CHUCK
Night descended upon the modest region of Vermont, shrouding it in darkness, while a gentle breeze stirred the shadows. A few stars timidly twinkled in the sky. The winding and narrow road, flanked on both sides by sleeping forest, presented a formidable challenge. Visibility was poor, the numerous turns making the drive complicated.
Chuck Longman drove his semi-trailer truck at full speed, glaring at the winding white line that stretched before him. He had been on the road for hours, long and exhausting hours, trying in vain to make up for lost time, and his aging body felt all of them. Forty wasn't always the new thirty.
The stress was taking its toll. He adjusted his cap and nervously stroked his beard. His shirt, already too tight, felt constricting, so he unbuttoned another button. He knew that the delivery he was carrying would not make its own way to its destination. The longer it took, the more anger and impatience brewed inside him.
The night grew deeper, darkness pressing close as the clock ticked past 9 pm, and Chuck fought the need to give in to slumber. Heavy traffic demanded his utmost attention, wearing him down more than it kept him awake. Fatigue tugged at his eyelids, added weight to his limbs, and he didn't realize how dangerously close he was to falling asleep until a blaring car horn jerked him back from the brink, palms sweating as he yanked on the steering wheel, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision.
He fancied himself drifting slowly and easily into the arms of Morpheus, forgetting the cursed road and his burdensome task. The truck would careen off the road, spinning wildly in a fiery maelstrom before erupting in a colossal explosion, reduced to nothing but dancing flames and glittering embers.
But he shook off the fantasy, forcing himself to focus.
"I can do this," he muttered to himself. "I can't let this contract slip through my fingers. I'll make the delivery on time, and Albany won't think twice about it. They know me too well…"
Chuck Longman was a man who considered himself to be diligent, fastidious, and unrelenting. He couldn't afford to make mistakes, not now. To quell his overactive imagination, he shook his head vigorously, banishing the ridiculous fantasies that threatened to derail his focus.
His attention was momentarily diverted by a strange pick-up that was tailing him from a distance. A glance at his side mirror turned into a lingering look, attention captured by the pick-up behind him. Between the headlights and the darkness, it was hard to make out the color, but Chuck thought it might've been black. Unease crept down his spine, and his eyes darted from the road ahead of him to the side mirrors, before he twisted around to check his blind spots.
The pick-up remained the same distance behind him, untoward and unthreatening, except for all the ways in which Chuck managed to convince himself it was. Chuck made sure to constantly scan his surroundings, wary of any potential hazards on the winding road.
To stay alert, he cranked up the volume on the radio, allowing the blaring sounds to jolt him awake! Everything will be fine, he reassured himself silently, pouring a shot of Jack Daniel's into his thermos of coffee, creating a potent and invigorating concoction. That was precisely what he needed to keep going.
Chuck clenched his fists around the steering wheel and raised the volume of the radio. Unconsciously, he pressed down on the accelerator and began tailgating the car in front of him. An adrenaline rush made him honk and swear at the slow and irritating vehicle.
"They'll make me late," he thought. "Come on, come on!"
He took another swig of his coffee-whiskey, the burning sensation scorching his throat, and felt a wave of power surge through him. He considered overtaking the cumbersome car ahead, but visions of an explosion and violent accident deterred him. He saw flames, felt heat burning his arms, neck, and face... Maybe it was nothing more than the Jack after all? Good old Jack, who never let him down.
He eased his foot off the pedal and made a decision to calm down. Yes, it was better to take his time and reach Albany without any trouble. Late, but in one piece. He pondered the idea of stopping at a motel, relaxing, and having a few drinks to clear his mind. In any case, he held the cargo; the clients would have to wait.
The radio crackles softly, its static buzz barely audible, masking the music that Chuck had been ignoring until now. He glared at it with a surly expression, his hands firmly gripping the steering wheel. Gradually, the voices became clearer, their urgency palpable. A curious debate was unfolding, the kind that only experts and scholars seemed to care about.
"But are we ever truly safe? It could happen at any time!" an unknown man said.
"The world has never been more at peace! Are you joking?" retorted his interlocutor.
"Peace is merely the absence of war," the first speaker countered. "Wars have defined humanity, punctuated our history, and even shaped our civilization. Man possesses aggressive and destructive impulses, and he has only two choices: either he turns them inward, or he directs them outward. Look at Hitler and other despots - it was their own death drive projected onto the world that caused such devastation."
"The world we live in today is different." The second speaker's tone turned mocking. "Man has changed, and is still evolving. I don't believe in this thesis that we're evil, dominant beings. I believe in hope, in sharing, in humanity! I believe in a world of peace."
With a strange static noise, the radio went dead. Chuck stared at the device in disbelief and, with determination, thumped it twice. No response. Troubled by a nagging sense of unease, he shifted his attention back to the road ahead.
A strange buzzing sound caught his attention, louder and more erratic as it drew closer. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he spotted an unusual light flickering on the horizon, gradually growing brighter and more intense. Chuck kept his gaze fixed on the light as it approached, the low hum gradually giving way to a deafening roar.
Almost between blinks, the source of the light came into view: a military helicopter, flying low and fast. Chuck watched as the aircraft raced past him, soaring over the line of cars ahead. For a brief moment, the helicopter blocked out the the bright moon through the clouds, casting an eerie darkness over the forested road.
Chuck's attention was drawn to the lights emanating from the helicopter. They seemed to be searching for something, or someone, with an almost frenzied intensity. Chuck's unease deepened. What was going on? Why was the military conducting a search in this area? He couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong.
In an instant, Chuck's dashboard gave out. The dials flickered and the needles danced wildly, betraying the bizarre malfunction of the truck's instruments. Though Chuck tried to keep an eye on the helicopter, tracking its course, his faltering vehicle demanded his attention. The truck laboured as it tried to maintain speed, the sound of its engine shifting from familiar to alarming. Chuck tapped the gauges in frustration, but the instruments on the dashboard continues their erratic performance.
Then, a muted cough emerged from the engine. Chuck felt the pedal beneath his foot grow soft, unresponsive to his pressure. He pressed harder and harder, troubled by this inexplicable issue.
Searching the sky for the helicopter, the trucker found no red lights and no swirling beams. For a fleeting moment, he thought he glimpsed a distant shadow traversing the lunar halo, drifting westward. He blinked rapidly, eyes following the hypothetical trajectory of the military craft, if that was indeed what the shadow was. It seemed to be descending far too rapidly. And then, something that defied belief: a silent explosion in the distance, deep in the forest. Flames danced before his eyes, dazzling him momentarily. But just as quickly, the ephemeral flash was swallowed by the darkness, and it was hard for Chuck to say which was brighter: the massive moon hanging above, or the burning white afterimage painted on his retinas.
"Damn it!" he exclaimed, utterly stunned.
Chuck had quite literally lost his bearings. Despite the slowing pace of his truck, he too had drifted, this time to the east. When he finally snapped back to reality, he found himself hurtling down the opposite lane, headed in the wrong direction. He grasped the steering wheel with fevered desperation as the vehicle began to falter and sputter. But it was already too late...
The semi truck was heading straight for a car with alarming speed.