Introduction Part 2

Jeremy needed a fucking break; his ass hurt.  He'd driven this damned pick up from Vegas nonstop. That itself would be mind-numbing enough, but, in the night, darkness enveloped the car. He couldn't see a thing beyond the reach of his headlights, and he hadn't passed another car since Scottsdale.  Traveling through an unending field of nothing was alternately monotonous and terrifying. I am so fucking done, mate.

He glanced to his right. In the dark at the opposite of the end of the cab, he could make out Jason's silhouette.  His eyes were open but he was lost in his own world.  Fuck's sake, thought Jeremy, He's getting worse. The man don't move anymore. He don't feel anymore. He's a fucking robot, he is, been sitting in still silence for damn near two days. 

With Jeremy's eyes off the road, the Chevy Silverado drifted right and hit the rumble strip on the shoulder.  The sensation jolted Jeremy out of his stupor; he over-corrected, pulling hard left and then back right.

"What...?"  The jostling woke Twain who'd been riding bitch and napping quietly.

 "Nothing. Knocked the Oh-Shit Strip. That's it. Back to sleep with you" Twain was already half way to dreamland before Jeremy finished his sentence.


Jason spoke: "Keep your focus. This is the easy part." His words were neither encouragement nor admonition.  Cold, objective directive. He never even turned to look at Jeremy. Yet somehow, this was the proverbial straw that broke the Irishman's back.

"Fuckin hell mate! I'm 700 miles and 7 and a half hours into this goddamned trip. You've got some balls to sit there, and tell me to keep my shit together.  I'm the only one bloody here stepping up and doing my part.  Amy Winehouse here to my right and John Popper there in the back..."

"I resent that." yelled Monty from the bed.

"Fuck you fatass! They've been asleep since Kingman.  And you..."  His voice raised. His finger pointed. "You haven't been the same since we took down Aschenbrenner a year ago.  You're a fucking ghost.  You may as well not even be here..."

"Jeremy..." Twain tried to interject, to no avail.

"You sit there, scheming and plotting about fuck knows what.  Now you're leading us to a hornet nest of these winged motherfuckers, and all for what?  Trying to find something we're not even sure exists.  This is a grail quest of the worst fucking kind mate.  You..."

"Jeremy!" Twain's scream.

Everything happened so fast.  Jeremy snapped his head back towards the road.  A pedestrian appeared in the headlight's path. At this speed the truck would obliterate him.

It was Jason who saved Tommie's life; he reacted with preternatural quickness.  He yanked the steering wheel right, a hard turn that sent the Silverado off road.  Jeremy finally reacted, correcting left to try to get the truck back on the road. Too much. The truck rolled side over side across the desert road. In the cab, one flashed through Jeremy's mind as the world outside spun:  Maybe it's the horizon that's moving, not me.  He blacked out before the rolling stopped.