“Shoulda stayed home.” As Joey massaged the half-hard bulge of his sullen dick, he slowed to a crawl and peered through the windshield. The snow had begun falling an hour ago, and now the wipers were barely keeping it from blocking the glass. “Come on, man. Show me something besides all this shit.” That was when he saw the road leveling out and widening, and blew out a breath. “Okay, that’s more like it.”
On the other side of the cab, Bob shifted, mumbling something in his sleep.
“Keep dreaming, man; just keep dreaming,” Joey murmured as he slowed and peered again through the frosty glass. A second lane appeared on the right, leading off at a steep incline into a winding trail. The GPS blipped, showing the new road with a balloon marker. When Joey tapped the balloon on the screen, it displayed the words Frenchman’s Pass and a chevron with a tiny knife, fork, and gas pump.
“Truck stop, all right. That’s what I’m talking about.” Joey moved into the turn lane, but the truck’s dash lights suddenly blinked on and off. At the same time, the engine began to die. “Aw, come on, not now.” Without thinking, he pounded the dashboard with his fist.
“Whaaat?” Bob sat straight up, staring first at the white windshield and then at Joey. “Where are we? Denver?”
“Not there yet.” He had to keep Bob from blowing a fuse over this. “I gotta stop. Something’s wrong with the engine.”
His partner rubbed a hand over his face. “Nothing’s wrong with the engine. Parker had it serviced before we left Atlanta.”
Joey smiled nervously as the truck’s dashboard went dark. “Maybe they missed something with the electrical, Bob.”
“Son of a bitch.” Bob yanked off his seat belt. “Don’t pull onto the shoulder; there’s too much fucking snow. Stay in the turn lane and put the flashers on.” He peered through the windshield. “Where are we?” Without waiting for an answer, he checked his watch and snatched up the folded map from the seat between them. “We should be coming up on the exit to Denver.”
“Yeah, about that.” Joey ducked his head. “We’re not exactly on the highway anymore.”
His partner lowered the map. “What did you say?”
Now he was in for it, unless he talked fast. “It was the GPS, man; it screwed me up. I wanted to make better time, you know, so I hit the alternate-route thing, and it told me to take this turn off the highway and then a couple more, and then … Jeez, Bob, it’s not my fault. I was just trying to get us there faster, man.”
Bob’s lips flattened. “Where are we?”
“I don’t know.” He hunched his shoulders. “In the mountains somewhere. Okay?”
His partner grabbed the GPS and reset it, but the screen returned to the signal lost screen. “Shit.” After he banged it twice against the edge of the dash, it went blank. “Useless. Just like you.” He threw the GPS at Joey’s head.
“Motherfucker.” Joey howled and clapped a hand over his ear. “What’d you do that for?”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Bob shouted, “and you put us here, you pinhead.”
“No, we’re not.” He rubbed his sore ear and sniffed back a stream of loose snot trying to drip from his nose. “There’s some town down the road, and it’s got a truck stop. I saw it on the GPS right before it died.”
Bob ignored him as he tried to dial out his mobile phone. “No signal. Do you know what Parker is going to do when we don’t show on time?”
“We can still call in. There’s gotta be a phone in that town,” Joey said, cringing when Bob made as if to throw the phone at him. “Shit, will you stop? It’s not my fault the GPS sucks.”
Bob went still, his eyes wide. He stared at Joey and then turned around toward the back of the cab. “Did you hear that?”
“Man, you broke my frigging ear.” Joey frowned. “I don’t hear nothing with this storm blowing.”
“Somebody just rolled up the back door.” Bob pulled the glove box open and took out the weapons he’d stowed inside. He passed a .32 to Joey before he took a Glock and tucked his hand inside his jacket to hide the weapon. “Take the other side. Unless he’s holding, shoot out a knee so I can get a look at him.” He glared. “And whatever you do, pinhead, don’t fucking shoot me.”
Joey climbed out, the icy wind scouring his face before snatching away his first breath. As he was driven back against the side of the cab, he leaned out, expecting to see flashing lights, a state trooper, something. Behind the truck was nothing but empty road, framed by snow-frosted trees and four-foot drifts.
The wind blew in his ears, so loud he could barely hear himself as he muttered, “This is bullshit, man.”
He saw Bob come into view, his back toward Joey, and shuffled toward him. He stopped only when he realized Bob wasn’t wearing his jacket any longer. He had on a different shirt, too, and one of Joey’s skullies—
That’s not Bob.
It was the stiff. There was no one else it could be. Even as his brain argued, But he’s dead, man, a Popsicle , Joey knew it was the GI. Those GenHance doctors had pumped him full of drugs and shit, and it had resurrected him, like Dawn of the Fucking Dead.
Or he’d never been dead….
She stepped out, dressed in Joey’s Megadeth T-shirt and his favorite cords, her fiery hair whipping around her flushed face. In all this cold, this storm, she was hot? She met his gaze, and he fell into her eyes, those big, gorgeous eyes, like bits of the sea framed in gold. Lust dried his mouth, and crept down his throat to pour into his chest, his belly, his crotch. Automatically his gaze dropped to her rack, which stretched out two of the skulls on his tee, which made everything easy. He’d shoot the GI, and take Ginger up front with him, and have a little party with her while Bob worked on the engine.
If Bob wasn’t okay with that, he’d shoot him, too.
Joey didn’t feel the ice crystals peppering his face or the fact that his ears and nose had gone dead numb as he lifted his gun and started toward them. He had to have her, he thought, and squeezed off a round that somehow missed the back of the GI’s head. It didn’t matter that the asshole turned and saw him; he had a full clip—he’d just keep firing until the big bastard went down.
Steadying his wrist with his free hand to take better aim, Joey fired again—or tried to. The trigger didn’t budge this time, and when he looked down, he saw snow swirling around his hand like a miniature white tornado. It closed around the gun and his numb fingers, solidifying into a ball of ice.
“Shit.” He tried to shake it off, but the ice began to spread, creeping up both arms toward his elbows. He smashed his frozen hands into the side of the truck, shattering the ice ball and freeing one hand, but his fingers were still frozen in place around the gun.
“This ain’t happening.” He tried to shake the gun from his hand for a moment, and then saw the woman looking at him again as the marine picked her up in his arms. The snow hadn’t touched her beautiful glowing hair or those sunlit ocean eyes … and suddenly nothing mattered to Joey but stopping them. “She’s mine, you fuck. That bitch is mine.”
The marine’s lips peeled back from his teeth, and there was something wrong with them, something horribly wrong. Then the woman touched his face, and he turned and took off at a flat run toward an outcropping of rocks.
“No.” Joey bolted after them, his feet slipping on the icy surface of the road. He wheeled his arms, his frozen hands like barbells, as he fought to stay upright. He had to get her back. It was the job. It was everything.
He’d die if he didn’t have her.
Dimly he heard a shout from the other side of the truck, and shots firing in rapid succession. It was his partner, and he was shooting at them. Was he crazy? “Bob, don’t hurt her. Bob!”
The shots ended as his partner yelled, and something unseen slammed into the other side of truck, hard enough to rock it up off one side of the tires. Joey looked ahead, and saw that the marine and the woman had vanished into the storm.
Joey’s head cleared, enough for him to realize he was the one who had gone crazy. He jerked around and stumbled toward the door of the cab.
He stopped short as some massive thing emerged from behind the open driver’s door. He couldn’t see it clearly, but even half-blinded by tears and snow, he could tell it was huge, on all fours, its bulging body covered with blood-splattered fur.
“The fuck?” he heard his voice squeak out.
The bear or whatever it was pulled back its black lips, baring a row of glittering, gore-stained fangs. It made a low, horrible sound that blasted through the wind and sank into Joey’s bones, sending a river of hot wetness down the front of his jeans.
He shook his head, only dimly aware that he’d pissed himself. He shuffled backward, falling onto his ass, scrabbling in the snow as it began to advance. “No,” he screamed. “You get away from me. Get away.” He couldn’t look at it anymore, and squeezed his eyes shut. “Bob? Hel—”
Then it was on top of him, massive and crushing, and Joey’s eyes flew open as he felt his ribs snapping.
Joey finally saw that he was wrong, and that it wasn’t a bear at all, right before it tore off his head.
Chapter 10
Rolling up the truck’s back door released a splintering, grinding sound from the rollers, too loud to be missed by their captors. As Lilah gave him a stricken look, he grabbed her up in his arms.
“That was dumb.” She wrapped her hands over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Walker.”
The prospect of escape made him smile. “I’m not.”
A blast of snowy wind roared in around them as he scanned the road and embankments. The emptiness surrounding them offered no safe haven; the only choice he could see was to run for the trees. He shifted her weight higher against his chest. “Hold on to me.”
She shifted her hand, curled her arm around his neck, and tucked her face against the other side.