Mile-Marker 148 (Lexington Avenue Express Book 30)

Mile-Marker 148 (a Lexington Avenue Express short story - 1,300 words) We were doing nearly eighty on I-40 West when something awakened me. I'd been listening to a familiar lullaby, resting, tucked cozy on the jump seat behind the pickup's front buckets. The heavy rain intensified the timbre of the steady, thump-thump cadence, the rhythmic song of the section joints on the aging Interstate; thump-thump-swishhhh … thump-thump-shwishhhh … thump-thump-swishhhh … Snug in my roost, I'd begun noisily licking my testicles when suddenly the green dashboard lights disappeared interrupting my revelry. He'd switched off the headlamps. I could barely see him in the ghostly, gray-yellow light, the raindrops on the windshield sparkling in front of him like the crown jewels of a private universe. I paused, my nose tucked warm to my privates as he raised the pistol to his temple. He didn't turn to wish me farewell. His motion was deliberate and I cringed beneath the roaring blast of frigid air that instantly enveloped me. The window to his left shattered, the missile flying away, moistened by his last fleeting thought and by the rain falling from a leaden, night sky. Flashing images of happier times flooded my memory as I tumbled through the sodden December evening. A mother I'd briefly known flew past, a cozy nest and a warm night's rest following a day of trembling fear, a friend with a soft voice and a touch to match … What brings a man to this? I wondered, but my curiosity was short-lived as my tumble abruptly ended. With a shriek of twisting metal, the truck's final, wet breath escaped as its dead weight settled into the rain-gorged ditch. Unfathomable silence devoured me and for a moment, I feared I too had fallen off life's narrow precipice. Then, thump-thump-swishhhh … thump-thump-shwishhhh … thump-thump-swishhhh … the sounds of distant, passing traffic signaled a new beginning. ***** The big tractor-mowers don't venture beyond the crest of the hills guarding this secret valley nestled between the north and southbound lanes of I-40. Thirteen miles from nowhere, my world lies hidden, framed by the bilateral symmetry of the busy Interstate highway. Life at Mile-Marker 148 is difficult, food scarce, comforts paralleling the whim of the weather, but I've found peace in this tiny dell. The flashing lights took my master’s lifeless body away many months ago but I stayed, hidden here, fearing them now, accepting that along with their power they bear the weight of choice; cruelty or kindness, peace or strife, life or death. My own injuries were slight and I've all but recovered now, only a limp remains to remind me of that fearful night. My slight infirmity is but a modest imposition, scarcely affecting my near-constant foraging for food and having no impact whatsoever on the small pleasure I derive from my occasional testicular maintenance. Two days ago the traveler arrived. I hadn't realized how fragile my peace until he crested the hill, pausing, surveying my valley for spoils, talking to himself in hushed, scavenger tones. He didn't see me as I lay, feasting on the remains of a partially-eaten hamburger I'd found at the roadside. I could have warned him of the hazards of my world, but I remained silent, hidden as the night descended.

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