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