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“We got another shift at least before we’re near Hack’s, we’re rolling by the exit, but can’t take it.”
“Will you at least slow down? Or can I sweet-talk you into pulling over?”
“You know I can’t resist your sweet nothings whispered in my ear,” Connell mocked. “For the kid I’ll pull over. I’m not asking for details, but a quick I swear would make me feel better.”
“I swear.” The two words pledging his honor to the man were a short hand for things people didn’t need to know. He didn’t need to know the ins and outs on why they were hitching a ride. The pledge was deeper than that, orders were given and taken every day from commanders. Those who knew more than the men being issued directives. Blindly accepting what they were doing as positive, for the greater good butted up against a compass of morality and at times they needed that little extra.
“Good, you got about an eight hour drive, Buchanan will try to push to the closest truck stop only so he doesn’t have to pull from a highway shoulder. That being said, if he does, it’s about a five mile trek to Hack’s as the crow flies.”
“Understood,” he replied, having cataloged all the small appliances in the sleeper cab. There was a small fridge, microwave and a tiny TV. It was a micro sized motel with everything one needed, but a bathroom. “Any room in that little fridge?”
“A bit, enough for two frozen dinners if you want it,” Connell said. “No time to order a pizza or a burger here.”
Less than five minutes later, Sydney crawled out of the cab and he helped her hop down as Buchanan approached with two filled thermoses a jumbo plastic cup with the sound of ice sloshing in soda. Mike would be keeping the curtain closed because there was no way these men weren’t pissing in bottles to avoid stopping.
Walking with Syd into the truck stop he immediately took stock of the area. A handful of truckers sat at the counter of the restaurant, probably just waking up and getting a bit of breakfast before hitting their own routes. While they took stock of the little girl at Mike’s hip, none of them paid much mind to the interloper. The time of year meant there were probably a few other kids out on the road with their parents due to school breaks.
Mike rushed to use the restroom and make sure he was outside before Sydney was done. While he wanted to have Connell on sentry duty the man was probably wandering in search of his own supplies for the next eight hours. Thankfully, he was mere seconds faster than Sydney who came out wiping her wet hands on her pants before reaching out one to him.
“Pick out some snacks for later,” he said. “And do you want mac and cheese or beef stew for lunch?”
“Whatever,” she said with a sigh as she reached for a bag of chips and eyed the candy bars.
“Grab a couple,” he said and she snagged two king sizedSnickers.
With frozen breakfast dishes and a few shelf stable meals the two of them headed toward the cashier, meeting up with Connell finishing his transaction. When Connell’s phone went off with a blaring horn used for natural disasters and national security threats. Considering the cargo the men were transporting this could derail their plans.
Connell glanced at his phone right as every phone in the place started alerting people. At least this wasn’t a reroute for the crew which had been Mike’s first inclination. Instead, Connell flipped the phone around to show an amber alert. On the screen a mix of Mike’s now abandoned truck info and Sydney’s face staring back at him. The two men exchanged glances, words shared with no more than an eyebrow twitch as their minds locked into a plan. Rushing out would alert everyone and have them questioning the two men rushing out with a little girl. Playing it cool and calm, meant they weren’t drawing extra attention to themselves.
The casher was glancing around, triggered by the sound of phones blurting. “Dang sirens will be going off next,” she reasoned. “Seems a bit early for tornados, but heck, the way the weather’s been lately I wouldn’t be surprised if three feet of snow dropped on us one day and a heatwave melted the asphalt the next.”
“Right,” Mike said, glancing at the total and trying to fish out as close as he could before she rang up the last item, tucking it in the bag.
“Probably a smoke warning, we had a handful of those last fall,” she said with a shrug as her hand moved to where her phone was flipped upside down.
“Total,” Mike said right as she was about to flip it over.
“Right, thirty-two sixty,” she said as he tossed two twenties on the counter.
“Let’s go.” Mike gathered the bags and rushed Sydney to the truck before people could open the alert and scan the place trying to be a hero.
“Sir, that’s way more—”
“Keep the change, night shift sucks,” he said as the swoosh of the door gave them an extra push of air.
Buchanan already had the truck running with his phone in hand. Connell double timed it across the parking lot spreading out for miles in front of them. As the concrete and gravel was being stretched like taffy.
“Come on let’s get you in the truck munchkin.” Connell said, catching Sydney by the waist and tossing her over his shoulder like a ruck sack. Sydney’s body went limp as a noodle, only her head lifted as fear crossed her face. Eyes locked on each other the father triggered by the strain in her eyes had Mike catching up right as the passenger door flew open and Connell flipped her back and tossed the child into the cab.
“We got to move now,” Buchanan hollered from the driver’s seat, the truck in gear and rolling.
“Get in the back baby.” Mike jumped in, tossing the plastic bag in the cab, causing half the contents to scatter throughout the confined space as Connell clung to the exterior oh shit grab handle by the door.
The space tight he shoved the psychologically paralyzed Sydney in the sleeper section and climbed in next to her as fast as he could. Cupping her head in his hands he stared into empty eyes. “Syd, Sydney Ann, I know that was scary, but we had to move. Connell wasn’t trying to hurt you. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”
A few rapid blinks had her slowly coming back to him. A year ago being flipped like a sack of potatoes would have sent his daughter into a fit of laughter. Now he was once again wiping clear tears from her cheeks and searching out her blankie from the far corner of the space.
“I’ll let them know, Sydney isn’t a sack of potatoes.”
