'Timor: Volume III' story 'The Graveyard' sneak peek

A sneak peek from one of my stories I wrote for July 2019 Camp NaNoWriMo and 'Timor: Volume III'

I was driving from my hometown of St. Louis, Missouri to a business meeting in Evanston, Illinois - just east of Chicago.  It was a long drive, but I hadn’t had the time to get a ticket for the train out of St. Louis to Chicago - it was on such short notice that it was a sold out train.  The road was empty; it’d been at least thirty miles since I’d seen another set of headlights or taillights.  Probably about fifteen since I’d passed a driveway or farmhouse with a porchlight on.

My headlights illuminated the metal guardrail of a curve and as I made the turn, I noticed a few ancient headstones beyond it.  I craned my neck to see as I went by and spotted a small, rural cemetery, the first landmark for the last several dark, lonely miles.

I turned back to the road just in time to see a dark shape running across the road in the beams of my headlights.  I slammed the brakes and yanked my wheel to the left, spinning out of control and crashing into the guardrail I’d just avoided as I made the curve.

My bumper crunched against the corrugated metal and I heard the shatter of one of my headlights.  I bounced in my seat and hit my chin on the steering wheel, my seatbelt keeping me from going through the windshield.  I sat still for several long moments, my hands shaking.  I hadn’t gotten a chance to look at the thing that had run in front of me; it’d all happened so fast, and it was so dark.

I shifted into Reverse and tried the gas, but the engine stalled.  I shifted to Park, turned the car off, and then tried to turn it back on.  The engine sputtered and died.  My car was going nowhere fast.  No dash lights, no radio, no AC.  Damn.

I looked around the car, now completely shrouded in darkness.  I clicked open the console and fumbled around for my cell phone in the dark.  I finally found it, pulled it out, and tapped the center button to unlock it.

I was nearly blinded as the screen lit up, blinking several times to help my eyes adjust to the blinding beacon of light that my phone had become.  I mentally thanked my past self for taking the time and money to make my phone a Hotspot as I opened the Google app to look up the phone number of the nearest police station.  I knew that I likely couldn’t get a tow until morning, but at least somebody could pick me up and I could get a room in a cheap motel for the night.

The nearest station was nearly thirty miles out, but that was better than nothing.  I tapped the phone icon on the Google page and put the phone to my ear.

The phone rang twice before someone picked up, “Chenoa Police Department, how can I be of assistance?”  The guy sounded less than enthused; I couldn’t blame him, I sure wouldn’t want to be stuck in a musty old station all night waiting to see if the phone rings.  However, I was also thankful that he was there to answer the phone.

“Hi, my name is Omar Rickton.  I wrecked my car and it’s going nowhere fast.  Looks like you’re the closest station to me.  Think you could send somebody out to pick me up?  I can get a tow in the morning.”

“Where are you?” the officer asked.

“In the middle of nowhere,” I thought wryly to myself.  “I’m not quite sure; I know that I’m north of Decatur on Highway 18.”

The guy sighed heavily.  “That is a pretty long stretch of highway.  Any landmarks near you or did you happen to pass an exit recently?”

No such luck; there hadn’t been an exit for miles, just a few turnoffs for dirt roads.  “Just an old cemetery.”

I heard him inhale sharply, his breath whistling through the phone.  When he spoke this time, his voice was different -strained, “About how far north of Decatur are you?”

I thought for a moment before answering; his sudden shift in tone put me on edge.  “Probably seventy miles, give or take.”

He let out a heavy sigh and I swore I could hear him shifting his chair, “Mr. Rickton, I won’t be able to send anyone out there ‘til morning.”

“What!?” I yelled into the phone.  He had to be messing with me, getting his jollies in on a slow night at the station.

“I can’t send anybody to that location tonight,” he repeated.  “Not ‘til morning.”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“Nun,” he grunted; I assumed that was his way of saying ‘no.’  “Your best bet is to stay put.  And don’t bother calling the staties; they won’t come out there this time of night either.”

“You’re nuts,” I said into the phone before hanging up.

Author's Note

To be continued in 'Timor: Volume III'