These Friday management meetings are getting later and later, Ted Brothers thought. It had been pure luck that he got the last evening newspaper available at the corner store next to the office. The bold, black headlines read, “More Bodies Found.”
Yawning, Ted straightened himself and wiggled around to wake his tired body. Twenty-five miles of twists and turns on the old state highway cutting through the state’s dense National Forest provided his shortest way home. He dragged his finger across the volume control on the radio.
There were too many weirdoes nowadays and countless places for them to hide out in the woods. Ted recalled some of the recent strange reports in the news. Hired gunmen target shooting in an old quarry. A man who hung himself in a tree last summer and no one found until hunting season. Hikers’ mutilated bodies turned up when the snow melted. Then there were the people who faked being broke down. If anyone stopped to help, they were robbed of whatever they had of value. Some fought back, and they ended up dead–or worse.
Ted tightened his grip on the steering wheel and shivered.
Great, now I gave myself the creeps. He pressed his foot harder onto the accelerator. Dusk seeped through the trees.
Needing to focus on something else, Ted rolled the radio dial. Every station had DJs rambling about politics, sex, or the latest Hollywood scandals. One broadcast had people calling in to give opinions, but Ted couldn’t figure out what the topic was exactly. Judging by the squeals, it seemed most of the callers phoned just to hear themselves on the radio. The DJs on another station rambled about their sex lives. One liked S and M; the other preferred stuff Ted didn’t think were sanitary or sexy. The details the two rattled off were so disgusting he wondered if it were legal for them to say such things over the airwaves.
“Enough of that,” he said out loud, flipping off the radio.
He fidgeted; now it was too quiet. He crossed the old Steel Bridge and glimpsed the green and white milepost sign. Milepost 43.
Ted turned on his portable scanner, which, to him, was a necessity where cell phone service was unpredictable and typically unavailable. A speed trap or wreck ahead may well be passed on. Perhaps he would get lucky and listen in as the cops respond to one of those strange calls.
His cell phone rang. The caller ID read “Jenny.” Ted’s brow crunched. Now what does the old lady want? “Hello, Jenny.”
“Ted, you received a parking ticket in the mail.”
“A ticket?”
“From Seattle.”
“Seattle?” Ted cocked his head. “I haven’t been to Seattle in a couple years.”
“It has your SUV, the plate number, and your name.”
“Honest, babe. It wasn’t me.”
The phone went silent. CALL ENDED scrolled onto the screen. More like call dropped..
Red and blue lights flickered ahead in the distance. Cops. Ted slowed down.
Static crackled from the scanner.
“Unit 74 to dispatch,” announced a man’s voice.
“Go ahead 74,” a dispatcher responded.
“I need you to run a check on a black 2009 Chevrolet Blazer SUV here at milepost 44. The plate number is 231 EAO.”
“Copy, 74.”
Ted gasped, and every muscle in his body tightened. His mind screamed. That’s my plate! That’s my SUV!
The little green and white sign with a 44 appeared. The patrol car’s lights blazed blue and red behind the black SUV.
“74,” the dispatcher’s voice called. “The vehicle is registered to Ted Brothers. The address listed is 1200 Laurel Lane in Carter.”
Spots formed in Ted’s vision from his heart pounding so hard. What the hell is going on?
Ted slowed. The officer stepped up to the stopped SUV. The passenger window slid down. An immense arm reached out brandishing a hand cannon of a pistol. One shot banged. Muzzle fire scorched the darkening air.
The officer flopped backward to the ground. Red splatter marked the hole in the officer’s chest. He writhed in the gravel.
“Officer down. Milepost 44.” His voice gurgled over the radio. “I’ve been shot.”
The hairs on Ted’s neck stood up like soldiers at attention. Phone still in hand, he fumbled with the buttons attempting to call 911.
Bubump. He whipped his head back to the road. He was on Steel Bridge. Straight ahead was the green and white milepost sign.
Milepost 43.
Ted blinked and his jaw sagged. His body tensed as he drove over the bridge.
His cell phone rang, and Ted jumped. The caller ID read “Jenny.” Trembling, he answered. “Hello, Jenny.”
“Ted, you received a parking ticket in the mail.”
All of his muscles locked in place.
Static crackled from the scanner.
Jamming the brakes with both feet, Ted swerved onto the graveled roadside. Breathless, he shook his head. Milepost 43? How can I be back here?
A man appeared from behind trees, a black cap pulled down over his most of his face, revealing only his chin and mouth. At his side swayed a long, heavy chain. Ted examined the possibilities. Don’t panic. Maybe he DOESN’T want to rob you. Maybe he needs help. Maybe he needs a tow. Ted rung his hands on the steering wheel. On the other hand, maybe he DOES want to rob me and steal my vehicle.
The man moved closer, almost touching the front fender.
“Can I help you?” Ted called.
The stranger stopped. Both men stared at each other, unblinking.
Tap, tap, tap. Ted jerked to his left. Outside his window, a huge arm appeared wielding a hand cannon for a pistol. The “ch-ch” of the gun slide made Ted’s body quiver uncontrollably and his teeth chatter. “Can…can I…he…he…help you?”
The black hole of the barrel clacked flat against the glass. One shot banged through the air.
The newspaper Ted bought fell out with him. The bold headlines proclaimed the news, “More Bodies Found.”
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©2011 Tammy A. Branom
Tammy A. Branom has been published in both print and online venues including the Haunted Encounters anthologies, Ghost Magazine (fiction), The Molotov Cocktail, Everyday Weirdness, Flashes In The Dark, and Fictitious Magazine, with upcoming tales in various Static Movement anthologies. She is also a columnist for Unexplained Mysteries. She lives and works in the breathtaking Columbia River Gorge in Washington State with her husband Scott. Keep up with her writing at http://www.home.earthlink.net/~branom201/.
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