Chapter 1

Just Like The Song Says

I pulled outta Pittsburgh
Rollin' down that eastern seaboard.
I got my diesel wound up
and she's runnin' like never before.
There's a speed zone ahead all right.
But there ain't a cop in sight.
Six days on the road but I'm gonna make it home tonight. - Written by Carl Montgomery and Earl Green and covered by Dave Dudley and others.

But I wasn't rollin' down that eastern seaboard and I sure as hell wouldn't make it home tonight. I wasn't going much further at all in fact, and I knew it. The end was near for ShotgunWillie - gentleman, scholar, bon vivant, and sorry, no good, truck driving, son-of-a-bitch. At least the spaceman told me the end was near.

According to him the I-76 overpass across I-79 was going to fall flat as soon as I headed under it. Also according to him, I'd be switched out automagically just at the last second and a copy of my body would be smashed into a bloody shitty mess while I'd be safe in their spaceship. Nobody would wonder where I got off to that way.

Hell yes it's unbelievable. Who the fuck you think you're tellin'?

Six weeks or so ago my life was normal, or as nearly normal as an Over-the-Road truck driver's life can be. I drove from can to can't, lied like hell on my log book, and grabbed a nap every now and then whether I needed it or not.

Some people say that's not a real life at all, but it was fine with me. Sure, I didn't really have any friends, and chances were I'd never get one living this way. Then again, if I came across an asshole, they'd be out of my life in a minute or two, depending on how fast the traffic was moving.

My biggest worries were dodging speed cops, weight cops, and four-wheeler driving idiots who all thought, "I'm an excellent driver." Just like "Rain Man" thought. Of course most of them could drive nearly as good as he could.

Everyone in an automobile thinks they're an excellent driver. Take it from me, YOU"RE NOT! You can't drive worth a shit. You are going to end up in a car wreck sooner or later. Count on it. Plan for it. Buy plenty of insurance, because you damned sure don't have a clue about driving.

In the last ten years I've logged three Million miles in a truck without running over a single one of you dumbasses. I know what I'm talking about. Call me collect after you do your first million miles.

Where was I, oh yeh.

About a month ago I started having these strange dreams. I hate it when I dream about driving, it's like I just can't get any time out from under the wheel. In the dreams shitty things would happen, like I'd blow a steer axle tire, or I'd be driving in the snow and my fuel heater would stop working and the diesel in the tanks would gel. Or I'd be crossing Wyoming and they'd close I-80 because of too much ice. The dreams started to piss me off, but they didn't stop.

They got worse. Overpasses started falling on me every time I went under one. When I'd finally had my fill of it I made myself wake up just as one was falling and screamed, Cut that shit out Goddammit.

"Sorry. I know it must have been annoying, but we had to get your attention."

"We who? Why did you need my attention?"

"You're going to die soon."

"What? Who the fuck are you anyway and why am I going to die soon?"

"You can't pronounce my real name so just call me Rosco or something. I'm what you usually call a Space Alien. You going to die over all that fatty pork you've been eating for the last thirty years. It's your blood that's about to gel this time, not your fuel."

"Well shit. If that ain't a kick in the ass. I knew my chest had started hurting every now and then. Don't you think some doctors could fix it up?"

"They can help some, but what's the point. Hell, we've already had to patch it up twice ourselves. You've had two minor heart attacks in your sleep in the last six months and we touched things up to get you by a little longer."

That was a wake up call to top 'em all, but Rosco was starting to sound like someone I knew. Hell, he was slipping into East Texas drawl. Something was more fishy than fishy now.

"So what's the gonna die soon shit about. I'll just go to a Doctor and get fixed up."

"Sure, you can do that, if that's what you really want?"

"Well hell yeh I want it. I damned sure don't want to just die. Where's the fun in that?"

"Where's the fun in what you're doing now?" Rosco asked.

That stumped me and kinda pissed me off too, but he had a point, sorta.

"You go to the Doctor and they cut on your heart. We already know you need a quadruple bypass and three stents at the least. Even that won't do a thing for the rest of your nearly clogged arteries. After the cuttin' is done you're looking at a year of gettin' your fat ass back in shape before you can get back to drivin' unless you just want to have open heart surgery for the fuckin' fun of it and die a couple of months later anyway."

Now that he put it that way it didn't sound like much fun, but like he'd mentioned earlier, I wasn't havin' that much fun anyway.

"Well what do you suggest Mr wise ass redneck soundin' spaceman?"

"Buddy! Have I got a deal for you!"

"Even I ain't dumb enough to fall for that mansion in the sky shit I've heard about you promisin'. With hot and cold runnin' redheads and then findin' out you've amputated my dick first time I talk one out of a little pussy."

"I'm a damned Space Alien you sister fuckin' redneck dumbass. I'm not the one with the pitchfork and the pointy tail. Besides, he wouldn't need to trick and bribe you into Hell. You've already qualified for that destination if it's really down there."

"What'da'ya'mean if? Is it or ain't it?"

"I ain't no Angel neither. We don't know for sure any more than you do. We ain't seen God flying around up here if that's what you're askin', but we don't really know any more about it than you do. Still, going by the book, you sure don't seem to be qualified for any other destination that might have been mentioned in ancient mystical text."

"What?"

"Look here. Even though we can cover a lotta ground in dreams we still ain't got all night. Do you want to sign on the dotted line or not?"

"Sign what?"

"A deal dipshit. You're actin' dumber than some Georgia cracker. You were born in Texas boy! Pay attention.

"We'll fix up your heart and everything else. Hell, we'll even make you better than ever. You can be six foot two, weigh two-thirty-five and have a dick long as a well-rope if you want it.

"Your ass is ours after that though," Rosco or something said.

"Most of that sounds good, but let's go over the my ass is yours part again. What in the hell do you want with me?"

"Nothing you'd think was kinky if that's what you mean. They made us stop grabbin' people without them saying it was ok. You should know how the government can get. We've got a government too."

"You mean as far as you've plainly advanced you still ain't figured out how to get rid of bureaucrats?"

"No."

"Fuckit then. Just let me die."

"Naw, naw, naw. It's what I've been trying to tell you and I would if you'd let me finish. I can get you away from government, I just can't get myself loose."

"Why can't you?" I asked.

"Cause we ain't got no arms and legs if you must know, and we can't breathe air. We started out as fish, sorta.

"Gettin' back to the point, we can fix your body up and put you on a different planet. One that's like this one was before so many people sprang up, but you only get to take a few things with you and that's the deal."

"Why would I want to do something like that?" I asked.

"Well, it beats hell out of pushin' up daisies."

He had a real point right there.

"Will you put me back in Texas?"

"Do I look like Santy Claws? No we won't put you back in Texas. You may as well wait for the Real God if that's all you'll settle for from us. You can go to Stone Age Europe and like it, or you can lay your fat ass in this sleeper and die."

"All right, all right. No need to get nasty about it just because I'm a little overweight."

"A little overweight? You're six foot tall and your jeans have a forty-four inch waist. You're fatter than a town dog and you know it. It's why your heart's wore out Ignernt. That's it! Your CB handle should be ShotgunIgnerntWillie."

"Well, even with the personal abuse I can see the advantages, but the devil is in the details. You said I could only carry a few things with me. How many things?"

"You can only take as much as you can carry, and NO, you can not take this truck loaded to the gills with everything you can think of. You can't take a horse drawn wagon, or even a horse. Not even a dog. You're the only live thing that gets a ride. You couldn't even take lice in your hair if you had 'em.

"You can have a two-wheeled dolly with pneumatic tires, but that's all the wheels you get."

"What about my air seat, I just bought it? Can I take my airseat?"

"Hell, if you want to carry that heavy bastard all around Stone Age Europe knock yourself out."

"Well, I ain't leaving tonight am I?"

"No. You get six weeks to put/get your shit together."

"Well, I was wonderin' about time to have my chair modified. I sure as hell can't carry any air compressor along so I might as well get rid of the air-ride part. Is it all right if I put some casters on it? Do they count as wheels?"

"Well, they are wheels, but I don't see where that would hurt a bit. Sure, put all the casters on your air-seat you want to. Just don't think you can get by with wheelchair type wheels. You can only add casters."

"You specifically said I couldn't have a horse, does that mean there ain't any where I'm going?"

"Naw, there's plenty of horses. They're wild though."

"What about guns."

"You damned sure better bring at least one. The cave men ain't gonna welcome you with open arms. Keep those fuckers in mind at all times, 'less you want to fight 'em off with a sharp stick."

"Fire, that's it, fire. I'm gonna have to build a lot of fires by and by ain't I? Can I take plenty of Bics?"

"Now you're getting in the spirit. Don't worry about takin' a hundred thousand lighters. I'll make you a present of a real nice Zippo with a wick and flint that'll last forever and it won't never run out of fluid neither. Just make damned sure you don't lose it."

"How much ammunition can I take."

"You gotta name your own poison there. You get to take anything and everything you can think of and also carry. You got the two-wheel dolly and I guess your chair to pile things on. You can cheat a little since all you have to do it get the stuff onto the platform we load it from, and it ain't uphill or nothing."

"And there will be people?"

"It ain't like you can go to a bar and pick up a chick or nothing. There will be some people scattered around. Maybe you'd better read up a little on Neanderthal and Cro-Magnon man. Let me warn you though, the scientist on earth don't have things exactly right so far.

"Now, go back to sleep. You got freight to move in the morning."

Fucker was gone then, but I did find a printed transcript of what we'd talked about with a date six weeks from now in big letters.