himself.
Even with the windows down, the air in the car had been getting increasingly rank the further he drove into warmer climes. The fresh air rinsed the stench from the car.
The road weaved back and forth, curling around the mountainside like a huge, flattened snake in the morning sun. Mark wondered if he was foolish, playing games, irritating other drivers…especially a trucker responsible for a huge eighteen-wheeler. If something happened…if while trying to shut this asshole down he or the trucker made even a slight miscalculation, they both could end up skidding off the road and careening off a sheer cliff into the river valley below.
“Know what?” a voice asked.
It took Mark a heartbeat or two to realize it had been the voice of the GPS.
Perplexed, he glanced at it and said, “Umm…What?”
“That truck driver…?”
“Yeah? What about him?”
“He thinks you’re an asshole.”
The GPS’s voice was thin and barely audible above the shrill sound of the wind whistling through the windows and the thundering of the truck behind him. Mark told himself he had to be imagining the voice and chalked it up to driving too long without a break. He should have paced his driving better, he told himself, and taken longer rest stops; but he was short of cash and hadn’t wanted to spring for a motel, so he had been driving steadily day and night, taking only short breaks.
His knuckles went white as he gripped the steering wheel, guiding the car down the curving, sloping road, the car swaying gently from side to side. Still wondering if the GPS really had spoken to him, he kept flicking his glance at it while he navigated the road ahead.
“Did you really just…?” but that was all he could manage.
The eighteen-wheeler was still on his tail, impossibly large in the rearview mirror. It looked to be less than six feet from his rear bumper. The wailing blast of its air horn thumped Mark’s chest like a series of punches.
“Are you talking to me?” Mark asked, but the GPS was silent.
He was stressed from the drive, he told himself, and had imagined…hallucinated the comments. He should pull over and take a nap before something worse happened.
He snapped back to reality, wondering if the truck might be a runaway. This high in the mountains, he’d noticed numerous emergency ramps angling off from the roads—long, straight dirt exits ramps that ran flat for a hundred yards or so and then ended with a sudden steep upgrade backed by ten-foot tall piles of sand to slow and stop runaway trucks.
What if this guy was having trouble with his brakes?
Maybe he was trying to warn Mark to get out of his way.
“Screw it,” Mark said, gritting his teeth as he glanced at the grille in his rearview. “We’ll know what’s what if he slows down at the bottom this hill.”
“He’s laughing at you, you know.”
The voice caught Mark off guard, but this time there was no denying that the GPS unit had spoken.
“Are you…? You’re really talking to me?” Mark glanced at the curling red arrow on the digital view screen.
“No, asshole,” the metallic voice replied. “I’m talking to your mother.” After a lengthy pause, during which Mark wrestled with amazement and disbelief, the GPS unit added, “Of course I’m talking to you.”
“How can you—you’re not programmed to…to—”
Mark snapped his focus back to the winding road when he caught himself drifting into the opposite lane. Thankfully, there was no on-coming traffic, but the driver in the semi must have thought Mark was making room for him because he suddenly sped up and tried to pass him on the right. Realizing he was about to get squeezed out, Mark stomped down on the accelerator. His car sped ahead, pulling back into the travel lane mere inches from the semi’s front bumper.
That earned him another ear-splitting blast from the horn, and Mark couldn’t resist sticking his left hand out the window and flipping his middle finger at the
Even with the windows down, the air in the car had been getting increasingly rank the further he drove into warmer climes. The fresh air rinsed the stench from the car.
The road weaved back and forth, curling around the mountainside like a huge, flattened snake in the morning sun. Mark wondered if he was foolish, playing games, irritating other drivers…especially a trucker responsible for a huge eighteen-wheeler. If something happened…if while trying to shut this asshole down he or the trucker made even a slight miscalculation, they both could end up skidding off the road and careening off a sheer cliff into the river valley below.
“Know what?” a voice asked.
It took Mark a heartbeat or two to realize it had been the voice of the GPS.
Perplexed, he glanced at it and said, “Umm…What?”
“That truck driver…?”
“Yeah? What about him?”
“He thinks you’re an asshole.”
The GPS’s voice was thin and barely audible above the shrill sound of the wind whistling through the windows and the thundering of the truck behind him. Mark told himself he had to be imagining the voice and chalked it up to driving too long without a break. He should have paced his driving better, he told himself, and taken longer rest stops; but he was short of cash and hadn’t wanted to spring for a motel, so he had been driving steadily day and night, taking only short breaks.
His knuckles went white as he gripped the steering wheel, guiding the car down the curving, sloping road, the car swaying gently from side to side. Still wondering if the GPS really had spoken to him, he kept flicking his glance at it while he navigated the road ahead.
“Did you really just…?” but that was all he could manage.
The eighteen-wheeler was still on his tail, impossibly large in the rearview mirror. It looked to be less than six feet from his rear bumper. The wailing blast of its air horn thumped Mark’s chest like a series of punches.
“Are you talking to me?” Mark asked, but the GPS was silent.
He was stressed from the drive, he told himself, and had imagined…hallucinated the comments. He should pull over and take a nap before something worse happened.
He snapped back to reality, wondering if the truck might be a runaway. This high in the mountains, he’d noticed numerous emergency ramps angling off from the roads—long, straight dirt exits ramps that ran flat for a hundred yards or so and then ended with a sudden steep upgrade backed by ten-foot tall piles of sand to slow and stop runaway trucks.
What if this guy was having trouble with his brakes?
Maybe he was trying to warn Mark to get out of his way.
“Screw it,” Mark said, gritting his teeth as he glanced at the grille in his rearview. “We’ll know what’s what if he slows down at the bottom this hill.”
“He’s laughing at you, you know.”
The voice caught Mark off guard, but this time there was no denying that the GPS unit had spoken.
“Are you…? You’re really talking to me?” Mark glanced at the curling red arrow on the digital view screen.
“No, asshole,” the metallic voice replied. “I’m talking to your mother.” After a lengthy pause, during which Mark wrestled with amazement and disbelief, the GPS unit added, “Of course I’m talking to you.”
“How can you—you’re not programmed to…to—”
Mark snapped his focus back to the winding road when he caught himself drifting into the opposite lane. Thankfully, there was no on-coming traffic, but the driver in the semi must have thought Mark was making room for him because he suddenly sped up and tried to pass him on the right. Realizing he was about to get squeezed out, Mark stomped down on the accelerator. His car sped ahead, pulling back into the travel lane mere inches from the semi’s front bumper.
That earned him another ear-splitting blast from the horn, and Mark couldn’t resist sticking his left hand out the window and flipping his middle finger at the
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