Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #17 August 2015 | Page 57

The Story o f E g b e r t P. Chugwater pictures than real life, and the stars were as bright as you could imagine. By Tony Dews My name is Egbert P Chugwater. The ‘P’ stands for Platt. It was supposed to be a joke on my daddy’s part since I was born in North Platte Nebraska but it ended up on the birth certificate, so Platt it was. My high school buddies called me South or River. I still live there. I dated a girl many years ago, but I got to realizing that I preferred my own company, so I’ve been single all my life. Anytime I felt my oats rising, I’d just visit the local hookers so I didn’t miss out on any of that. It was cheaper that way too. I reckon being a bit of a loner is what led me to trucking. Just me, the rig, and the Interstate suited me fine. I’ve been a trucker since I was twenty-three, and now I’m near on seventy so it’s been a while and more miles than a man can count have passed under my ass in those years. These days I run along I-80 and I-25 from Chi-town to Denver and down to El Paso, but I’ve been all across this land from Seattle to Houston and Boston to LA. There ain’t a lot a trucker doesn’t see, and I’ve seen a lot between truck stops and rest areas, but nothing will beat what I saw on that fall night just before Halloween back in ‘07. I was hauling steel down to Cheyenne so I wasn’t dead-heading from Omaha. I was picking up a load there so the steel was to pay for gas. Empty trucks don’t make a profit in this game. The night had fallen hard and sudden like it does out on the plains, and it was dropping into the thirties pretty damn quick. The night had that cold clarity you see more in It was just after midnight that night, and the road was as empty as I could remember seeing it. About one car a mile passed me going the other way, and it had been nigh on thirty minutes since one had high-balled past me. He’d been going near on a hundred I reckon, winding that sucker out big time. I gave him a blast on the airhorns and he was gone in the distance. I kind of admired that guy. Anyhow, I was running early, and I’d rolled past Ogallala. Up ahead there was a stop I often used near Big Springs. It was a scenic lookout and I wouldn’t see much this time of night, but it would be a good place to hold up for a spell without hearing the other truckers bitch and moan about their jobs. So I hauled the rig over in the car park, pulled out my thermos and poured myself a coffee while I sat there with the engine rumbling away and the heater going. Like I said, it was a clear night, but it wasn’t the view I was interested in, it was the quiet. I got out of the cab and walked over to the sign that told me what I couldn’t see to stretch my legs. I looked up at the stars, and they stretched from horizon to horizon. The moon was just over half full and as big as a dinner plate. Maybe I would see a meteor. I like looking for them with the way they flash in and out of existence in an eye blink. I remember seeing one that lasted about ten seconds, and I’ve seen every meteor shower they say is out there. Anyway there I was, looking up at the sky, drinking my coffee and musing on the way of things when I saw it, a bright line of light crossing in an arc from north-west to south-east. Then I saw a second and a third and it looked like a regular little meteor shower of its own. Except it didn’t look like a normal meteor shower. They moved too slow and in a regular direction. Ever seen a meteor shower? It’s all over the place, flashes going this way and that until a man gets dizzy watching it. These lights moved like they were following each other. They moved slow, like the headlights on a car that might n