Chapter One: The Start of a War

The hot Texas sun beat down on that little ol' convoy as it pressed on, bound for the East, running from the setting sun. In the lead was a peculiar Cadillac, its parts were mixed and matched, with two headlights on the left, and one on the right. Its engine ran like a song, and it only had one tailfin. Next in line was a Freightliner hauling grain, followed closely by an International piled high with cut logs. After them was a Ford, a Kenworth, and a dually Ford pick-up. The Ford semi had an empty reefer, the Kenworth pulled an empty bull-hauler, and the pick-up had a big ol' John Deere strapped up on a gooseneck. A while back, a Mack joined in with his trailer full of manure, and a little Brockway with his thermos-bottle of diesel fuel. Back in Arizona, the convoy picked up three more trucks. A cabover GMC with a reefer on, big and mean, intimidating to the other trucks. A fine-tuned Peterbilt with nothing to show but a simple dry-box. And a company Freightliner with lucky number 204. Now, caught in the back of this lowly convoy were three company drivers, hooked up on a tight schedule.

"Oh, come on! Could these jackasses possibly go any slower?" Abby growled irritably into her CB.

She honked her horn a couple of times, but just then, another voice broke over the radio.

"Now just hold on here, little missy, but who the hell do you think you're callin' jackass?" Dreamer asked matter-of-factly.

"You, and everyone else in this lame-ass parade."

"Parade? This ain't no Goddamn parade! This's a fuckin' convoy, I'll have you know!"

Another voice broke over the CB, smooth and sweet.

"Throttle down now, Dreamer, you ain't got no call to get all worked up." Shit chimed in calmly.

"Shut up, Shit!" Abby and Dreamer yelled in unison.

"I've had enough, my group's splitting. We're on a tight schedule, and none of us have time for this bullshit, we're going ahead of the convoy." Abby announced.

"Y'know, nobody gets ahead of the convoy without permission from the lead." Shit commented.

"Then get me some permission!"

Shit switched to Channel 19 where he had a better chance of reaching the lead. "Breaker one for our front door, come in lead."

"Ten-four breaker, I hear ya loud and clear, this here's the Psycho Billy Cadillac. What you got cookin' back there, come back." Psycho replied in an optimistic tone.

"You know them Internationals in the back?"

"Yeah, I know them, they the ones we picked up about fifty miles back."

"Well, they're lookin' to split, and wanna get ahead of the convoy."

"I see..." Psycho's voice trailed off.

Shit began to laugh. "So, question is, you gonna let 'em?"

Psycho began to laugh as well. "Not on your life, boy!" He increased his antenna range. So, I hear some little chickens wanna fly the coop. You wanna split, get off at the next exit!"

The truck drivers roared with laughter inside their cabs.

"Listen, we're on a tight schedule, and we ain't got time to take no detour!" Abby argued.

A different voice came on over the radio.

"Well, too bad for you." Sodbuster jeered.

By now, the whole convoy had its ears on, ready to say whatever snappy comeback they could think of.

"If you Internationals wanna split, get off this frequency." Lumberjack taunted.

"Trust me, we will. Abby, Quack, we're getting off at the next exit." Redtail replied.

"Ten-four." Quack sounded off.

Redtail and Quack each left the frequency. Over the CB Abby's furious howl could be heard.

"Eddie! Quin! You get back on this frequency right now! We're not taking a fucking detour!" Abby screamed.

Redtail and Quack didn't answer her, this made the truckers laugh even harder. Abby left the frequency.

A voice at -420 broke over the frequency as soon as she did. "Hasta la vista, bitch." Cooler slurred.

"Ah, I got a rest-a-ree-a comin' up on my map here, we stoppin' by any chance?" Ladies' Man asked in his rich Italian accent.

"Hey! There's a choke 'n' puke attached to it!" Robin Hood exclaimed excitedly.

"Is food all you think about?" Shit asked him.

"There's nothin' wrong with that." A timid voice mumbled.

"Who the hell's this now?" Pitbull asked annoyedly.

"It's the pussy in the Brock." Dreamer snarled.

"Language." Hot Grandpa butted in.

Dreamer rolled her eyes and exchanged glances with her dog.

"Hey, that's a good name for 'im: Pussycat!" Robin Hood beamed.

"It's perfect. Howdy-do, good buddy, welcome to the convoy!" Psycho exclaimed happily.

"Thank you, sir." Pussycat replied quietly.

"Hey Pussycat, what you haulin'?" Pitbull asked skeptically.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Yes, I would, that's why I'm asking."

"Sorry, but that ain't none of your business." Pussycat wiped his eyes, nose, and mouth. He coughed a few times. "Hey bulldog, the smell is gettin' intense back here."

Shit laughed. "I bet it is."

Pussycat rolled his eyes.

"Hey y'all, I'm havin' some shutter trouble, we stoppin' or not?" Hot Grandpa asked, stifling a yawn.

"Yeah, I gotta pay the water bill." Robin Hood complained.

"Dad! Nobody wants to know!" Dreamer exclaimed in an embarrassed tone.

"It's alright, Dreamer, we're stoppin'." Psycho reassured her.

"Hey Pussycat, you be careful with that thermos-bottle, I got a good look at it that past turn there. We oughta rename you Suicide Jockey!" Pitbull exclaimed critically.

"An amateur with explosives, fucking great." Lumberjack growled.

"Okay, nobody panic!" Ladies' Man shouted.

"Nobody's got a care in the world, crackerhead." Dreamer spat.

"I'm always here for you."

"Fuck off."

"Rest-a-ree-a off exit fifty-one, anyone opposed to stoppin' speak now or split." Psycho announced.

"Rest-a-ree-a!" Dreamer sang.

Robin Hood took it up. "Pizzaria!"

Ladies' Man went full indigenous. "Mama-mia!"

The three of them roared with laughter.

"Anybody else cravin' pizza rolls?" Robin Hood asked.

"I just need to get some alcohol down my neck and I should be good." Hot Grandpa replied.

"Alcohol? I got plenty of that!" Pitbull chimed in.

"You bootleggin' son?" Psycho asked incredulously.

"What do you think?"

"Why?"

"Why the hell not?"

Psycho pulled off onto an exit, the rest of the convoy, minus the Internationals in the back, followed.

"Could a diesel engine even run on moonshine?" Dreamer asked randomly.

"I would for a little while, go really fast, till it blows to shit." Pitbull replied.

The truckers pulled into the rest area and all got out of their trucks; it's the first time they all meet each other face-to-face.

Psycho was a dark-haired man, in his late forties. He had grease in his hair. His kind, brown eyes were the windows to an old soul.

Sodbuster was the spitting image of Jerry Reed. He was tall, thin, and a dirty blonde. He had sideburns, straight teeth, blue eyes, the works.

Lumberjack had definitely seen the best side of thirty. He wore a red and black flannel with a cap. He looked like your average trucker.

Cooler was a hippie, long hair, sunglasses, beard, tie-dye, sandals, the whole nine yards.

Ladies' Man is pretty heavy-set, he stands at 5'8"

Cattleman was older, probably in his late fifties. He wore an old, worn-out cap. He was 6'4" and you would never see him smile.

Shit was an African American, a true sweet talker that didn't fear anything.

Nobody was impressed with Pussycat. He stood at 6'3", had shaggy blonde hair, bright green eyes, and a shy smile. He seemed to weigh very little, and couldn't have been any older than eighteen. Dreamer didn't care to acknowledge him.

Pitbull looked like Tom Wopat, but with brown eyes.

Dreamer had a white cowboy hat on with a brown band. The band had bullheads on it. She was tall, 6'1", and had wide shoulders. Her black leather cowboy boots made her even taller. She had curly golden hair that when a little ways past her shoulders, and deep, dark brown eyes. Her skin was tan, with a bit of a reddish tint to it. She might've just been a little sunburned, but everyone else thought otherwise.

Dreamer had a dog with her, a black mutt. He definitely had Black Lab in him, but what else? It could've been German Shepherd, could've been Husky, or it could've been wolf. Nobody but Dreamer knew.

Hot Grandpa looked like James Best. He was Dreamer's grandfather on her mom's side.

Robin Hood was 6'5", in his mid-forties. He wore a cap because of his receding hairline and was Dreamer's father. The family resemblance was obvious.

Pussycat watched her through the trucks. She gave Robin Hood a fist-bump. Robin Hood disappeared into the gas station and returned a moment later holding a plastic bag. He reached inside and pulled out three items, a king-sized Kit Kat, a bottle of Pepsi, and a hamburger. Dreamer hugged him and ran off to her truck. Robin walked back to his and got inside. The engine started and he drove away, the last time any of them saw Robin Hood. Dreamer reappeared and Pussycat watched as Pitbull, Sodbuster, and Lumberjack approached her.

"Well look at this little Injun!" Sodbuster exclaimed.

I ain't an Injun." Dreamer replied in a serious tone.

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure." Sodbuster grabbed her arm and held it up for the others to see. "Now just look at this red skin."

"It's a sunburn." Dreamer pulled her arm away from him and scowled.

Lumberjack took out his wallet and started fingering through some bills. "Listen, why don't you go get us some cheeseburgers." He laid a few bills in Dreamer's hand

Dreamer clenched her fist, crumpling the money in her hand. "Oh, I'll get you your cheeseburgers, I'll shove 'em right up your ass!"

Pitbull scoffed. "Such big talk from a little girl."

Dreamer's gaze snapped towards Pitbull. She shoved the money back into Lumberjack's hand and took a few steps towards Pitbull.

"What the hell'd you just call me?" She snarled.

Pitbull threw his hands up jokingly. "Uh oh, pissed off the Injun!"

In the blink of an eye, Dreamer pulled her arm back and punched Pitbull square in the mouth. With that, an all-out fistfight broke out, three against one. Before Pussycat knew what was happening, his body was moving all on its own. He was running towards the fight.

Dreamer busted moves left and right; she was fighting hard but wasn't doing too well against three men. Within a moment, however, Psycho and Hot Grandpa were there to even the odds. They got Lumberjack and Sodbuster under control, but Pitbull and Dreamer were still going at it.

Pussycat grabbed Pitbull's arm, trying to pull him away from the fight in an attempt to make him leave Dreamer alone. Pitbull spun around and popped Pussycat in the eye. Pussycat reeled back, doubling over. Pitbull kicked him in the stomach, dropping him onto the ground. Dreamer pounced onto Pitbull's back, tying him up in an inescapable hold. She wrapped one arm underneath his, and the other around his neck. She squeezed hard, trying to choke him out. Hot Grandpa put his arms around her and pulled her off. He threw her down next to where Pussycat was sitting.

"Fucking cool it, you four!" Psycho ordered.

Pitbull coughed, holding his throat. He pointed to Dreamer. "She started it!"

"Bullshit!" Dreamer spat.

"What really happened?" Hot Grandpa asked.

"These three jackasses called me an Injun, then they told me to get them cheeseburgers. Pitbull called me a little girl, so I may or may not have lost my shit on him."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute, so you really ain't an Injun?" Sodbuster asked confusedly.

"No."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I didn't know." Sodbuster tipped his hat slightly.

Dreamer smiled. "It's fine, nothin' personal, right Pitbull?"

Pitbull nodded. "Sure, nothin' personal."

The truckers resumed their usual business. Dreamer headed back to her truck, Pussycat followed her.

"I... really appreciate what you did for me back there." Pussycat said awkwardly.

"Why the hell'd you step in like that? I had a handle on it." Dreamer snarled.

"I was only tryna do the right thing."

"Yeah, well don't expect me to stick up for ya next time you decide to stick your nose where it don't belong. I don't owe you shit, so why don't you just leave me the hell alone?"

Pussycat decided to change the subject as they reached her truck. "So, Robin Hood, why'd he split?"

"It's... complicated."

"Why was he in the convoy in the first place?"

"He was my blocker."

"Oh."

Dreamer opened the passenger side door to her rig and a black dog jumped into her arms.

"Oof! Fatass!" Dreamer exclaimed, setting the dog on the ground.

She walked over to the opposite side of her truck and opened the front side door to her drybox. She hoisted herself up inside and began messing with items inside.

Through the door, Pussycat could see the front end of a brand new Dodge truck. It was dark green, with its body smooth and polished. It had a push bar in the front complete with a winch. The visor above its windshield was lined with orange lights. On the front of its hood, large Chrome letters spelled the word "Dodge".

"So, ah, what's your dog's name?" Pussycat asked.

"Odie." Dreamer replied.

"Nice."

Dreamer sorted through a few more things, before sticking her head out the door. "Pull the ramp pins out for me, will you?"

Pussycat nodded and went to go do as he was told. He reached the back of the hauler and pulled out the ramp pins. He released the levers, tucking them back. He turned towards the front of the trailer.

"They're out!" He called.

"Alright, stand back!" Dreamer called back.

Pussycat took a few steps back from the drybox and watched as a cable slowly lowered the large, steel ramp to the ground. As soon as it was lowered, Pussycat found Dreamer suddenly standing next to him. He flinched a little, but she remained unphased by it. She climbed up onto the ramp and unhooked the winch, rolling it up neatly and setting it off to the side. She unbolted the big double-doors in the back, swinging one over to Pussycat. They fastened them open on either side.

When the doors opened, Pussycat was surprised not to see the back end of a new Dodge truck, but the front end of a 1969 Dodge Charger. The car was matt-black, with a black vinyl top. Pussycat whistled with astonishment.

Dreamer pushed wood planks and mini ramps down to him. Pussycat caught them and situated them at the bottom of the ramp. When finished, he climbed up to the Charger where Dreamer stood next to it, holding the driver side door open.

"You wanna drive the Charger or steer the truck?" She asked.

Pussycat's gaze drifted over the magnificent car. "I… I think I'll drive the Charger."

Dreamer chuckled. "Take 'er easy, loverboy, Stonewall here's a dude."

She patted the Charger's top, before walking to the front of the trailer to get into the pick-up.

Pussycat rolled his eyes and plopped down in the driver seat of the car. The seat was comfortable as hell. He gripped the steering wheel in his hands. God, this was one hell of a stock car. Pussycat became consumed in his own thoughts about the magnificent car. As he did, the door slammed shut on its own, and the engine roared to life. Pussycat immediately snapped back to reality, startled. The gearshift pushed into place all on its own, and the Charger began driving itself down the ramp. Pussycat, thinking that the car was rolling out of control, slammed his foot down on the brake, the car lurched to a halt. He looked behind him to see Dreamer sticking her head out of the pick-up truck's window.

"What the hell are you doin'?" Dreamer called.

"Th-the car was rolling on its own, I had to stop it." Pussycat explained.

Dreamer gestured for him to get out, and he did.

Pussycat watched as the Charger started driving down the ramp again, pulling the truck along with it. Stonewall pulled it out into the open, but out of the way.

"I-is it… remote control?" Pussycat asked dumbfoundedly.

Dreamer climbed out of the truck and unhooked Stonewall. "Nope, no remote control here, Stonewall's all-natural."

"I… I don't-"

"Listen, I'll explain it to ya some other time, but right now, we gotta make about a twenty-minute haul."

"O-okay."

Dreamer and Pussycat climbed into the pick-up and drove around the truck stop a little bit. She swerved and whipped around, blowing smoke off the tires and having the time of her life, Pussycat holding onto his.

"Wh-what are we doing?" Pussycat asked.

"I gotta give Thunder his warmup." Dreamer replied.

"Thunder?"

"The truck."

"Your rig got a name too?"

"Yeah, his name's Rig."

Pussycat rolled his eyes. "Creative."

"Thank you."

Then, as Dreamer whipped a one-eighty, a loud thud came from the box.

"Oh what the f- OW!" The voice of Pitbull exclaimed.

Dreamer laughed. "Welcome aboard, Pitbull."

"Um, hi."

"Hey, go ahead and make yourself comfortable, we've got at least a twenty-minute haul to make."

"Oh, Goddammit."

"What?"

"My beer can got smashed, it's all over the front of my fucking shirt!"

"Suck it up, we'll get ya cleaned up later."

"It's fine, I can improvise."

"So… you mind cluin' me in as to what we're doin'?" Pussycat asked Dreamer.

"I gotta find myself another blocker, else I'm screwed." Dreamer answered.

"But why? Why does it matter you find another blocker, you've already got a convoy."

Dreamer smiled. "I got ten gallons of moonshine in Stonewall's tank."

"You're shittin' me!"

Dreamer shook her head. "I ain't."

"Why does it have to be in the gas tank, though?"

"'Cause, it's the one place them bears are too dumb to look."

"Where d'you learn this stuff?"

"Some of it I pick up along the way, the other things I'm taught by my grandaddy, and the rest I learned from an old friend down in Georgia."

"I see."

They drove for a while before coming to a saloon. There was another truck stop there, and the parking lot was crawling with prostitutes. Dreamer hopped out of Thunder with great enthusiasm.

"Any of you nasty-ass cum dumpsters know where I can find myself a driver?" She asked.

Pitbull rolled out of the truck box and threw up. Pussycat joined Dreamer at her sighed. One of the prostitutes approached them, a lustful glare in her eyes.

"Gimme five minutes alone with blondie here, and I'll tell ya." The prostitute jeered.

She started towards Pussycat. Pussycat took a few steps back.

"No, no, hell, no." Pussycat said fearfully, taking cover behind Dreamer.

Dreamer stepped forward. "Hey hun, how about you find yourself some divorced, lonely oilman to fuck and I'll take my business elsewhere."

She took a roll of bills out of her pocket and fanned them underneath the prostitute's nose. She began to lead Pitbull and Pussycat away when the prostitute stopped them.

"Wait! I know a guy!" The prostitute called.

Dreamer turned around. "Oh?"

"I did some business for him a while back, said his name was Barracuda. I dunno much about him, only that he's an ex stock car driver lookin' for a gig."

"Great! Where can we find the perverted son of a bitch?"

The prostitute pointed to the saloon. "In there."

Dreamer tipped her hat. "Preeshaydit."

Dreamer, Pitbull, and Pussycat wandered into the saloon. She found that Pitbull was now wearing a torn army jacket instead of the dark t-shirt he'd been wearing before. She shrugged it off, and swaggered up to the bar, turning around and leaning her back against it.

"Can I help you?" The bartender asked conspicuously.

Dreamer turned around. "Why yes, actually, I'm lookin' for a man named Barracuda, heard of him?"

The bartender's eyes narrowed. "Who's askin'?"

Dreamer stuck her hand out for the man to shake. "Dreamer's the name, and bear huntin's the game!"

"Well if it's bears you're lookin' for, the station's right down the street." The bartender roared with laughter.

Dreamer scowled, and her hand shot upward, clasping the bartender's throat. "You listen here, boy, I gotta find myself a real Goddamn driver, or there's gonna be hell to pay."

The bartender swallowed hard and raised a shaking hand, pointing to a booth in a shady corner of the saloon. A man was sitting inside the booth, a glass of beer in one hand, hat pulled down low. Dreamer released him and nodded her thanks. She walked to the booth and sat down across from the man. Pussycat and Pitbull followed, standing off at a safe distance.

"Howdy." Dreamer greeted the man.

The man didn't look up. "You fuckin' lot lizards gotta learn to leave me the hell alone, I ain't interested in you dirty sluts."

"Hmph, if I was a prostitute, I'd definitely leave ya be."

The man looked up. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm the Dreamer. You wouldn't be the famous Barracuda now, would you?"

"You got him."

"Well, I'm lookin' for a leadfoot to run blocker for me, you interested?"

"Oh yeah? And what's in it for them?"

Dreamer began by talking with a fake lisp. "Eight thouthand dollarth. All you can drink moonshine, convoy protection, and a one-way ticket to Hotlanta."

"That so?" Barracuda took a sip of his beer. "Well, I say you can take that offer and shove it up your ass."

Dreamer shrugged. "Fine by me, more money and moonshine for me then I guess."

Barracuda sighed. "Listen, honey, if I could help ya, I would, trust me. The thing is… I got busted a while back, I'm on probation baby, sorry."

Dreamer nodded understandably and left. She met back up with Pussycat and Pitbull, and they walked across the bar to leave.

"Well, shit." Dreamer said defeatedly.

"It's alright, we'll find a driver eventually." Pussycat replied reassuringly.

"I sure fucking hope so."

Dreamer yelped as she was suddenly pulled backwards into a drunk's arms.

"Well look at this cute little thing!" The drunk exclaimed with delight.

"Get your Goddamn hands off me!" Dreamer hissed.

She struggled against the drunk's hold, but he only squeezed her tighter. Pitbull stepped forward.

"You heard the girl, let her go." Pitbull growled.

"Oh yeah? And what're you gonna do, loverboy? Call the cops? The po-po don't scare me." The drunk sneered.

Pitbull cracked his knuckles. "How about the United States Marine Corps?"

The drunk's smile faded, but he still refused to let Dreamer go.

"This's your last warning, turn her loose."

"No, mine."

Pitbull sighed. "Don't say I didn't warn ya."

Pitbull grabbed the drunk by the shirt, lifting him up. The drunk became distracted, and let go of Dreamer, who ran to Pussycat. He kicked Pitbull in the stomach, but the blow didn't affect the ex-marine. Pitbull drew his arm back, delivering a solid punch to the drunk's face, and sending him across the room. Another man stood up and punched Pitbull. Dreamer and Pussycat ran to his aid and were soon fighting more and more people. A heated bar fight soon broke out. About ten minutes passed before a shot rang out over the crowd. Everyone looked to see three policemen standing at the door.

"Nobody move, especially you truckers." The head officer growled.

He started moving through the crowd, zeroing in on Pitbull, Dreamer, and Pussycat. He smiled as he approached them.

"Well, well. I knew I'd find a couple of low-lives like you hangin' around this joint. So, what's the harm in droppin' by?" The head officer asked tauntingly.

None of them answered him.

The head officer turned to Pitbull. He looked him up and down. "You start this fight, boy?"

Pitbull didn't reply.

"What's wrong with you? Ya too dumb to speak, or what?"

Again, Pitbull stayed silent. The officer backhanded him across the face, before grabbing him by the throat and lifting him up.

"I asked you a Goddamn question, boy, now answer me! Did you start this fight?" The officer growled.

"I… I didn't do anythin' wrong, I was just stickin' up for a friend." Pitbull replied.

The officer set him down but didn't let go. Pitbull struggled against him, a small chain around his neck becoming exposed. The officer grabbed it, ripping it off. He turned it over in his free hand.

"U.S. Marines, huh? Man, Vietnam must've been a bitch." The officer jeered.

"You don't know… a damn thing." Pitbull spat.

"What? Did the Viet Cong hurt your feelin's or somethin'?"

Pitbull spat in the officer's face.

"Gah! Ohh… you'll pay for that you little shit."

The officer punched Pitbull in the mouth, before kneeing him in the stomach. Pitbull doubled over, the officer kicked the back of his knee, forcing him to the ground. He dropped Pitbull's dogtags onto the floor in front of him. Pitbull grabbed them, and pulled them towards him quickly; he wasn't about to let the officer get a chance to take them again. The officer waited a few seconds, before delivering a swift kick to Pitbull's side. He laughed maniacally.

"Get up, Marine. Where's your dignity, where's your self-respect?" The officer asked.

Pitbull just laid there. He didn't move, he didn't say anything.

The officer scoffed. "I figured." He turned to Pussycat and Dreamer. "Let that be a lesson to you two. Nobody, and I mean nobody, stands against Roy Smokey. I got one thing to say to you truckers: Everywhere you turn, everywhere you stop, everywhere you go, I'mma be birddoggin' your asses if I have ta follow ya to fuckin' China!"

Dreamer's eyes narrowed. "That so? Well, I got somethin' to say to you too, so you listen, and you listen good." Dreamer leaned in close and whispered in Smokey's ear. "I don't care how tough you think you are; nobody treats another human being like that, especially not a Vietnam veteran, so kiss my Wisconsin-grown ass.

Smokey nodded and turned to leave. He stopped short and turned back around. "Oh, one more thing, you see, when I catch ya and bring ya back home, you'll be the first one to gallows."

"Not if you can't catch me I won't."

Smokey nodded again and tipped his hat, before leading his posse of officers out the door.

Dreamer and Pussycat helped Pitbull up, walking him out of the saloon and back to the truck. His lip was busted open, and the back of his neck was bleeding a little from when Smokey had ripped his dogtags off. He held his side and limped while he walked. None of them talked the whole ride back to the truck stop. When they got there, Pitbull immediately left for his truck. Pussycat and Dreamer decided to give him a few moments to cool down before going to look for him. They found him sitting on top of his trailer, and climbed up to him, sitting down on either side of him.

"So, this your safe-place up here?" Dreamer asked.

"It was." Pitbull replied quietly.

"My apologies for intruding."

Pitbull gave her kind of a half-smile. He looked down and sighed. "I can tell what you're thinkin', so I might as well just go ahead and say it: I hate the pigs."

"Shit, who doesn't?"

Pitbull grew quiet for a moment, remembering something. "No, not like I do."

Dreamer's expression changed. "What… what d'you mean?"

Pitbull sighed. "I was… really little when it happened. Me and my parents were walkin' home one night. A couple of cops stopped us. There was an argument, I don't know what about, things got a bit heated." He drew in a shaky breath. "Damn hogs killed 'em both. Nobody did a damn thing about it, said my parents were common criminals and they got what was comin' to 'em." He shook his head and shrugged. "They wanted to put me in the system. I knew I wasn't about to let 'em stick my ass in some shitty foster-home, so I ran. I found myself stuck in the ghetto, a family took me in, and I grew up in an apartment in downtown Chicago. I got drafted when I was fucking eighteen, fought in Vietnam just so I could go back to living in that damn room. So, I sighed with some shitty congressman on the other side of the Mason-Dixon who's got me runnin' beer for 'im." He turned to Pussycat. "What about you? What kinda shitty life did you leave behind, Pussycat?"

"I ran away from home when I was thirteen, seemed like a good idea at the time. I never finished school; I grew up on the streets. I figured truck driving would be easy money." Pussycat explained.

"Why'd you run away? What happened?" Dreamer asked.

"My mom died when I was seven; dad turned into quite the abusive asshole. So, look at me, I'm eighteen years old, dumb as a rock, and I drive truck 'cause I'm too afraid to go home."

"Dreamer? Anything you'd like to share?" Pitbull asked.

"Can't say my past life was as excruciating as yours, but sure, I'll give it a shot. So, I grew up in a tiny town in Wisconsin. I worked my ass off but never got paid anything 'cause I was a kid. One day, I saw this beautiful, golden-orange Charger come up for sale in West Allis, a town close to Beer City. I worked even harder to save up my money for it, but it was never enough. In the end, my stepdad ended up helping me buy it. I put every last cent I owned into that car. I wanted to be a writer when I grew up, but I didn't have enough money for college. I became a truck driver in hopes of buying myself into some tuition, but I found somethin' I'm a bit better at--runnin' shine. I've spent the last two years of my life in a small town in Georgia runnin' shine for a man who was kind enough to take me under his wing."

Pitbull nodded, his gaze drifting down to Dreamer's left forearm. There was a large scar up by her elbow on the side of her arm. It was deep and dark. He touched it gingerly. "What's this from?"

Dreamer looked at her scar, her expression changed. "Oh, it's nothing."

"Well, it's obviously somethin'."

Dreamer rubbed her hand over the scar. "It was a mistake, something I never should've done, alright?"

Pussycat leaned forward to look her in the eye. "C'mon, open up a bit. That seems to be the main topic of conversation here, after all."

Dreamer sighed. "I'm always trying so hard to make other people happy, that I forget about myself. My feelings get bottled up until the bottle can't hold them anymore, and it breaks. I made a mistake, that's it."

"Story, please." Pitbull said.

Dreamer exhaled sharply. "My parents divorced when I was a baby. My dad remarried when I was seven, but he married a total bitch." Dreamer clenched her fists closed. "I suffered mental abuse from the likes of my stepmother. After my dad had divorced her, he was still struggling. I snapped, I'd had enough of him taking his anger out on me. So, I took my hunting knife, and I cut myself. I cut too deep on accident and had to wait until my dad put my little brother to bed before I could go to the bathroom to help myself. Only a select few know I did this to myself. I promised, though… I promised that no matter how bad it got in the future, I would never cut myself intentionally again. And I haven't."

They were all quiet for a moment.

Pitbull broke the silence. "I've had nights like that before.���

"'Cause of the war?" Dreamer asked.

Pitbull nodded. "I had the highest kill-count in my group. They used to call me Mad-Dog, hence the name Pitbull. I was a real psycho back then. Part of the reason I didn't fight back against Smokey is because I was afraid I could snap again. I didn't want blood on my hands."

"Guess we've got a real strange way of doin' things, all three of us."

Pussycat and Pitbull both nodded.

"Are you… any good at writing?" Pussycat asked.

"Hells yes. I love doing it, it's fun for me. I started writing a book series in seventh grade, I'm still in the process of finishing it." Dreamer explained.

"Damn… think I might have to read it sometime." Pitbull remarked.

"I don't think it'd be suitable for a hardass like you."

Pitbull smiled.

"I thought like you seemed like the literate type." Pussycat commented.

"Yeah, well, look where it got me." Dreamer replied.

Pitbull cleared his throat. "Ah, speakin' of types, you're really sure you ain't an Injun?"

Dreamer looked out over the truck stop. "Pitbull, if I'm bein' completely honest with you, I have no fucking idea."

Just then, a loud whistle caught the truckers' attention.

"Attention! Y'all might wanna come and listen to this!" Psycho called out.

Psycho was sitting in his car in the middle of the truck stop. He had a barrel of fire in front of him and a police scanner set up on the truck of the car.

Ten truckers immediately gathered around their friend and leader.

"Hey man, what's goin' on?" Cooler asked.

"I dunno, but it sounds serious." Sodbuster replied.

Cooler had a blunt hanging from his mouth, and Sodbuster had a beer in one hand.

"Shut up and listen, you two!" Ladies' Man hissed.

Psycho turned the volume up on the scanner.

"Affirmative, Unit Twenty-three en route." A voice announced.

"Convoy of trucks stopped at a rest area, clear to engage?" A different voice asked.

"Affirmative, but spare Pussycat, Pitbull, and Dreamer, I want them alive." Smokey replied.

"Ten-four."

"Shit." Lumberjack growled.

"What're we gonna do now?" Pussycat asked.

"Yeah, we can't just sit here, we gotta move." Cattleman chimed in.

"These damn pigs." Pitbull growled.

"They'll be sure to find us on the open highway, we gotta find a different way outta Texas." Shit remarked.

"We can take the valley. There's an old road at the bottom, I'm sure it'll take us right across the state line." Hot Grandpa explained.

"But what about the descent? It's way too steep for an eighteen-wheeler to go down." Dreamer argued.

The police scanner went off again.

"I'm willin' to take any risk, let's just get outta here!" Psycho exclaimed.

"I guess we'll just have to start smokin' some brakes then, won't we?" Sodbuster said with a smile.

"Let's make it happen, people, come on!" Lumberjack ordered.

Everyone disbanded to their trucks. Pitbull, Hot Grandpa, Pussycat, and Dreamer reload her truck. She's ready to go soon after. They all resume their original positions, Psycho in the lead, and Hot Grandpa at the back door. They took up their conversation over the CB.

"Everybody ready?" Psycho asked them.

"Let's haul ass!" Cooler exclaimed.

The truckers tore out of the rest area like bats out of Hell. Nine screaming trucks, a dually pick-up pulling a John Deere on a gooseneck, and a peculiar Cadillac up front.

Psycho's Cadillac was nothing special, with its switched-out parts and ragged look. The headlights were different, it had two on the left and one on the right. The engine ran like a song and the back end only had one tailfin.

The truckers moved swiftly in and out of traffic, police cruisers wailing behind them. Psycho took a sharp turn down a roughly paved pathway to which the trucks barely fit. As the tail end of Hot Grandpa's rig disappeared down the grade, the police cruisers whizzed past, unknowingly losing their targets. The angry growl of Smokey's voice could be heard over the CB.

"Where the hell are they? Where'd they go?" Smokey shouted.

The truckers laughed and began chanting.

"Roll, eighteen-wheelers, roll." Psycho chanted.

"Them bears can't catch us." Hot Grandpa chimed in.

"Roll, eighteen-wheelers, roll."

"You ain't gonna find us." Sodbuster taunted.

"Roll, eighteen-wheelers, roll."

"Don't let my tail hit your fat ass on the way out." Dreamer growled.

"Roll, eighteen-wheelers, roll."