Obsolete

“Thanks Marcie.” Tom said as he stood and pulled on his jacket. She picked up his empty coffee cup and smiled weakly. She’d never been much of a conversationalist but now with the truck stop in jeopardy of closing she was even quieter than usual. Tom emptied his pockets and handed her what he had left. “Is there anything I can do?” She just shook her head and muttered something about it being too late. Tom frowned, his face settled into the familiar wrinkles and he wrung his hands together, twisting his wrists until they clicked. He had known that was what she was going to say but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. There was still a shock in just hearing it said aloud in Marcie’s hoarse voice. He rubbed his eyes and sighed, he knew it was over. Frankly, he was surprised that it had lasted this long. He’d been going to that stop since he was young. His father was a driver too and would bring him there often. Back then it was so much more alive. It smelled like sweat and pancakes. Now it was empty, save for him and Marcie, and all it smelled like was dust. Like old. “I’m sorry.” He said. A feeble attempt at some sort of consolation to her. It didn’t mean much but he could tell she appreciated it anyway.  

“I know sweetheart.” She said softly. “I am too.” He didn’t know what else to say so he just bowed his head for a moment and then patted her on the shoulder and left.  

Tom climbed into his truck and looked at the time. The glowing numbers read 2:45 but the clock was off about 7 minutes and he’d never fixed it. He had twenty-two minutes until three. The witching hour. And when he started his route. He pulled the seat belt across his torso and peered out the window into the dull night. Though dawn would come creeping in soon, for now the darkness still held the world in its cold grip. He watched with eyes well-adjusted to the night as trucks not unlike his own drove by. “Ghosts” he murmured; eyes locked on the empty cabs. That’s what the few who were left of the rapidly dwindling trucking community called them. Automated vehicles had taken over the roads years ago and though they usually still carried operators who could override the systems in case of emergency, in the nights, the cabs were empty. The operators weren’t supposed to leave their seats. But looking out into the sea of trucks operated only by the machines themselves, Tom was reminded of how little this rule was followed or enforced. There was no one around to reprimand them anyway. So, instead of staying seated in the cab and watching at the ready for any sign of trouble, the operators would crawl into the backs of the trucks and sleep, completely unaware of what went on around them and leaving the cabs empty, a rather sinister sight. Tom had thought that maybe after a while he would get used to the unnerving picture but even now, decades into his career as a driver and years into driving alongside the ghosts, he still felt uneasy when he looked through the empty windows. 

Tom waited for a few minutes and then sighed and pulled out of the parking lot. He didn’t look back. His father’s voice recited a familiar line in his head; “Never look back Tommy, and don’t believe everything you see either. Just look forward and keep your eyes on the road.” At the time he had kind of nervously chuckled but his father’s seriousness was unwavering and there was genuine concern in those glassy eyes. Tom had followed that rule strictly. Even now with the ghosts, he didn’t look through the windows unless he had to. His eyes stayed forward, pasted on the road like magazine clippings in a collage. He’d carried this sentiment into other aspects of his life too. He wasn’t one to ask questions or divert from his set plan. He just went straight ahead and never looked anywhere but forward. Even now, he had no idea what he was carrying in the back of the truck. His employer hadn’t told him and he hadn’t asked. No diverting from the path. No looking further into things. It always leads to bad. He didn’t want to risk losing this job either as he was one of the few drivers left and he wondered sometimes if maybe he was the ghost. Surrounded by the empty trucks he was the odd one out, the one being phased out of existence, becoming obsolete. So, in an effort to slow down this process, he didn’t ask questions.   

All Tom could hear was his father’s words reverberating in his skull. Normally the sentiment hung in the air as he drove, a constant reminder to pay attention to his surroundings, but this time the words were more of a distraction. His stomach began to twist up in knots. The closing of the truck stop was affecting him even more than he had expected it to. He wiped his sweating palms on his jeans and pulled over. He put his head in his hands and leaned against the steering wheel. I’m just tired. He thought. But he knew it was more than that. That place had been a home to him. He sighed and wiped his hands again before pulling back out onto the road. Just keep driving. Don’t think about it. Not now. he told himself.  

Tom continued on his route, one he’d driven many times, but he couldn’t shake the sick feeling and he noticed that his face was still stuck in the deep frown he’d made when he heard Marcie’s news. He yearned for the comfort of sunlight. At least then he wouldn’t be surrounded by ghosts. The eerie atmosphere only added to his uneasiness. The nights were just the husks of the day, pretending to have the life that morning carried but only able to produce shadowy figures and empty trucks.  

Tom drove with a tight, twisted up heart. He struggled to focus, thinking of Marcie and his father. Something in his peripheral caught his attention. He wanted badly to look but there was his father's voice, louder than ever. A few minutes passed and there was the figure again. He wanted to tell himself that it was nothing and looking wasn’t worth it. But then again, what had not looking ever gotten him? His whole life he had kept moving forward, never diverting from the path, never taking a risk. And now he was here. Surrounded by the technology that would soon take his job and all alone in the world. He was becoming obsolete if he wasn’t already there. He didn’t even know what it was that he was transporting. His hands twitched on the steering wheel as he argued with himself. Now wasn’t the time to look. His life is what straight forward had gotten him. But was it a life worth living? A life at all? And even the rule of looking straight forward had proven to be faulty sooner than later, sometimes not even granting you your life in return. His father, the preacher of such a rule himself had been taken by the road for goodness' sake. He thought again of the truck stop and of Marcie and of how he was slowly losing everything that had kept him grounded. It was all falling away and he’d never even acknowledged it. Don’t ask questions. Don’t meddle. Don’t divert from the path. There again was that flash of something in his peripheral. 

Tom slammed his hand against the wheel in frustration. The thing in the shadows was begging him to look. It moved around, twirling and dancing just out of reach. His head filled with worry and confusion and Marcie and his father. He couldn’t get a clear thought out, there was just noise. So much noise. He began to panic, desperate for some relief from his own thoughts and then he realized it was already too late. It was already over. He’d already diverted from the path. Right now, he was looking back on the past. That was all he could think about. He’d already failed. So, he turned his head and looked. There wasn’t anything left to lose anyway.  

A lanky humanoid figure, doused in shadows and standing menacingly was waiting for him. Tom was startled, taking a quick breath and jumping slightly, but he didn’t divert his gaze from the figure. He couldn’t stop looking. Something about the transparency of it and the way his mind jumped between believing it was and wasn’t real made him continue to stare. As he struggled to decide if it was a hallucination, the figure flitted in and out of existence. Then, all of a sudden, before Tom and the figure could decide if it existed or not, there were headlights in his eyes and the shadow man was gone and he was careening off the road. It happened so fast that he didn’t have a chance to register that it was happening at all. The shadow man filled his mind as his truck rolled onto its side and then the shadow man swallowed up his thoughts completely. Everything went dark. 

When Tom came to, he found that he was sideways and still buckled into his seat. He blinked. The shadow figure was etched into his eyelids. It was all he could see when he shut his eyes. The truck had rolled off of the road and into a ditch, coming to a stop on its side. Tom didn’t have time to assess the damage or even acknowledge what had just happened. He didn’t let himself address it. He tried the radio but it was broken and all that came out of the speaker was a hollow buzzing. His phone was nowhere to be found; it had probably been thrown from the truck in the crash. Dazed, he hesitated for a second to climb out. He looked around carefully for the shadow man, hoping both to see him and not see him. Part of his mind still wanted to believe that it had been real. But the figure was gone. And as the blood rushed back to his head, he was reminded of how common hallucinations were while driving. He cursed and unbuckled himself so that he was free to climb out of the broken windshield. Once out, he fell to the grass and shook his aching head in disappointment and shock. It hadn’t been real. Of course it hadn't been real. A hallucination. He’d fallen victim to a hallucination, something he promised himself he’d never do. He brought his hands to his face and felt a sharp pain in his left arm. He looked down and saw that it hung all wrong and he feared that it was likely broken. He grabbed his jacket from the passenger seat of the truck and made a sling. A quick check revealed that the arm was the least of his injuries. Glass lay lodged in his shoulder and he was more than likely concussed. The worst, though, was a wound in his stomach. It was deep and thick dark blood poured from it, soaking through his shirt. Death wouldn’t come soon but the grim reaper would wait patiently, looming in the shade of the night, and if he didn’t get help it would take him eventually. He made his way to the side of the road and began to wave and scream and shout. Anything he could do to get someone’s attention. But the road was filled only with ghosts. Trucks sped past him, illuminating his figure with the glow of their headlights, but the cabs were dark and empty.  

Tom stood on the side of the road screaming until his voice began to break and fail him. He made himself sit before his legs folded beneath him. He felt lightheaded and the howling of the passing trucks didn’t help. There were so many people around but no one could see him and no one could save him. He stared forward blankly and his head emptied except for one loud, terrible thought; I’m the ghost now. Left to waste away all alone and yet surrounded by people. He sat and stared, looking through the panes of glass and wondering when death would finally take him. Now, instead of longing for a saviour he wished for the shadow man to come back and take him away to death. At least then he wouldn’t have to stare at the passing trucks that would never stop for him.