Prompt: “A Writer’s Book of Days” – Judy Reeves. Prompt of June 30: Driving through fog.
They called it Dragon’s Breath where his family came from. Tony Chong rubbed his eyes with his free hand, the other still on the steering wheel. The truck rumbled under him, an 18-wheeler full of frozen chickens, heading for the market in Sharkhead, and avoiding the dockworkers and other pit-diggers. He had to get to the first market at six, which was why he was on the road at 5 a.m.
The fog rolled off the sea, obscuring his vision, the fog called Dragon’s Breath. Deep and dark, this fog was nearly ominous, coming to present him with some dreams he wouldn’t like – then he saw the black dog.
Chong couldn’t swerve, so slammed on the breaks. The truck lurched forward, its flat-nosed cab almost tipping straight over, and the trailer squealed and bounced as it swerved to the left and kept on going, wrapping around his left hand side. It kept right on going, past the corner of his eye, and starting to line up with the cab. If it didn’t stop, it would whip him around, and there wouldn’t be a damn thing he could do about it.
It bounced to a stop, just before it would start to swing him around to that he would be facing any oncoming traffic. The cab wavered a little. Chong shut off the engine and took a few deep breaths. Through the effort of calming, he could hear the spits of electrical sparks probably coming out from the cab to the space in between the cab and trailer. No doubt the refrigerator Suzie had disconnected. Shaking, he opened the door.
He slowly let himself down to the ground. He leaned against the door, taking deep breaths of the Dragon’s Breath infused air. Then he heard something moving, something under the truck. He tipped his head and shoulders down to look underneath.
He thought he could see something moving beneath, heard him grunting as he was pulling on something with his hand. The man stopped, thinking, and seeing Chong. He took a deep breath and said, “Mind pulling back about a foot?”
Chong bolted back into the truck and started it up. He glanced in his rear view and saw that his eyes were wide with terror. He moved the truck a little bit back, making the connection in the back groan in protest and the trailer shudder, trying to straighten out.
He jumped back out of the cab and saw the man try to snake out from under the cab. Chong jumped down and ran to the front, grabbing the man by the shoulders of his jacket and pulling him out. He hissed in pain, and Chong dropped him. He looked behind him to see a motorcycle, its rear wheel bent sideways. The man grunted, and Chong saw that the man’s arm looked crushed.
The man looked over. “Aw, my fuckin’ bike!” He pushed himself further past the truck. Chong saw the man’s side had looked caved in and holes in his shirt. The shirt was originally blue, but was stained crimson with blood. Chong watched as the man slowly moved his crushed arm so it was away from him. The man closed his eyes.
Chong could hear snaps and crunches as bones reshaped themselves. The man bit his lip hard and a whimper escaped. Chong backed up, watching as the flattened arm gained thickness in the leather coat, his shoulder evening out to match the other shoulder, broad and strong.
The man breathed heavily, sweat pouring from his head. The side of the man’s head also was covered in blood, but he didn’t look wounded. Eventually, the man moved his crushed arm and used it to pull himself clear of the truck. He looked at the motorcycle and sighed. “Goddammit.”
Chong said nothing, heading near his truck. The man climbed to his feet, using the grill of the truck to pull himself up by one hand. He rolled his priorly-crushed shoulder, and turned his arm, the crack and crunch of bones echoing in the morning air. He clenched his hand into a fist, and Chong watched the man wince, then let out a breath.
“Now, then…” He turned slowly to face Chong. “Did you even fucking see me?”
“I didn’t see anything through this fog!” Chong said, his voice barely holding back terror. The man looked out into the fog still rolling in, thick as ever.
“Yeah, I suppose so.” He rolled both shoulders now, bones popping. He peered at the jackknifed truck. “Shit, man, are you okay?”
Chong looked back. “Yeah, I just have to get a tow.”
“To straighten it out.” He went in his pocket and pulled his hand away full of wet plastic and metal, letting it fall to the ground. “Can I use your phone?”
“Let me call AAA first.”
The man waited while Chong got his tow. The man, meanwhile, lifted his bike gingerly and was examining it. Chong examined the Suzies and frowned at how they were torn out of their connections. He climbed out from the connecting area, noting that it had been bent at an awkward angle. The man had gone from where he left him, but he saw him halfway up the road, wheeling his bike away.
Words: 891.