of course, taking the tracker into consideration…

They were still ten miles from the hospital. The Driver texted her handlers about the suspicion about the tracker. The handlers had a way of destroying trackers silently and electronically; they would pick the women up and deliver them the last ten miles. Due to the change of plan the blindfolds were taken off temporarily. While waiting, the Driver explained what was happening, studying the faces of the passengers, watching for any tells that they were guilty.

“Either I am off base or one of you should get a career in acting,” she said.

“How could you suspect us?” Mary sounded offended. “After all we’ve been through together?”

The Driver wanted to embrace her, wanted to comfort her and let her know it wasn’t her that Mara suspected—

And the Driver hated herself for that warmth, that weakness, and shook it off.

“You need to understand the people on the other side,” she explained firmly. “We have had them access the inside, the very center of our operation…they are very intelligent and very resourceful.”

“I get it,” Abigail said with a nod. “You’re just trying to keep us safe.”

“Do you think I’m doing the Devil’s work?” The Driver asked, the words out before she was aware they were being formed.

The younger woman studied her for a few seconds.

“I don’t know, to be honest,” Abigail replied. “I can see you are good at heart, beyond that…”

She trailed off and shrugged. A panel van was pulling into the turnout they had been waiting in.

A bald black woman around thirty wearing a dark blue, two piece jacket and skirt suit climbed out and approached the Driver.

“The water is deep and fast,” Dark Blue suit said.

“But we know where to cross,” The Driver finished.

“Ladies,” Blue Suit smiled at the passengers. “Please, this van will take you the rest of the way.”

Rose waved at the Driver and Abigail gave her a smile and a nod. Mary walked a couple of steps closer, Mara could tell by the older woman’s arms that she wanted a hug—the Driver turned away, struggling to push everything she was feeling down. When the women who had been her passengers were safely in the van, Blue Suit turned to Mara with a concerned expression.

“I was worried about you last week.”

“Yeah?”

“You never drink that much, it’s not like you.”

The Driver felt embarrassed.

“Please don’t tell me I sent you some mawkish text.”

Blue Suit smiled, took a step closer until she was only an arm’s length away.

“Don’t hate on yourself, you were stressed out and drank too much,” Blue Suit looked over at the van. “I’d better get them to the safe place.”

“Yeah, yeah—“

“We’ll text you in a couple of hours about the next assignment.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Dark Suit climbed in the van and it drove off, towards Denver, a minute later.

The Driver climbed back into the Crown Victoria. She hadn’t remembered a lot about that night aside from the pain the whiskey and cigarettes left behind the following morning. It was coming back, though.

Twelve

The next assignment was in Missouri. The Driver filled Ruth up and started east. More and more details of the drunken night were coming back and they troubled her. She kept seeing Mary’s face: How could you suspect us? That had been wrong—

The Driver recalled more and more about why she had been drinking, just being done with all the stress and, mostly, about always having to be apart, not able to get close to any passengers. It had worn on her by the twentieth delivery and she was well past that.

But I can’t quit. How could I quit? Quit something so important—what kind of person would I be?

She thought of Abigail, Rose, and especially Mary, struggling to drive through her tears.

The Crown Victoria crossed into Kansas on highway 96 traveling at seventy miles per hour. She had dropped the women off shortly after noon and now it was nearly dusk. The road was surprisingly deserted so early in the evening, but there was a dot on the horizon. The Driver knew who it was, what it was; it had found her because she had enabled it to find her.

“Elephants can die,” she whispered to herself. “Right? I’m pretty sure…”

She got Ruth up to eighty. The dot was becoming more distinct, a large truck with an oversized metal plate mounted on the front. The Driver, Mara one last time, braced herself, both hands on wheel. She saw Mary’s worried face and smiled at that.

“You’re going to be okay.”

The Driver gripped the wheel, twisted it slightly to the left, and put herself into the path of the speeding truck.

Written 24-25 June, 2022.

(C) 2022 Izaak David Diggs

All rights reserved including the right to reproduce in whole or in part.