5 MINUTES
“PUT IT IN GEAR!” McGlade screamed, an octave higher than his normal voice. I helped him tug the shifter into second, and the cab shook and then jolted forward. Behind us, the trailer rocked from side to side, but quickly straightened out. This saved us from jackknifing, but didn’t save us from the line of cars fifty yards ahead and closing.
He tugged the wheel to the right, forcing the truck up onto the carefully maintained lawn of an office complex. Harry continued to turn, winding up behind the building in the back parking lot, heading straight for a fence.
“McGlade…”
“Don’t worry. I do this all the time in Grand Theft Auto.”
“That’s a video game.”
“Pac-Man is a video game. GTA is a way of life.”
The semi plowed through the fence with almost no resistance, and then we were in a factory loading area.
“Gear down on three. One… two… three.”
I helped him shift into first, and the truck slowed down, allowing McGlade to navigate a sharp turn. We bounced over a curb and wound up on Morse going east. I looked at the countdown clock and felt ill. We were still over a mile away from the treatment plant and heading in the wrong direction.
“Train tracks ahead,” Harry said. “I have an idea.”
McGlade swung the truck left, and we ran parallel to the tracks on the gravel. There was a slight grade, maybe five percent, but the truck didn’t tip.
“Let’s go to second… now.”
The truck picked up speed, and I listened to the RPMs and was able to gauge when to put it into third, and then fourth. The ride was bumpy, and tilted, but we were making good time, and there were no cars blocking our way. McGlade hummed the song “Convoy,” off-key. I once again turned my attention to the latent on the mirror.
“Gimme your phone,” I told him.
“My new one? Why?”
“Just do it.”
“It’s in my right pants pocket. Help yourself.”
I reached for his lap, then hesitated. It was like willfully sticking your hand into a mousetrap. Not having any other choice, I slipped a finger in, shuddering.
“It’s at the bottom. Reach around for it.”
I was about to go deeper when I realized the obvious.
“How could you put anything in your right pocket with a mechanical hand?”
He smiled, sheepish.
“Caught me. It’s in my jacket.”
I muttered asshole under my breath and quickly found the high-tech phone in his jacket.
“How do I use the camera?”
“Go to the menu first.”
I stared at the device, which looked slightly more complicated than the helm of a nuclear submarine.
“Is this a touch screen?”
“There’s a menu button in the center of the keypad.”
“What’s it look like?”
“It looks like the menu button. It says menu on it.”
“There are six thousand buttons.”
“Give it to me.”
“Harry, keep your eyes on the-”
The wheels caught on the tracks and hopped them, jerking the whole truck to the right. We hit one railroad tie after another in rapid succession, each feeling like it would rip us apart.
“Downshift!” McGlade screamed, while he reached lefty for the hand brake. I fought the ball knob into neutral, then tried to steady the wheel as we slowed down, and finally stalled.
I checked my mirror, and miraculously the trailer was still attached.
“Look.” Harry tore the phone from my hand and pressed something. “There’s the damn menu button. Happy now?”
“I’d be happier if we got moving. We’ve only got-”
A whistle cut me off. It was followed by a familiar ding ding ding sound, coming from the intersection up ahead.
“No way,” Harry said. “No fucking way.”
I squinted into the distance and saw the small black dot of a train.