"Hey pops," Jarod said brandishing his load sheet for his next day's run. "Why don't you come with me tomorrow It will be like old times, just you and me on the road."
Dale looked up from his paper, where he had been studying the racing page. He had not driven for over six years, since the heart attack. It had been a relatively mild one, but the DVLA had still taken his HGV license from him judging him to be unsafe to operate the big forty-ton articulated lorry he used to drive.
That had almost broken him and had broken his family. As an owner/operator he made good money, but since he had been unable to drive, he had lost everything. His truck had been repossessed by the finance company and the bank had foreclosed on his mortgage.
His wife stuck with him at first. Supporting him through his grief but as he slumped further and further into depression when he couldn't find anything other than menial jobs, paying minimum wage, Brenda had had enough.
She found herself a young widower, who had a job and a house and two younger children, and moved out.
She hadn't even bothered to tell him, or their son, that she was leaving. Jarod had found the note when he came home from school one day, while his father stared at the screens in the local bookmaker.
It had been a tough few years for Jarod. He had had to grow up fast.
He left school as soon as he could, and got a job in a local haulage yard, with a company his father used to subcontract with.
They hadn't exactly liked Dale, he had been surly and stand-offish, but he was always reliable, and he didn't complain when they gave him the shit runs that meant he had to drive his truck down miles of narrow country lanes rather than being able to stick to the motorways, where it was easy.
As soon as he was old enough, Jarod took, and passed his HGV test and began driving for the company. His dream was that one day he would be an owner/operator like his father. In the meantime, he earned a good wage, and was able to get a mortgage on a small house for him and his father to live in. Dale by this time had given up even looking for work, and despite only being in his early fifties, claimed disability for depression and either sat at home all day staring at the television, or sat in the local bookmakers until he ran out of money.
The only saving grace as far as Jarod was concerned was that Dale didn't drink. That might have made him unbearable to live with.
Despite the fact they were father and son, Jarod's and Dale's character couldn't have been more different. Jarod was generally a happy person with a ready smile, happy to chat and always ready to help someone in need. This was the only reason that he allowed Dale to live with him.
Jarod had had girlfriends, he was a good looking man, and very easy to talk to. It didn't hurt that, unlike a lot of long distance truckers, he kept himself in good shape. Eventually Dale would always break up his relationships. He didn't do it deliberately, or at least Jarod didn't think so. He wasn't rude or abusive to any girls he brought home, but it was the constant spectre of the older man hanging around the house that gave the girls the creeps. Also, more than one of them caught him leering at them when he thought they weren't looking. But Jarod had taken responsibility for his old man, and it was not in his nature to shirk his responsibilities.
Dale had always been a loner, and surly. The life of a long-distance trucker had suited him because he spent most of his time alone. He was suspicious of strangers and always looked for an angle to exploit. He had not been particularly kind to his family either. They took care not to anger Dale, because when roused he sometimes became violent. He would always blame others for his violence, saying, "Now look what you made me do." as he took out his rage on them.
They had lived in a nice house, and had nice things when he had been working, but they preferred it when he was out on the road. He didn't like children and Jarod would have to stay well out of his way if he didn't want to feel his father's wrath. He wasn't exactly abusive by the day's standards, but he came pretty close.
When Jarod was a little older, Dale would very occasionally take him with him on the shorter runs, never overnight. But Jarod loved it. He loved being out on the road and watching mile after glorious mile of country roads pass his window. Motorways he could take or leave, but he really loved being out in the countryside.
When he was out on the road on his own, Dale would often pick up prostitutes and had contracted more than one STD in his career. The prostitutes learned to avoid him, however as he had a tendency to get rough and they knew to disappear when they saw his rig approaching.
"What do you say pops, you going to come?" Jarod pushed his father, "It will get you out of the house. Don't forget it's trick or treat night tomorrow night. You'll only spend the night growling at the neighbourhood kids if you stay here"
"What's the run?" asked Dale, his interest peaked a little. The thought of all the neigbourhood snots banging on his door demanding sweets was a powerful argument. Being the nice guy he was, Jarod would keep a big bucket of treats by the door, and hand them out on all the nights kids would come knocking, even though it was only supposed to be just one night.
"Month-end run to Abergwesyn," Jarod said, Start early we can get there around six, They always wait for me, then we can drop down to Beulah, there's a premier inn there - I'll get you a room there, I'll sleep in the truck. Then back home for tea and biscuits. What do you say?"
"That used to be my regular run," Dale said. "They gave it me because no other fucker wanted to take a forty-footer up those backroads."
"The same reason they give it to me," Jarod replied. "Personally, I love it. Give me back country roads over motorways any day."
Dale thought about his previous runs up to mid-west Wales, and he remembered the girl. He guessed it must have been twenty or twenty five years ago. He had just got his rig and was doing a run into Wales.
Twenty four years ago.
Dale tightened down the ropes over the tarpaulin covering his load. Most of the guys used ratchet straps these days, but they cost money, and rope was cheap. Once you knew how to tie the knots you could secure your load just as well with that, at a fraction of the cost.
The loading bay foreman handed him back his load sheet and smiled at him. "Have a good run" he said.
Dale just grunted and turned to climb into his truck.
"Dick!" the foreman said under his breath. He was not a fan of Dale personally, but begrudgingly admitted that he always seemed to get the job done and could often get his truck to places that other drives simply refused to attempt. So despite him being a complete twat, he always had work.
Dale pulled out of the yard, late, there had been a problem getting loaded. One of the Forklift Trucks had broken down and he had had to wait until another was available. Consequently, he was running about three hours behind. He knew he would not make it to his drop off tonight, so he resigned himself to a night out in his cab and an early morning tomorrow.
He felt his cock stiffen in his pants and he thought about where he might stop and whether he would be able to find himself some company for the night.
He had a wife and kid at home, but she was getting tubby, and her idea of being adventurous in bed was leaving the light on. He had, early on in their marriage, tried to inject a bit of variety in the bedroom and had spent the rest of the week sleeping on the couch.
She was a once-a-week girl if he was lucky, so he often sought release when he was on the road.
Just when he thought his day couldn't get any worse, it started to rain. The rain got heavier and heavier, coming down in a monsoon-like deluge. That slowed everything down. His four-hour trip would now take closer to six, as the late afternoon traffic and the weather all contributed to his delay.
The rain continued and it was getting darker and darker. Off the main roads now, Dale was navigating the two-lane country roads that he preferred. There was the occasional car, but it had been a few minutes since he had seen one. That is when he saw her.
She was walking along the road. On the opposite side. There was pavement but the council had neglected to trim back the hedges and so their branches took up most of the space, forcing anyone wanting to walk, to do so on the road.
She looked like a drowned rat.
