driver. The wind tore at his hand.
The scenery was going by in a green blur as Mark negotiated the twists and turns, forgetting for the moment what had just happened with the GPS. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, and he realized his stomach was tight and sour.
“He won’t back off,” the GPS unit said.
“Shut up!” Mark shouted, still only half believing he was really hearing this.
“He thinks you’re a goddamned idiot. He’s trying to run your ass off the road.”
“Why would he do a thing like that?”
“Because he doesn’t like you.”
“Doesn’t like me? How does he—” but Mark couldn’t finish the question as he glanced at the GPS. With the wind whistling in his ears, he wanted to believe—he had to believe he was imagining all of this…Maybe his radio was on, tuned to some talk radio station that was fading in and out. When he looked at the radio, though, he saw that the dial was unlit. He twiddled the volume control back and forth a few times just to make sure the radio was silent.
“You’re not real,” Mark said, hearing the tremor in his voice. “You can’t be.”
His lips were suddenly as dry as paper. He licked them, but there was no moisture on his tongue. A sour taste, like vomit, filled the back of his throat. He felt around until he found the water bottle on the seat beside him, but when he shook it, he realized that it was empty. He had forgotten to buy another bottle at the last rest stop, and up here in the God-forsaken boonies, who knew when he would find another gas station and convenience store?
“There’s no water in hell,” the GPS said.
“Will you please shut the fuck up?” Mark shouted, fighting the feeling that he was talking to himself, trying to shut off his own chattering thoughts.
“I’m just saying…” was all the GPS said, its robotic voice as emotionless as ever. But Mark was sure he had heard a mocking tone in the voice, nonetheless.
Negotiating the twists and turns of the down slope, Mark couldn’t help but gaze at the damned thing, fighting the urge to tear it off its window mount and fling it out the window. If he did that, though, the truck driver could report him for littering and get him pulled over. Hell, he had probably already radioed ahead to the local police barracks to notify the Staties to be looking for him.
“He’s laughing at you right now,” the GPS said.
“Really?” Mark’s grip on the steering wheel was so tight his wrists throbbed. “And how, exactly, do you know that? You’re just supposed to give me turn-by-turn directions. I don’t need any shi—”
“I told you back a ways to turn left, and you didn’t listen to me.”
“So you’re doing this to—what? To get even with me? For ignoring you?”
The GPS unit was silent, and Mark concentrated on driving even as the big rig bore down on his ass, swaying back and forth, jockeying for an opportunity to pass.
“I don’t need any crap from you…from you or…or anyone else,” Mark said.
Nothing but silence.
“You hear me?” Mark shouted.
“No need to lose your temper, but we both know how you resolve your disagreements with people, now, don’t we?”
“What the hell does that mean?” Mark asked, but he winced at the words, and the cold tingling in his wrists that moved up his arms.
The GPS was silent.
The road leveled out into a straightaway. Off to the left, through a break in the woods, Mark caught a view of a wide, smooth-flowing stream that laced out across a meadow in a wide curving arc that reflected the deep, blue sky. The painted lines on the road were broken, and up ahead Mark could see a rest stop. He considered yielding and allowing the semi pass, but the thought of giving in sat like a lump of cold oatmeal in his gut. As the road leveled out into the straightaway, Mark stepped down on the accelerator, smiling wickedly when he heard the blubbering roar of backfiring exhaust as the truck driver also accelerated his
The scenery was going by in a green blur as Mark negotiated the twists and turns, forgetting for the moment what had just happened with the GPS. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, and he realized his stomach was tight and sour.
“He won’t back off,” the GPS unit said.
“Shut up!” Mark shouted, still only half believing he was really hearing this.
“He thinks you’re a goddamned idiot. He’s trying to run your ass off the road.”
“Why would he do a thing like that?”
“Because he doesn’t like you.”
“Doesn’t like me? How does he—” but Mark couldn’t finish the question as he glanced at the GPS. With the wind whistling in his ears, he wanted to believe—he had to believe he was imagining all of this…Maybe his radio was on, tuned to some talk radio station that was fading in and out. When he looked at the radio, though, he saw that the dial was unlit. He twiddled the volume control back and forth a few times just to make sure the radio was silent.
“You’re not real,” Mark said, hearing the tremor in his voice. “You can’t be.”
His lips were suddenly as dry as paper. He licked them, but there was no moisture on his tongue. A sour taste, like vomit, filled the back of his throat. He felt around until he found the water bottle on the seat beside him, but when he shook it, he realized that it was empty. He had forgotten to buy another bottle at the last rest stop, and up here in the God-forsaken boonies, who knew when he would find another gas station and convenience store?
“There’s no water in hell,” the GPS said.
“Will you please shut the fuck up?” Mark shouted, fighting the feeling that he was talking to himself, trying to shut off his own chattering thoughts.
“I’m just saying…” was all the GPS said, its robotic voice as emotionless as ever. But Mark was sure he had heard a mocking tone in the voice, nonetheless.
Negotiating the twists and turns of the down slope, Mark couldn’t help but gaze at the damned thing, fighting the urge to tear it off its window mount and fling it out the window. If he did that, though, the truck driver could report him for littering and get him pulled over. Hell, he had probably already radioed ahead to the local police barracks to notify the Staties to be looking for him.
“He’s laughing at you right now,” the GPS said.
“Really?” Mark’s grip on the steering wheel was so tight his wrists throbbed. “And how, exactly, do you know that? You’re just supposed to give me turn-by-turn directions. I don’t need any shi—”
“I told you back a ways to turn left, and you didn’t listen to me.”
“So you’re doing this to—what? To get even with me? For ignoring you?”
The GPS unit was silent, and Mark concentrated on driving even as the big rig bore down on his ass, swaying back and forth, jockeying for an opportunity to pass.
“I don’t need any crap from you…from you or…or anyone else,” Mark said.
Nothing but silence.
“You hear me?” Mark shouted.
“No need to lose your temper, but we both know how you resolve your disagreements with people, now, don’t we?”
“What the hell does that mean?” Mark asked, but he winced at the words, and the cold tingling in his wrists that moved up his arms.
The GPS was silent.
The road leveled out into a straightaway. Off to the left, through a break in the woods, Mark caught a view of a wide, smooth-flowing stream that laced out across a meadow in a wide curving arc that reflected the deep, blue sky. The painted lines on the road were broken, and up ahead Mark could see a rest stop. He considered yielding and allowing the semi pass, but the thought of giving in sat like a lump of cold oatmeal in his gut. As the road leveled out into the straightaway, Mark stepped down on the accelerator, smiling wickedly when he heard the blubbering roar of backfiring exhaust as the truck driver also accelerated his
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