Uncanny Tales of Crush and Pound 3, Page 2

  “Oh, crap! Crush has disappeared!” he exclaimed. “And we’ve been discovered!” he howled out, backing away from the front window and pointing towards the front yard.

  “What!” the others cried out in unison.

  “Sherriff’s car in the front yard,” he said in his loudest whisper, motioning for the others to keep their voices down.

  “Get to the basement!” exclaimed Dr. Tatum in a low voice as she pulled back a rug from the center of the living room, revealing a pull-up door in the hardwood floor. She yanked the rope and gestured for the others to climb down the dark stairs to the hidden room beneath. After the four agents disappeared into the dark, Dr. Tatum swiftly followed as David closed the door behind. Then he threw the rug back over the trap door and quickly gathered the incriminating breakfast dishes.

  A few seconds later, a shadow passed by the blinds, and there was a knock at the front door. The guard answered by cracking the door with the chains still in place.

  “Good morning, officer,” he said to the sheriff with a smile. The door exploded backward in a blast of heat and wind, throwing David against the far wall where he crumpled in a heap. Then the lone sheriff strode into the living room and paused to examine the wreckage, all the while standing on the rug in the center of the room. Suspicious, he then climbed the stairs to the bedrooms where he examined each room for evidence of the guests that he knew had stayed overnight. Nothing seemed to gain his interest until he brushed his hand across the comforter of the first bedroom and lifted the three short white hairs to his nose. Breathing in the scent, his eyes glazed over in a familiar pale green, and he turned his head sniffing the air of the surrounding area, following an invisible trail into the hallway. Then he descended the stairs in disappointment. There was no evidence of his quarry in the home, so the sheriff paced back out the front door and around to the back of the house where he inhaled a deep lungful of the fresh morning air. To his delight the scent came back to his senses once again, and he tracked a lukewarm trail into the forest where he was enveloped by the dense foliage.

  Inside the house, the rug slowly rose, and a hand reached out from beneath, drawing the rug away from the trap door opening. Pound raised his head so his eyes were above floor level, and he cautiously studied the surroundings before he led the others up into the living room. Dr. Tatum rushed over to help David who was unconscious against the wall.

  “David. Can you hear me?” she asked as she rubbed his bloody cheek. He moaned in reply, and she took his pulse at his wrist. “His arm is cold and clammy. Bring a blanket from upstairs, Phil.”

  “The sheriff’s car is still here, Doc,” Seth pointed out from the hole that was once the front doorway.

  “Obviously we can’t close the front door, so go check outside and see if the sheriff’s gone,” Pound suggested.

  “Are you nuts?! Look at David!” exclaimed Seth.

  “Fine. I’ll go,” Pound replied coolly. “You should probably go pack your makeup and stuffed animals while I’m outside,” replied Pound sarcastically as he stepped through the doorway.

  “You can use my makeup instead,” remarked Dr. Tatum with a wry smile as she reached for the house phone. “But Pound’s right. Everybody, get your things together. We’re leaving.”

  “Who are you calling?” asked Sherry.

  “9-1-1. We can’t abandon David without help,” Dr. Tatum answered.

  “There’s no sign of the sheriff, but these were left in the car,” Pound said holding up a set of car keys. Just then Phil came down the stairs holding a comforter, which he then laid across David while Dr. Tatum made the emergency call.

  “Help me,” she moaned in a low gruff voice and then laid the phone off the hook by David so the call would not be ignored. Then Dr. Tatum signaled the others to hurry out to the car.

  “Where are we going?” asked Sherry quietly.

  “Change of plans. Since we have a police escort, we’re all going to Winston-Salem for the Quilt,” replied Dr. Tatum as she pointed at the car.

  “We’ll get caught like this, won’t we?” asked Phil in a voice of doubt.

  “The authorities are looking for fugitives, not sheriff cars on patrol,” she countered as she loaded the trunk full of supplies. “Phil, will you please drive?”

  “I hope we make it,” Phil mumbled to himself as he looked out into the forest. In the distance birds scattered from the treetops into the sky, and Dr. Tatum followed Phil’s gaze with new misgivings. There was nothing more that could be done here, so Dr. Tatum took a seat in the car, closed the door, and buckled the seatbelt.

  “And I hope Crush makes it, wherever he is,” added Pound as they drove off toward Highway 52.

  **********

  From the mountaintop, the sheriff watched as the five members of the group drove away in his car.

  “No matter,” he thought to himself. “The sisters will take good care of them.” Then he turned and followed the trail to the far ledge and peered down at the busy truck stop below. “My quarry lies there,” he said. Following his nose and his instincts, he descended the trail on a mission to find Crush.

  Chapter 2

  *

  Run from the Hills

  *

  He opened his eyes, and once again, he was alone. The moon was still high in the sky, but the old man had gone. Crush thought back through his life, and there was never a time that the wizened elder had not appeared to him in times of trouble. Did that make him a harbinger? No, Crush did not think of him in that light. There were many grave circumstances that occurred every day to thousands of people across the world. Captain Noggin simply warned Crush in advance, and Crush had learned over the years to heed his advice.

  Crush rolled off the bed to his feet and stretched his shoulders and back in a yawn. Then he dressed himself and loaded a backpack for the long road ahead. Slipping out the window, he leaped to an outstretched limb of the nearest oak and swung to the ground below. In their travels the day before, the group had passed a busy truckstop along the highway, and Crush could now see the glow of the streetlights coming from the parking lot above the tree line and mountain in the distance. There was much ground to cover before daybreak if he were to have any chance at all of getting to downtown Durham by nightfall, and so with only the moonlight on the trail, he began the long hike across the mountain in the dark. Crush was fortunate enough to have clear vision at night, and there was never any real need for a flashlight unless someone else was with him.

  Within a short time he had hiked the slope through the forest to the top of the mountain where the grade leveled off to a mesa. At the far edge he could see the truck stop in the valley below. Without hesitation he leaped down the steep ledge and made his way through the thick vines and briars into the wooded slope that butted up to the perimeter of the parking lot. Careful not to create too much noise, Crush crept out of the woods and under the wheels of a flatbed trailer that was loaded with lumber. The driver must have been asleep in the cab since the diesel engine was running, but the lights were turned off.

  “How am I going to know which trucks are going east?” he wondered to himself. He had no way of knowing where the trucks were going when they left, and that meant that he had no way of knowing which truck to catch a piggy back ride on to Durham. “I’ll have to go inside and check things out,” he surmised. He reached into his backpack and felt around for what he needed, and out came a fedora which he placed over his ears and angled down low to cover his forehead. With his disguise he was just a regular dark stranger roaming a truck stop parking lot in the early morning hours. He hoped no one would mistake him for a lot lizard.

  Inside the café, the grill was buzzing with bacon, eggs, and ham, the toaster was popping out six slices of golden brown heaven at once, and the coffee maker was pushing through a gallon of caramel thin java recirculated from the grindings of the former night’s brew. Several packs of truckers were grouped together on each side
of the entrance, and a half-dozen more were seated at the bar, drinking coffee, arm wrestling, and telling stories of weigh station violations. Crush pushed the entrance door open, the cow bell mounted on the door frame clanked once, and all eyes gradually came to rest on the dark stranger as the background chatter died down to a rumbling. Sensing that he was drawing more unnecessary attention than he could handle, Crush intentionally dropped a coin from his pocket which then rolled across the floor to stop at the barstool of a young lady. She reached down, picked the coin up to examine it, and casually placed it on the counter for the waitress.

  “Get this guy a coffee, Slim,” she snapped at the cook. Then she motioned for Crush to take the stool next to her. As Crush sat next to the lady, the noise level returned to normal inside the café, and the tension slowly eased from his initial appearance. The young lady smiled and held out her hand to him as if he were just another lonesome trucker ready for some conversation with something more interesting than a CB or cell phone.

  “Name’s Claire,” she said in a friendly voice.

  “Shake- . . . Shaky,” Crush muttered, almost giving away his real name as he extended his arm and shook her hand.

  “How’d you get a name like that?”

  “I like to shake hands,” he replied with a grin.

  “Oh. Are you sure it’s not from drinking too much coffee?”

  “Could be. I could use more though,” he said rubbing his eyes as he leaned his elbow on the counter.

  “Where you headed?”

  “East. Now I have a question for you, Claire. Where are you headed?”

  “East,” she said with a smile. “Got a load of timbers for the shipyard at Norfolk. What are you hauling?”

  “I’m on the road, but I’m travelling light,” he said as he pointed down at his backpack on the floor. Slim pushed a cup of what was being sold as hot coffee in front of him, and Crush tried a dissatisfying sip before turning to look back at Claire’s expression.

  “I’m near the legal weight limit, but you could catch a ride with me . . . if you need it.”

  “Ma’am, I never would have guessed that you were anywhere near a weight limit,” he said with a grin. “I’ll take you up on it.”

  **********

  Daylight was just breaking when Claire took the I-40 East exit in Winston-Salem. Crush sat in the passenger’s seat of the big rig holding a hot cup of coffee that tasted like it had been filtered through a gym sock. Being a gentleman, he offered Claire a taste before placing it in the cup holder when she turned it down.

  “No thanks. I never drink more than half a cup at a time on the road,” she explained.

  “So tell me, how long have you been a trucker?” he asked.

  “Five years, on my own. My dad hauled cross country, and I used to ride with him in the summers. I was hooked before I ever earned a CDL,” she replied. “And yourself? How long have you been on the road?”

  “It’s a recent development,” he replied with a noticeable pause. “And I’m almost at the end of my road. Durham’s where I’m headed.”

  “Any place in particular in Durham?”

  “Downtown,” he answered without elaborating any further.

  “Oh, I see. Well, you don’t have to tell me if it’s a secret.”

  “No, no,” he said smiling nervously. It was out of the norm for Crush to feel anxious, but he did not want to reveal anything to Claire that could get her into trouble later. He liked her considering the short time that he had spent with her, but he had a sense of foreboding that he could not shake. “I have some business at the sheriff’s department. Nothing serious.”

  “Well, at least you’re honest, Mr. Crush,” she answered coolly. The acknowledgement of his name almost slipped by him when she said it. Then he caught it a second later.

  “What did you call me?”

  “Oh come on. With that lame disguise, you’ll be lucky if I’m the only person who recognized you. Besides, I can keep a secret,” she explained with a smile. “I can’t take you downtown though since I have a deadline to meet in order to get unloaded in Norfolk. Is it okay if I drop you off at a truck stop just off the interstate?”

  Crush simply nodded in approval as he thought through the implications of being recognized by this lady. He had to either depend on her word or jump out of the truck, and the latter did not seem like a worthy option at seventy miles per hour. On the plus side, they were headed in the right direction, and he did not notice any law enforcement vehicles ahead or behind that he should be concerned about.

  “That will be fine, but I hope you know that I’ve done nothing wrong,” he added.

  “Of course not. Senators and their daughters disappear everyday,” she countered smoothly.

  “You really think I had something to do with the Fromage’s disappearance,” he asked Claire. She looked over at him reassuringly before answering.

  “No, not really, or I wouldn’t have offered you a ride. Anyone who knows the Senator knows that he made some enemies along the way to power. Besides, my life has become dull and routine, and I’m looking for some excitement,” she said with a smile.

  “That’s good, because excitement is right behind us,” he replied pointing at the flashing blue lights in the side view mirror. With one quick look in her mirror and a shake of her head, she confirmed the inevitable.

  “Crap! Troopers can search the entire truck. He’ll find you,” she said as she began decelerating. Before she could say anymore Crush was out the window and behind the cab. “Weird,” she muttered to herself. The interstate was two lanes wider on this stretch, and Claire shifted one lane at a time until she finally came to a stop, resting on the rumble strip outside the white line. The officer followed her over and parked behind the loaded flat bed. As the trooper made his way to the cab while examining the load, she hoped Crush had escaped without being noticed. If he did not, she would have to explain why she was transporting a wanted man, a conversation that she was not ready to have.

  “Ma’am, can I see your license, registration, and log book?” the trooper asked with his hand casually pressed down on his gun.

  “Yes, sir,” she replied while handing the items out the window to him. He noted all of the pertinent information on his pad and then handed the items back. Claire was able to read the name on the pin of his shirt, Officer Snodgrass.

  “Looks like you’ve got an extra pack of timbers on this load. You might be overweight,” he observed.

  “Do you always tell ladies that on a first date?” she asked with a wink and a smile, hoping to distract him as long as possible for Crush. She had no idea where he had gone, but she knew he would need time to hide.

  “Only the heavy ones,” he retorted smugly. “I need for you to please stay in your vehicle and back over the scales when I direct you.” Officer Snodgrass inspected every inch of the truck and trailer on his way back to his vehicle where he removed portable scales from the trunk of his cruiser. He carefully placed the scales behind the back set of wheels and motioned for Claire to slowly back up onto the body of the measuring apparatus. Once on the scales she stopped at his commanding gesture and placed her foot on the brakes. Office Snodgrass then noted the readings and proceeded to make his way back to the cab.

  In the passenger’s side view mirror, Claire glimpsed Crush as he leaped from the top of the load to the ground beside the back most wheels opposite from the scales. He then disappeared beneath the trailer.

  “Ma’am, you’re two hundred pounds overweight on the back axle,” Officer Snodgrass reported, startling Claire from her observations. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to give you a ticket.”

  “But, officer, I had the truck and trailer weighed yesterday before leaving the wood yard. See?” she argued as she handed the weight readings from the yard scale house.

  “I see. Come back and I’ll show you my readings,” he offered and waited for her to climb out. “Our scales are
calibrated once a week,” he continued to explain as they walked along the white line to the back axle.

  “And it reads 250 pounds less than what you have written here,” Claire noted when she compared his written notes to the actual scale readings. Officer Snodgrass scratched the back of his neck and pushed his hat forward over his eyes.

  “Yeah, you’re right. How’s that possible? Even removing your body weight from the cab would only affect maybe a few pounds at this axle,” he wondered aloud and then paused for a moment in thought. “I’ll let you go on this one, ma’am, but watch your weight from now on,” he said still scratching his head. As he handed back her log book, she turned to walk away and noticed a truck plowing across three lanes of the interstate, barreling straight at them. Officer Snodgrass was facing her and when he noticed her expression of dismay, he turned just in time to see the grill of the tractor trailer coming right at them. Before either of them could react, Crush sprang out from under the flatbed, grabbed Claire and Officer Snodgrass each around the waist, and nimbly leaped straight up into the air as the cab of the oncoming truck slammed into the loaded flatbed. The load of timbers twisted sideways from the impact and spilled out over the guard rail as Crush descended onto the roof of the moving cab. Without a second’s hesitation he leaped again in hopes of clearing the motion of the disaster, and this time, they landed squarely on the overturned side of the still moving trailer which had broken loose, skidding to a halt thirty yards down the interstate from the cab.

  Scanning the wreckage, the three survivors were overwhelmed with the extent of the damage. Without reconciling in his mind just exactly who had saved him, the trooper thanked Crush for risking his life and marveled at the feline ears on his head.

  “My truck! It’s totaled!” exclaimed Claire as she ran over to the mangled cab which was now forever merged with the other truck into a flaming tangle of metal and plastic.

  “What about the other driver?!” yelled Officer Snodgrass as he refocused his attention on the crash scene. The front of the cab was ablaze, and without regard to his own safety, he climbed onto the remains of the fifth wheel of the truck and beat against the back glass with his night stick. Crush snatched a loose steel bar from the wreckage and shattered the back glass with one strike. Snodgrass reached in and unbuckled the unconscious driver who, oddly enough, was wearing a sheriff’s uniform. Crush latched onto the victim’s arm and belt, and with a mighty thrust, he yanked him out of the flaming truck and laid him onto the pavement several yards out of reach of the growing inferno. Snodgrass then turned to Crush and asked the question that had been on his mind for the last minute of excitement.