At anytime over a million trucks are professionally driven on the highways and by-ways of America. Carrying everything from acid to yachts. Not all loads are so innocuous. Some are precious and some are out-right lethal. For loads that are deemed dangerous or valuable to be referred to as High-Security, special trucks are used. Trucks that look so normal, one would never guess it from any other. Trucks that run in secret, apart from their company, called Ghost Fleets. Others have no markings at all, and are specially modified. One such company that specializes in High-Security Loads; Phantom Lines....

 

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The SWAT commander shook his head. "No Sir. It ain't happening."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT AIN'T HAPPENING?" The District Attorney demanded.

The Captain pointed at the building in the distance. "Because your grandstand play backfired."

The D.A. swore at him. "What the FUCK does that mean Johnson?"

"It means they set off one of the canisters. The whole ground floor of that place is contaminated with the virus, Stupid. I got a couple guys that are ex-military, but they aren't trained to actually go into contamination." Captain Johnson explained. "We gotta call the Feds, Counselor Travis."

Bob Travis shook his head. "No! The Feds come in and its all over! They'll take the whole case and we get NOTHING!"

"You're more than welcome to go right in there and tell those fucks to surrender. Go ahead. Be my guest. I'm calling the Attorney General." Drake Johnson said then turned away pulling out his phone.

Thirty minutes later Haz-Mat trucks began to roll in. Twenty minutes after that three buses marked with the FBI pulled up. An assault team mustered in front of one. Quickly they poured over building diagrams and all other information.

Bob Travis looked around angrily then asked the FBI Agent in charge. "S.A.C. Waggener I thought you Bureau people were quick to strike. What's the hold up?"

The Bureau man looked over with a bored expression. "We're waiting for transport. There they are."

A tractor-trailer pulled up and came to a stop. It was a big black WesternStar. The driver climbed down, wearing a sweeping black duster and black Stetson.

"S.A.C. Waggener?" The driver called out.

Chris Waggener waved to him as he approached. "That's me."

"PeaceMaker. Have your assault team load up in my truck. I'll take 'em in." Colt said.

The assault team leader was standing close and called out to the team. They formed two columns at the back of the trailer.

Colt reached up into the truck and the seals of the trailer doors were released. He went back and swung them open. Inside there was a row of seats on each wall.

"Listen up. Take a seat and strap in. Do NOT unstrap and try to stand up until the green light comes on. The truck may need to move more and the doors will not open. When the GREEN light comes on just push and the doors will open. Get ready." Colt instructed then closed the doors.

"PeaceMaker. I'm going in too." Waggener stated.

Colt looked over the besuited Fed then hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Up front with me."

Waggener nodded and followed him along the passenger side and climbed up into the cab when the door was opened. Colt closed it then walked around to the driver's side and climbed up. The door was closed and series of switches were flipped. He took off his hat and set it into a vertical holder behind him. The engine had been running the whole time so there was no need to start the truck. More switches were flipped and Waggener heard seals around the door. The interior then felt like it became pressurized. PeaceMaker grabbed a mic and keyed it twice then hung it back on the clip.

"Are we ready?" Waggener asked.

Colt nodded. "Yeah."

The truck didn't move. The Fed looked over at the driver then ahead and back.

Again he asked. "Are we ready?"

"Yeah." Colt answered.

The Bureau man asked. "What are we waiting for PeaceMaker?"

Colt was obviously watching in the side-mirror. "The other truck. We're going to follow it in. It can do something we can't."

The radio inside registered two clicks. Someone had keyed their mic twice.

"Here we go. We'll jump in behind Trip9." Colt said then released the brakes.

Everyone stood clear as he pulled the cord for the horn twice and began to roll forward. By the time he took fourth gear another truck had come into view. Like a ghost, the big grey behemoth leapt from the evening gloom with barely any lights on. It's horn sounded once as it roared past. Everyone could see black smoke pouring out in staggered streams. Those familiar with large trucks could tell the driver was up-shifting. Gaining speed. The big black truck fell in behind the grey, but the gap between the two wasn't narrowing.

Colt grabbed his mic. "DeathStar with a load of StormTroopers, right on your backdoor. Crash the gate and get us in Trip9."

The trailer's tail lights flickered twice and the gap between them began to widen more. Waggener looked over and saw the display. The speedometer read eighty-five miles per hour and increasing.

"WE'RE GOING EIGHTY-FIVE ALREADY?" Waggener asked.

Colt grabbed another gear. "Nope. We're closing on a buck. Pretty easy without a load."

Waggener stared ahead at the truck in front of them, practically walking away from them. "How fast is that truck going?"

"Can't tell you. That's 32 tons of Don't-Give-a-Fuck. Here we go." Colt said then grabbed a separate mic. "Hang on to your asses boys, we're making contact."

Ahead the big grey truck smashed through the gates and launched them to the sides. Two seconds later all its forward lights came on. The long-range spotters watched in confusion as the truck didn't aim for the service doors, instead it went through a section of wall under a window that had been floodlit by the bright lights of the lead truck.

One of the cops had been using the Radar/Laser gun from his squad car. "WHAT THE HELL?"

The SWAT Commander looked over. "What's the problem officer?"

"Captain I can't tell how fast either one of those two trucks are going. There's no return!" The officer stated.

'They must be coated with absorbing paint.' The SWAT Commander thought to himself but didn't say anything. He had once heard of a trucker called PeaceMaker years ago. He had also heard from some guys at a convention not long ago that there was some outfit of truckers. Trucks that mostly ran at night, sometimes at high-speed. Trucks with no markings and special license plates that came with a warning. The loads they carried were unknown, but there was plenty of speculation. They watched as the second truck punched through the same hole and slid to a stop inside. A minute later, shots could be heard inside and the grey truck had turned around inside to block the hole it had created, by parking halfway out of it. The bright lights dimmed.

Ten minutes later the call came over the radio. "Send in the Haz-Mat teams for De-Con!"

Six fire engine style trucks rolled down to the warehouse. They set up a series of pipes with a plastic liner underneath. Four men set up tall ladders and climbed to the top with spray hoses. Another group set up a series of plastic tent-like chambers in line. The first truck pulled out. When it was in position, water jets began spray it down then a solution was sprayed onto it and a foam developed. The foam was sprayed off from the top down slowly. Once clean the truck was waved forward and the other took its place and cleaned. The other Haz-Mat teams went into the building and were neutralizing the interior.

The two trucks rolled back down to the staging area and stopped.

"That was SOME ride!" Waggener said unbuckling the seatbelt.

Colt nodded and depressurized the cab. "Yeah. Ride's over now. We gotta go."

The Fed was about to say something but the driver turned on the radio and a song began to blare. The main line of it was 'Chicken Lights and Chrome'. He shook his head and climbed out then shut the door chuckling. The grey truck began to roll forward and the black one followed.

"Just who the hell were those guys? I heard the radar gun couldn't get a reading. THAT'S illegal! Those trucks need to be impounded!" A.D.A. Bob Travis spat.

S.A.C. Waggener looked over. "What trucks?"

The Assistant District Attorney pointed in the direction they had went in. "THOSE TRUCKS!"

"No idea what you're talking about. I didn't see any trucks." Waggener replied and went back over to the briefing area.

 

~*~*~*~
 

Jason zipped up his coveralls and snugged the cap, both were brand new and clean.

"Ready Kid?" A voice asked from the door.

Jason turned around and saw an older man in similar coveralls. "Are you Mister Kleco?"

"That's right. Dane Kleco, I'm the shop Foreman. Follow me." The gruff man said then waved him to follow.

Jason rushed to catch up and was a step behind him going down the hall.

"Just finished the advanced course at Detroit I heard." Dane remarked.

Jason nodded. "Yes Sir. PACCAR before that. I spent time in the R and D groups for Kenworth and Peterbilt. Mister Montaine said all the trucks run PACCAR, Detroit or CAT engines with Eaton Fuller transmissions. Uh."

Jason's eyes locked onto the pretty blonde woman ahead of them talking to a man in all black.

"Put your eyes back in your head. That's Lacey, the dispatcher. More importantly, she's Troy's niece." Dane growled.

"Uh, yes Sir. Who is she talking to?" Jason asked to change the subject.

Dane pointed with the clipboard he was carrying. "PeaceMaker. Truck 000045."

"Dane." PeaceMaker nodded. "New Mechanic?"

Jason answered quickly. "Yes Sir. Jason Coruthers."

PeaceMaker extended his gloved hand. "Colt Denton, PeaceMaker."

Jason felt the firm grip and held it. "Nice to meet you. What do you want me to call you?"

"PeaceMaker. You'll do fine." Colt said the released him.

"Jason Coruthers, Miss?" Jason asked Lacey offering a handshake.

Lacey looked at him as if he just appeared that second then answered flatly. "Branson."

Jason wasn't sure what to think, she'd only answered with her last name and ignored his hand then ignored him. He shook off the awkward moment and resumed following Dane down the hall.

"These are the drivers' offices. Don't go in without a reason." Dane gestured to the doors along the hall then pointed to another hallway. "Down there is Dispatch, where Lacey works. All business in there. She won't socialize, period."

"Yes Sir." Jason replied.

Finally they walked through a door into a shop bay.

"Bay 1. Truck 000038." Dane announced then pointed to a man in jeans and a t-shirt talking to another in coveralls. "That's Hobby and Dominic."

Both men waved.

"Hey new dude. I'm Dominic." The mechanic greeted. "The Frodo-looking fucker is Hobby."

"I DON'T look like that! Asshole." The driver snarled then shook hands with Jason. "Elijah Jameson."

Jason shook hands. "Jason Coruthers. Elijah? I guess Hobby is for Hobbit then?"

"It stuck." Hobby shrugged. "See ya."

Dane led through another door into the next bay. "Bay 2. Truck 000039. The guy over there HASSLING my mechanic is Dell Seavers. Stuntman, and he's about to get punched by Kadee."

Both had turned to wave and Dell called out. "What's your name, Guy?"

"Jason Coruthers." Jason answered and both waved again.

In the next bay Dane pointed out. "Bay 3, truck 000040. MiLo, the one on the right, is the driver. Under the truck, is Turk. Don't EVER call him anything but that."

Neither were paying attention to them so they went on.

"Bay 4, 000041. Where are they?" Dane asked then called out. "HEY!"

A woman leaned out of the cab. "WHAT?"

Dane pointed to her. "Rhonda Veerens, ARVEE. Danny's around here somewhere. ARVEE, WHERE'S DANNY?"

"Bleeding off blinker fluid. Who's that?" Rhonda asked.

Jason answered. "Jason Coruthers. New wrench."

She waved. "Cool."

Dane led him into the next bay. " Bay 5, 000042."

A tall African/American man was practically right in front of them. "Heard through the door. New hand, Jason Coruthers."

"Yes sir. Nice to meet you." Jason took the offered handshake.

He nodded back. "I'm Keeyo, Allan Quionnes. HEY ELLIE! MEET THE NEW MECHANIC!"

All Jason could see was the back of someone who was leaning into the raised hood of the dark purple Freightliner.

They waved and a woman's voice called out. "HI NEW MECHANIC!"

Keeyo groaned then yelled back. "HIS NAME'S JASON."

"HI JASON!" She echoed.

Keeyo shrugged. "She's working on two things; my truck and being a comedienne. I sure hope my truck works."

"I HEARD THAT!" Ellie yelled.

"We better go before she throws a wrench at him." Dane commented and led them to the next bay.

Jason walked through the door. Inside the bay was a red Peterbilt. A mechanic was talking to a man wearing dark red jeans and shirt with shoulder length black hair and eyes so dark, they too, were almost black. The look he gave them was intense.

"Bay 6, 000043. That's Faust." Dane said.

Jason felt like backing up as the man regarded him then said in a voice that was half growl, half purr. "Welcome."

"Yeah. Nice to meet you." Jason said uneasily.

The mechanic turned and offered his hand. "How you doing? I'm Montgomery, just call me Monkey."

"Jason." Jason replied and shook hands.

When Dane led on, Jason felt like he couldn't get out of there fast enough.

"Faust takes some getting used to." Dane sighed after they went into the next bay.

Jason asked. "Some?"

Dane finally chuckled. "Ok, he takes ALOT of getting used to. He's a cool guy though."

"Right." Jason said flatly.

"Bay 7, 000044. This is Fly-by's truck. You'll meet him some other time." Dane said of the white Kenworth.

Jason asked. "He just got off a load?"

Dane shook his head. "He's at a race. He races trucks. Fly-by'll be back in a couple of days."

"Oh." Jason said. "That's cool. Hope he wins."

"Second in points this year." Dane informed him then led to the next bay.

Inside Dane announced. "Bay 8, 000045. This is PeaceMaker's truck. I work on it."

Jason nodded and followed to the next. "Ok."

Dane gestured to the empty bay. "Bay 9, 000046. Charlene Forest, Check-point Charlie. She's on her way back from a load. You can meet her tomorrow."

Jason followed to the next. "That's cool."

"Bay 10, 000047." Dane said pointing to a blue Peterbilt.

Two men came over. The one in coveralls introduced himself first.

"Hey. I'm Danny. I work on ARVEE's truck and SuJa's." The mechanic greeted him.

The driver nodded. "I'm SuJa, Mike Tanner. 'S up?"

"Jason." Jason greeted both accepting their handshakes. "So what's SuJa mean."

Danny smiled. "Suicide Jockey."

When Jason looked for confirmation Suja shrugged. "Its a living."

"SuJa carries just about everything that goes boom. Always has." Dane informed him the steered him to the door. "Hang around him, and you're outlook will get skewed."

"That hurts." SuJa mocked.

The last door had to be unlocked and the lights inside turned on. There sat a grey Kenworth with black trim, instead of chrome like the others.

"Bay 11, 000999. This is the reason why you're here. Trip-9's truck." Dane said.

Jason guessed. "Trip-9 because the truck number is 999?"

"Yep. Pay attention. Trip-9's name is Jodi Tybeck. Don't EVER get on her bad side. She's got a temper and three things will set her off. Talking shit about the Army, especially the war. She was in it. Second, making a pass at her. Third, I'll warn you now; Trip-9 is transgender. Talk shit about that and its your funeral. She won't play. Got it?" Dane asked.

"I'm open-minded." Jason assured him.

Dane sighed. "You better be. Finding somebody that can work on THIS truck ain't easy. If Arnie hadn't had a stroke, he'd still be here. You work on Trip-9 and Fly-by's trucks."

Dane showed Jason a clipboard and went over it. Basically complete maintenance needed to be performed on the engine. After being shown how to unlock the hood Jason's eyes went wide.

"Is this what I think it is?" Jason asked.

"Yep. That's one of three prototypes. The XM-18 PACCAR. The fastest engine in a truck." Dane Kleco stated. "The reason you're here."

Jason looked around more and saw this was no ordinary truck. It was reinforced for the front end to be a battering ram. Blocks of armor-plating lined the hood and firewall. From what he could see, the whole tractor could be dropped off a cliff and not only survive, it would drive away.

Dane Kleco was over at the door and called back. "You got three days. Make 'em count."

Jason looked then began to pull tools. In ten minutes he had the hood removed and was already working on pulling the engine.

 

~*~*~*~
 

On the catwalk above the bays, a brunette woman stood alone looking down into the bay. Casually she ate. An older man with a cane walked up.

"You could have gone somewhere for real food." The man stated.

She didn't look away as she dug her fork into the macaroni and cheese MRE. "These are real Troy."

"Arnie didn't make it." Troy Montaine sighed. "They were letting him go home. Just as he stood up from the wheelchair to get in the car, he had a heart attack. I'm sorry Jodi. He's gone."

Jodi Tybeck continued to eat, but replied. "Brenda called me. Is my truck going to be ready Monday?"

Troy put his hand on her shoulder. "Its ok to be sad Jodi. He liked you. I know you liked him."

"Is that a 'no'?" Jodi asked then tucked the empty packet into the pouch and pulled another.

Troy watched as she tore open the packet and squeezed up what looked like some type of cake and bit into it. He also saw the slight shaking of her hands, flexing in place but not transferring it to what was in her fingers.

"You can cry. Its allowed you know." Troy said then saw she already had the 'thousand-yard stare' again. "The funeral's next weekend, on Saturday. Brenda wants you there."

Jodi said nothing, but continued to eat.

Troy sighed. "I'll be there. It'd be good if you were too."

As he walked away, her right hand absently went to the necklace. Suspended from the chain were three 7.62 slugs. Underneath the t-shirt were three circular scars along with one long straight one. One by one she felt the slugs. Each one, meant to end her life, had been pulled from her chest in a hospital in Kuwait. The previous life, back when she was in the Army. And male.

The Army had tried to discharge him for that, along with issuing a Purple Heart. Instead he refused both and demanded to return to duty. The hesitant and soft-spoken Specialist now spoke with a cold detachment and firmness. A month later, returned to Iraq and duty. The change was not immediately noticed. After two runs, they became aware. The Specialist that had once been cautious now drove with resolve. Also with anger. He was unafraid to take the lead position of the column. Even stating the position was his. He also laid claim to the most dangerous loads.

It was the ambush the revealed the truth. As the column started slowing down, preparing to fight their way through or retreat, he up-shifted and began to gain speed. Two trucks with Iraqi soldiers and medium machine guns came into view, to block the road and open fire. Black smoke poured from the stack and the engine roared as the truck barreled forward to slam through the roadblock without slowing down. The enemy soldiers were either killed or seriously injured enough to be unable to fight.

After the run was complete the Unit Commander ripped into the soldier, who stared back and said coldly 'nobody gets in my way. Nothing stops my truck. Ever.' Not long after came the Thunder Runs. Those were highly publicized. Unknown to the general public though were a similar set of supply runs to endangered units called Operation Bootlegger. A volunteer was asked for. He was the only one. For nine days straight he ran in and out of a section of Baghdad that became known as Damnation Alley.

Iraqi soldiers and insurgents used buildings to rain machine-gun fire down on the truck in hopes to stop or destroy it. Neither worked and after the third attempt he simply aimed for the building with most fire coming from it, and drove through it, dropping a satchel bomb with a ten-second fuse and twenty pounds of explosive. That's when they started calling Jodi, Road-Rage. Not that he cared, all that mattered was the next load. Where it needed to go and when it needed to be there. He even modified the front of the truck to withstand the abuse of driving through roadblocks and then buildings too. In fact, driving through buildings and dropping off a satchel bomb became a signature tactic.

The Iraqis issued a nickname as well; Dead-Run. They didn't know his real name, but the truck was beyond easy to identify and soon had a bounty on it. Many tried collecting that bounty, only to have their mangled bodies be left behind in the dust and rubble. The innocent civilians also grew to know the truck and reacted accordingly. They ran away. Warnings of the truck's approach were fast and entire blocks of civilians would empty in response. Despite the arguments of several low-ranking officers, the Specialist was eventually promoted to Sergeant. Even over the advice of a psychologist, stating the Sergeant was obviously suicidal, he was allowed to remain in the field. Simply put, no other driver could or would achieve the same results.

A year later; Jodi was sent back to the States, to be discharged. E.T.S.- Expiration of Term of Service. Honorable discharge. Purple Heart refused, no other citation recommended. Jodi was barely in the door of his parents' house when the phone rang. A man claiming to be with the Department of Energy asked Jodi to come to Washington, D.C. immediately. Jodi didn't even unpack, simply turned around, went out the door and didn't return for two years. He drove for D.O.E. the whole time, hauling all manner of classified material. ALL radioactive. That came to an end when some rednecks decided it would be fun to try annoying a truck driver.

Common sense dictates that when dealing with 38 tons of truck marked Radioactive, hauling weapons' grade Plutonium, one should stay very far away. Unfortunately, that's not the way things happened. The pick-up sped ahead to get in front then slowed down. When Jodi moved to pass, they drifted over to block. Twice Jodi moved to pass as they slowed even more. Believing they were trying to stop the truck to hijack the load, Jodi fell back on training after hitting the alert button. He up-shifted and pushed the truck. It sped up to recover then tried to slow him again by blocking the pass. Jodi was having none of it and shoved the truck forward. The driver slammed his brakes, but the light truck was no match for the big tractor-trailer and was pushed forward.

Jodi continued to pick up speed. The Chevy locked up its brakes, tires screeched and smoked in protest until they burst. The truck slung sideways then turned over several times before being thrown off to the side. It took a week for Jodi to be identified. Once again, luck was not on the rednecks' side. It was standard for such a truck to be equipped with cameras. Cameras that revealed the antics of the civilians. Also the digital log of distress being announced and Jodi's narration from inside the cab. The civilians lost their lawsuit, but Jodi didn't win either. A known D.O.E. driver was no good. Jodi was let go, as per contract. Paid, but still let go.

That was when Troy Montaine came calling. Phantom Lines, a small independent trucking company that hauled high security loads for various government agencies, was looking for a driver. Jodi had a surprise of his own. Or rather, her own. During evaluation, some questions turned out to have answers not expected. Answers that would be given by a woman. More evaluations revealed the reason, Jodi wasn't just dealing with combat stress. Gender Dysphoria had been lurking underneath the surface, now trying to break through. Troy Montaine was by no means a conventional man. He stated bluntly that he didn't care whether male, female or anywhere in-between. He had loads to move and required drivers with no fear. To quote him; he needed drivers skilled enough to drive through Hell and brave, or crazy, enough to do it with an ice cream truck.

Jodi fit that criteria and then some. Or so she thought. Then she met the other drivers. They ran the gamut, from angry to delusional and various other things. She was the only one with a gender issue. Though well paid by D.O.E. enough to not have to work for two years while transitioning, Phantom Lines offered a pay and benefits package that only the stupid would refuse. By choice, Jodi hauled loads that were deemed suicide runs. Two others ran similar runs. SuJa, which stood for Suicide Jockey, and Faust.

Faust drove the big red Peterbilt. So named because of all the drivers, he had the most attempted hijackings before coming to Phantom Lines. Attempted, but never successful. For some reason none of the hijackers ever survived and several trucks had been destroyed. Each and every time, Faust walked away without a mark on him. Many now said he had the Devil's luck and nobody could remember what he had been called before. In fact, he wouldn't answer to any other name and was rumored to have changed it to that. Even Troy had never called him by any name but Faust.

Michael Tanner, SuJa, had started out carrying explosives for mining companies. He was so good at it, he ended up moving up to working for manufacturers. Finally he left after topping out their pay scale. Troy Montaine had found him easily enough and two days later had him in a truck.

Only one ego stood above the rest. Dell Seavers, Stuntman. He actually had been one. Which was to be expected. His father had been a stuntman and his mother a costumer. They had met on the set of the TV crime show Chase. Dell grew up in Hollywood and when old enough, became a stuntman while still a child. He did that until his mid-twenties until an injury, not stunt related, prevented him from being insured to continue. Unhappy with being in Hollywood not able to perform, Dell started driving trucks and found new excitement. He began hauling high security loads. Eventually Troy Montaine appeared, offering the highest risk loads he'd ever hauled, with a pay-rate too good to pass up.

Elijah Jameson, Hobby, was brought in and seemed to be the most straight-laced of all. He wasn't. A power-lifter that almost made it to the professional ranks, he had a manner that was strange. He was so good-natured it was annoying. Until he got into a gym. That's when his demon took over. It wasn't people that had to worry, it was the equipment. He routinely broke things trying to go heavier or longer. In fact, he could no longer have a membership at any in two states or any of the national chain gyms. Hobby was short and built like a rhino.

Rhonda Vereen came from one of the national carriers and with her was a BIG chip on her shoulder. She had been on the receiving end of a stalker that was an owner-operator leased to the company. She was a regional driver until he began stalking her so she went back to cross-country. Where she went, so did he. The final straw came when he managed to get into her truck while she was in a truckstop taking a shower. She came back and he attacked, but didn't know she had grown up rather scrappy and could fight. In retaliation he called the police and alleged she was soliciting. It took two weeks, but the truth came out. However, the damage was done. Her stalker had contacted enough carriers with false stories, nobody would let her in. Troy checked out her story and offered her a job. ARVEE had stayed on ever since.

Fly-by was recruited due to his skill at high-speed driving. Brendan Williams was racing trucks on the amateur circuit and rumor had it he was about to go pro. Six months after Troy Montaine offered him a contract, a team signed him as well. Fly-by didn't care what he carried, just as long as he could go fast doing it. Getting paid for it eliminated any argument for him.

Allan Quionnes was bi-racial and caught crap from both sides. Due to discrimination he had caught loads for an independent that had high risk. Mostly toxic waste. Finally he caught a break on a load that was compromised. He called the authorities and soon a can of worms was opened that would never close. Fortunately for him, there was no real record of who actually tipped off the authorities so he was able to deny involvement. Troy had heard and admired his integrity. He hired him on a hand-shake, but gave him a contract with better terms just for trusting him for a week to prove it. Kee-yo had stayed on with no complaints.

Check-point Charlie's real name was Charlene Forrest. She had enlisted in the Marines right out of high school and stayed until the fighting in Afghanistan calmed down. She still craved action and applied to all the carriers looking for a challenge. None took her seriously enough for her. Troy heard of her through an acquaintance. An acquaintance that had no problem mentioning her name for a few hundred dollars. The Marine had no problem picking up Troy's challenge and signed on the line.

Mike Conlow had driven the Ice Roads until he lost his truck in a lake. Unfortunately for him, his insurer refused to pay the cost of a replacement, citing that it had been intentional. Troy heard of it several months afterward and offered him a job. MiLo jumped at the chance and liked it so much, he stayed on, even though he had already made enough to replace his truck several times over.

And then there was PeaceMaker. Colt Denton. Colt had started out working for the state of Arizona's Attorney General hauling evidence for destruction. The Department of Justice heard of him and hired him away with a better offer. Colt worked for them for years hauling loads until things started getting hairy. He was hauling a load of narcotics and his route and truck description was leaked. The cartel tried to hijack it. The only survivor just happened to be one who had no idea who leaked the information. Colt quit in disgust. Troy showed up a month later with a contract in hand and list of references to back him up.

Colt checked him out with every source he had and was astounded by the replies. If somebody had a load that needed to go by ground without fail, Montaine was the man to call. No matter how dangerous, it would get there on time or no longer exist. Nor would any fool that tried to take it either. No Phantom Lines truck had ever been successfully hijacked. Delivery or death, no exceptions. Montaine was the best on the road and he charged for it. His record had garnered him special favors as well. Each truck had a license plate that came with a warning. Do Not Detain. Three of the trucks carried an even more severe warning. Do Not Approach. PeaceMaker and Faust had been with Phantom the longest, the first to have those plates.

When Jodi signed on and Trip-9 went on the road, it had the other plate. They carried the highest security loads. She carried the deadliest. Every load she carried was lethal. Truck number 000999, Trip-9. Solid grey with black carbon fiber trim and anodized stacks, it tended to vanish on the road. The truck nobody in their right mind wanted to get on the wrong side of.

Jodi finished her meal and crumpled the pouch in her fist. She did not like new people. This time though, she had no choice. This new mechanic was one of a few that had the knowledge to work on the prototype engine of Trip-9. As good as Troy Montaine was, he couldn't always get the person he wanted. Jodi knew it had been sheer luck that this new guy, Jason, had been free and willing to relocate. Troy's offer had included a two year lease on a townhouse.

"What do you want Faust?" Jodi said without looking over.

The driver said gently. "Troy told me. You have my sympathy."

"Right." Jodi commented.

Faust leaned against the rail. "Arnie was here before me. Before Colt. He was a good man. I'll offer a deal. If you wish, I'll take you to the funeral."

Jodi didn't look over. "What's my end?"

"That is your end. For mine, I'll leave them at home." Faust replied. "Their presence would be less than appropriate."

Jodi snorted. "Frick and Frack will pout."

Faust smirked at the reference to his girlfriends. Many were surprised to see him dating 23 year old identical twins. He amazed people with his ability to tell them apart. Jodi was able to do so as well, but regarded them dismissively. Faust jokingly referred to them as his Sins, Envy and Lust. He also joked about finding them on the side of the road. The truth was that they had grown up across the street from him when they were children and he had always been the object of their attraction. They had made it their mission in life early on to claim him for their own. However neither would relent to the other, therefore they both dated him.

Faust chuckled. "They'll see things my way."

Jodi turned and headed back toward the other end. "I can take care of myself."

"Trip." Faust called, stopping her. "He seems like a good and capable young man. Give him a chance."

Jodi had turned to listen, now turned back and continued on. She wanted to be somewhere other than there right now. Making friends was hard. Losing one, was devastating. What she wanted most, was to be out there. Her feelings were her own, out there. Where nobody could see or hear her. There were no friends on the road. Dane had told her the truck would not be ready until Monday. Troy had given her off until then, though she had come in anyway.

 

~*~*~*~
 

Monday morning Lacey walked into the lounge. "Good morning."

All the drivers returned the greeting.

"Nice outfit." Jodi commented.

Lacey glanced to the baby-doll top, Cruel Girl jeans and western boots then frowned. "Really, or you think I wanted to hear that?"

Jodi shrugged.

Faust had come in during the statement and leaned over Lacey's shoulder to say seductively. "You do look nice Lacey. Fetching, I'd say."

Lacey elbowed him in the gut. "Get thee away from me, whack-job."

Faust chuckled and went over to the coffee pot. "One day you will learn how to accept a compliment with grace Lacey. Care to discuss an exchange?"

"NO. I'll never be stupid enough to make a deal with you." Lacey glared then looked over to Jodi. "Trip, are you up? Dane says you're road-ready."

Jodi nodded. "Gimme somethin'."

Lacey started handing out envelopes. "Trip. MiLo. SuJa. Faust. PeaceMaker. ARVEE you have one coming in a couple of hours, so stand-by."

"Nothing for me?" Dell asked in surprise.

Lacey tapped her clipboard. "Its not final so I didn't want to get your hopes up. Since you asked though, I might have a double-up. Stuntman and Kee-yo, you might be rolling out tonight. Fly-by, congrats on the win, but you're staying put. Uncle Troy needs you for something. Check-Point Charlie, your truck is down. Two days. Hobby's on idle. Hit the Hard-ball."

Those that had loads made their way out. Lacey held Jodi back and closed the door.

"Trip. Don't tell me what you think I want to hear or what you think you're supposed to say. Mean it, or don't bother. Got it?" Lacey asked.

Jodi nodded. "Ok."

Lacey sighed. "I don't mean to jump all over you. Just say what you mean. If you like something, say so. Don't force sociable. Just relax and let things be. Ok?"

"Ok. Shrink said I needed to try engaging more." Jodi said.

Lacey nodded. "That's fine. Just be real about it. You can be real. That's all I wanted to say."

Jodi left the lounge. She stopped in her office and put on the gun belt. A quick check of ammo then grabbed the Barrett REC-7 rifle. Now she was ready.

Jason stood back and watched her walk around the truck then climb up. "You're all set."

"Fans." Jodi called out.

Jason switched on the fans. They would pull out the smoke of the truck. The big grey Kenworth roared to life and after a minute began to slowly back up. The tractor hooked to the trailer with a loud bang and snap. The connection was tested then Jodi got back out and walked around. Air lines and electrical were connected. She climbed back into the cab. Air lines pressured up and slowly the truck rolled forward and stopped hard.
Jodi looked down to the mechanic who gave her a thumbs-up then stood by button to open the door. She tore open the envelope and shuffled the sheets. A minute later she latched the five point harness, returned the thumbs-up then slammed her door shut. Jason opened the door. Trip-9 gunned twice then leaped forward, up-shifting to gain speed. Faust, in the red Peterbilt rolled out a moment later, followed by PeaceMaker's black WesternStar, Suja's blue Peterbilt and MiLo's light grey WesternStar. The Road Phantoms were taking the highways again.