Read Online Prowlers: Wild Things by Christopher Golden - Free Book Online
Authors: Christopher Golden
Ads: Link
wandered off or they're just not lost anymore. They've moved on."
He felt an odd mixture of relief and disappointment as he closed his eyes and frowned. There had been times when he had looked into the Ghostlands and had some difficulty snapping his vision back to normal. When he opened his eyes now, though, his stomach did a little nauseous flip and the world was back to normal.
Jack killed the engine, then looked at Molly again. She took a deep breath and smiled.
"So, how exactly are we going to casually get into a conversation with a bunch of truckers about mysterious highway deaths?" Molly asked, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "What excuse do we give for even saying hello to them, for stopping here longer than it takes to pee in the bushes?"
Jack rolled that one over in his head. He ducked forward and kissed her, briefly, his lips barely grazing hers. Then he popped open the door and climbed out.
"Screw excuses," he said, voice low.
Before he slammed his door, he heard Molly's response: "This should be interesting."
Together they strode straight over to the truck drivers at their card table. Jack made no move to cover it with a quick trip to the bushes, and Molly did not mention it again.
As they got closer, Jack took a quick appraisal of the four people at that table. All four wore blue jeans in various stages of cleanliness and wear. At first glance it would be easy to assume that the woman was traveling with one of the men, but as Jack studied them, he decided that was not the case. The two men closest to him had beards and blue eyes and both wore tan work boots. They had enough similarity to their facial structure that he pegged them as brothers, likely traveling together, sharing the driving. That meant the woman in the white cable knit sweater was driving her own rig, and the third man, a jarhead ex-military man by the look of his drastic crewcut and the tattoo on his right forearm, drove the other two.
"You two lost?" asked one of the brothers.
"Not yet," Jack replied.
The brothers looked at him quizzically. The jarhead narrowed his gaze and sat up a bit straighter. No sense of humor , Jack thought. But the woman, whose tangle of dirty blond hair softened her looks up close, smiled at him.
"Can we help you folks with something?" she asked.
The other brother, bigger and broader than the first, popped the top of a can of Budweiser and brandished at them as though it were some kind of ward against strange travelers. "Don't even think about asking us to buy you beer."
"Hank," the woman said, a warning in her voice.
"Don't talk to me like I'm your husband, Suzanne," Hank replied dismissively.
Molly arched an eyebrow and seemed about to interject when Jack shot her a look that silenced her. He knew the way her mind worked. Why this smelly, half-drunk oaf would think anyone would trawl rest stops looking for someone to buy beer was beyond him, but he did not want Molly to make the man feel stupid. Hank's brother, though, the one who had first spoken to them, looked intelligent enough. When Jack spoke again, his words were directed at the woman.
"We're not looking for directions," he said. "Last summer, my cousin took off from home. Left Buffalo and tried hitched rides all across the state. I'm guessing he was planning to come to Boston to look me up. His name was Jared Wilkes. Blond kid, fifteen years old, big smile. Somewhere along the road he ran into the wrong people. Somebody killed Jared and tore him up like an animal."
The jarhead flinched and his nostrils flared in revulsion. Jack thought that was a good sign. The two brothers just gazed at him with blank expressions, clearly doing their best to be patient with the interruption until he and Molly left.
The woman was kind, though. "Aw, Jesus," she said. "That's awful. What are you doing up here?" A sudden understanding rippled across her face and she gave a tiny shake of her head. "But you kids can't think you're gonna find anything up here
He felt an odd mixture of relief and disappointment as he closed his eyes and frowned. There had been times when he had looked into the Ghostlands and had some difficulty snapping his vision back to normal. When he opened his eyes now, though, his stomach did a little nauseous flip and the world was back to normal.
Jack killed the engine, then looked at Molly again. She took a deep breath and smiled.
"So, how exactly are we going to casually get into a conversation with a bunch of truckers about mysterious highway deaths?" Molly asked, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "What excuse do we give for even saying hello to them, for stopping here longer than it takes to pee in the bushes?"
Jack rolled that one over in his head. He ducked forward and kissed her, briefly, his lips barely grazing hers. Then he popped open the door and climbed out.
"Screw excuses," he said, voice low.
Before he slammed his door, he heard Molly's response: "This should be interesting."
Together they strode straight over to the truck drivers at their card table. Jack made no move to cover it with a quick trip to the bushes, and Molly did not mention it again.
As they got closer, Jack took a quick appraisal of the four people at that table. All four wore blue jeans in various stages of cleanliness and wear. At first glance it would be easy to assume that the woman was traveling with one of the men, but as Jack studied them, he decided that was not the case. The two men closest to him had beards and blue eyes and both wore tan work boots. They had enough similarity to their facial structure that he pegged them as brothers, likely traveling together, sharing the driving. That meant the woman in the white cable knit sweater was driving her own rig, and the third man, a jarhead ex-military man by the look of his drastic crewcut and the tattoo on his right forearm, drove the other two.
"You two lost?" asked one of the brothers.
"Not yet," Jack replied.
The brothers looked at him quizzically. The jarhead narrowed his gaze and sat up a bit straighter. No sense of humor , Jack thought. But the woman, whose tangle of dirty blond hair softened her looks up close, smiled at him.
"Can we help you folks with something?" she asked.
The other brother, bigger and broader than the first, popped the top of a can of Budweiser and brandished at them as though it were some kind of ward against strange travelers. "Don't even think about asking us to buy you beer."
"Hank," the woman said, a warning in her voice.
"Don't talk to me like I'm your husband, Suzanne," Hank replied dismissively.
Molly arched an eyebrow and seemed about to interject when Jack shot her a look that silenced her. He knew the way her mind worked. Why this smelly, half-drunk oaf would think anyone would trawl rest stops looking for someone to buy beer was beyond him, but he did not want Molly to make the man feel stupid. Hank's brother, though, the one who had first spoken to them, looked intelligent enough. When Jack spoke again, his words were directed at the woman.
"We're not looking for directions," he said. "Last summer, my cousin took off from home. Left Buffalo and tried hitched rides all across the state. I'm guessing he was planning to come to Boston to look me up. His name was Jared Wilkes. Blond kid, fifteen years old, big smile. Somewhere along the road he ran into the wrong people. Somebody killed Jared and tore him up like an animal."
The jarhead flinched and his nostrils flared in revulsion. Jack thought that was a good sign. The two brothers just gazed at him with blank expressions, clearly doing their best to be patient with the interruption until he and Molly left.
The woman was kind, though. "Aw, Jesus," she said. "That's awful. What are you doing up here?" A sudden understanding rippled across her face and she gave a tiny shake of her head. "But you kids can't think you're gonna find anything up here
Similar Books
