Read Truck Stop for Free Online Page B

looked into the cab.
    “I haven’t seen any kids. Now come on, get off my truck,” the driver shot back.
    Roger hopped off the side step, and the truck lurched away with a grinding of gears. Roger cut over to the cab of the second truck in line.
    The grizzled old man behind the wheel already had his window down when Roger leaped up onto the side step. “You outta your fucking mind?” the old guy growled. “You’re gonna get yourself killed!”
    Roger desperately scanned the inside of the cab. “I’m looking for my daughter. She’s brunette, seven—“
    The truck behind them started blasting its horn.
    “I ain’t seen no one,” the old trucker snarled.
    Roger leaped off the side step and raced over to the last truck. But this one didn’t stop. It blasted its horn and kept rolling.
    Roger ran up alongside it, yelling at the wiry 30-something man behind the wheel. “Hey! Hey asshole!” he shouted. But the truck roared out onto the on-ramp, leaving Roger behind in the pouring rain.
    Roger staggered to a stop, catching his breath. He turned and looked back at the parking lot. Four trucks had decided to sit out the storm at the truck stop. One was the cream-colored rig with the pearly finish that belonged to the spiky-haired woman and her son Daniel. Another was the maroon-colored rig that belonged to the amiable favorite-aunt type woman. The third was the beat-up old Mack with the Georgia plates that belonged to the man with the Confederate flag and the guns, and the fourth one….
    Roger wiped the water from his eyes and focused in on the fourth remaining truck. It was the muddy old tanker truck, the truck with the cab he had looked into earlier and seen the gaunt-looking driver with the hollow, sunken eyes staring back.
    Roger cut back across the parking lot, heading straight for the foreboding old tanker. All the lights were off in the cab. He stepped up to the door and knocked.
    Thunder rumbled in the black, wet sky overhead. Roger knocked again. No answer. He climbed up onto the side step and peered into the window. The dark and mud were impervious. He used his hand to try to wipe the mud from the cab’s windows, but it streaked and smeared across the opaque glass.
    Roger gave up and stepped back down. He crossed around the front of the cab, carefully scanning the old truck as he went. There was something out of place about it; it wasn’t kept up like the others. It was as if the driver didn’t care.
    Roger considered his options. If the driver wasn’t inside his truck, then he had to be in the truck stop somewhere. Roger would at least have to track the driver down and question him the way he had the others. One thing was certain; he would have to keep a close eye on this truck.
    Roger turned away and was about to head back to the truck stop when a flicker of lightning lit up the turbulent sky. Roger hesitated; something caught his eye in the pale glow.
    He looked down at the front wheel well of the tanker truck. Strange, thin, wet strands hung from underneath. Roger kneeled. He reached behind the muddy tire and pulled at one of the strands. It slipped away from the greasy axle. Roger held it close for a better look. It was human hair, clotted with blood and bits of pulpy scalp clinging to the ends.
    Roger swallowed dryly; his heart began to thunder in his chest. He dropped to his hands and knees and looked up under the wheel well. The rainwater dripped down through the oily engine. Roger waited for his eyes to adjust to the new level of darkness, and he saw something else caught up in the struts. It was pale, soft, and irregular, with something dark hanging from it.
    Roger scooted farther under the truck. The closer he got to the hanging object, the more details he could make out. The dark hanging shape was the cuff from a torn pair of jeans, but there was more than just fabric there.
    He squinted as he scooted closer and reached out. The second he touched it, he knew what the fabric contained. Human