In the Path of the Storm
As thunder roars and shadows close in, one wrong turn could be her last
Welcome back to The Devil’s Road, where vengeance runs as thick as blood through the veins of Sequoyah County. In Issue #23, the final installment of Part 1, Sheriff Hart and Agent Blackrock pursue Madeline through storm-choked highways. They’re closing in, but neither realizes that one wrong step could set off a chain reaction no one’s prepared to face.
If you missed yesterday’s post, can catch up on Issue #22: Last Stop at the Lone Wolf.
Now, settle in, my Faithful Ramblers, for Chapter 6, Issue 4 of The Devil’s Road.
In 2004 an Oklahoma Bureau of Investigations analyst discovered a crime pattern along the Interstate 40 corridor between Oklahoma and Mississippi. Subsequently, The Federal Bureau of Investigations (F.B.I.) started the Highway Serial Killings Initiative. They discovered over 500 bodies of women along the interstate highway system with more than 200 potential suspects, a trail of bloodshed that coats the heartland. The Devil’s Road is a serialized novel based on this horrific discovery.
A darkening horizon on the Oklahoma plains might promise life-giving rain for farmers, but it can just as easily hide a killer. Most days, you can have one without the other, but today, the odds are not in favor of those traveling the sun-baked highways. Thunder rumbles across the open landscape, and a small hatchback rolls down the lonely blacktop, heading toward a growing wall of black clouds.
All day, the radio has warned travelers about the impending storm, but for Madeline, there’s no turning back. The duffle bag of crystal meth in the passenger seat can’t survive another night in her home. Heather wouldn’t make it through. Few things are as ravenous as an addict’s hunger, no matter how long they’ve been clean.
The music on the radio cuts off, replaced by three long emergency broadcast beeps. “Muskogee County, Sequoyah County, including the cities of Oklahoma City and Fort Smith, Arkansas, are under a tornado watch until 6:15 PM Central Daylight Time. Weather Service Doppler radar indicates a severe thunderstorm capable of producing a tornado, with winds in excess of seventy-five miles per hour.”
Madeline turns down the radio before the next series of beeps blare over her speakers. She leans forward, looking upward at the blanket of clouds overhead, watching for funnel clouds. Raindrops begin to patter on the windshield, and she flips on the wipers. She grew up around storms like this, but the clouds ahead show no sign of letting her off easy.
Five miles behind, sitting at the Sequoyah County line, Bandy Williamson takes a bite from the last jelly donut he brought along for breakfast. This one’s cherry, his favorite. His cruiser sits under an overpass as he watches the curtain of rain close in on him.
Static crackles over Bandy’s police radio. “Three-twelve, this is seven-four-seven. Where are you, Bandy? Over.” Sheriff Samantha Hart’s voice comes through the small speaker. Bandy quickly shoves the last third of the sweet treat in his mouth, chewing as he picks up his receiver to answer.
“Mmph—seven-four-seven, this is three-twelve, sittin’ at the county line, watching this gully washer creeping up on my front side. Over,” Bandy mumbles through a mouthful of jelly.
“And where’s that hatchback? Over,” Sam asks.
“Hell if I know,” Bandy chokes out, swallowing the last bite. “Followed her up 351 to the edge of my jurisdiction and pulled over to watch the storm. Over.”
Hart sits in the parking lot of the Lone Wolf Casino and Hotel with FBI Agent Moses Blackrock. Blackrock lowers his head in disappointment, hearing that Bandy abandoned what might be their only hope to recover the bag of product. Sam should have known Bandy wouldn’t keep up the tail on his own. Today might be the day he breaks protocol.
“Bandy, how far along do you think she got since you pulled back? Over,” Sam asks.
Bandy checks his watch and does a quick calculation. “Not more than about ten miles, I’d guess, given the condition of the roads. Over.”
Sam glances at Moses. “Want him to pursue?”
“What do you think?” Moses snaps.
“If he gets that bag, I’ll hand it over as soon as I see paperwork with a federal logo. You promised to federalize my case, and I don’t intend to be screwed over,” Sam says, holding Moses’s gaze. He gives her a reluctant nod.
Sam clicks the receiver button. “Kick that cruiser into high gear and get back on her tail. If she heads into town, follow her.” Moses gives her a wave as he jogs to his car. “Agent Blackrock is also in pursuit, but you listen to me, Bandy,” Sam’s tone drops, her voice low and firm. “You don’t let him get his hands on that duffle. If you can, I need you to take it from her. Do you understand? Over.”
Bandy’s already pulling onto the blacktop as he considers Sam’s request. “Sam, I ain’t so sure about this. I mean, we’re way outta our league, and he’s a Fed. Not to mention, he’s about twice my size.”
Sam knows it’s a tough ask, but she can’t let Moses get that bag first. “What’s visibility like? Over,” Sam asks.
“Pretty dismal. Maybe three hundred feet at best, and the rain’s really coming down,” Bandy replies, turning his wipers to max.
“Pull her over,” Sam instructs. “She won’t know the difference. Over.”
Bandy considers. His cruiser could be disguised well enough in this rain, and only his badge and patch might give him away. Then it hits him.
He barks back into his mic, “Got a slicker in the trunk! I’ll put that on so she won’t see the county logo. I got this, Sam. Don’t you worry. Bandy, out.” Bandy hangs up the receiver, a grin stretching across his face. “Magnum P.I., eat your heart out.” He punches the accelerator, testing his tires’ grip.
Madeline’s slowed her speed to a crawl. Pings and pops echo around the car as pea-sized hail pelts her windshield. Lightning streaks across the clouds like a spiderweb, thunder crashing behind. She passes under a bridge and brings the car to a full stop, looking up into the girders, debating whether to wait it out. She grabs her cell phone from the passenger seat. She has five missed calls from an unknown number. She flips the phone open and dials back.
On the first ring, Heather answers. “Maddy?” Heather’s voice crackles through on the other end.
“Yeah. Hey, where are you…” Madeline begins, but static fills the line.
“Cops! The cops are following you!” Heather finally breaks through.
Madeline spins in her seat, looking behind her. With visibility worsening, she might be feet from an F-5 tornado and wouldn’t know. No reason to chance it. She drops the car back into drive, accelerating into the storm.
“What happened? Are you okay?” Madeline shouts into the phone, hoping her volume might cut through the static.
“I’m … when you get … Maddy? Did you hear … DON’T TURN AROUND!” Heather’s voice manages before the line cuts dead.
Madeline throws the phone onto the passenger seat. She leans down, grabbing the red-handled duffle from the floorboard. The car veers over the yellow line as she stretches. Her fingers close around the straps as she feels the tires start to vibrate.
She looks up just in time to jerk the wheel back, narrowly avoiding the embankment. The car hydroplanes briefly before she regains control.
“Shit!”
Madeline checks her rearview mirror, watching the bridge vanish into the wall of rain. She flips the radio back on, hoping for updates. Lightning dances inside the dark clouds overhead, illuminating the storm in flashes.
She leans forward again, watching for funnel clouds. Her front tire drifts over the center line as she looks up. A break in Brooks & Dunn’s “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” crackles through the speakers, and she turns up the volume, still scanning for a tornado.
Headlights flash over Madeline’s face, and her whole body seizes as a semi’s horn blares. She jerks the wheel hard to the right, missing the truck but sending her hatchback into a spin. She wrestles with the steering wheel, finally catching traction, only to overcorrect. The car slides off the road, down an embankment, and into a storm drain. The front end slams into the muddy bank, and Madeline’s head smacks the steering wheel.
The car sits nose-down in the drainage ditch. Rain fills the ditch, water seeping in around her ankles. Madeline slumps unconscious, a thin trickle of blood trailing down her nose and onto her lap.
Meanwhile, Bandy’s cruiser slices through the rain. His siren blares, and the red and blue lights cast a funhouse glow through the storm. Eyes narrowed, hands tight on the wheel, Bandy scans the road ahead for the hatchback.
As he roars past a semi pulled over on the opposite shoulder, he misses the blue car, wrecked twenty feet off the road. He’ll be back, but by then, it’ll be too late.
Madeline bolts upright, gasping. Tammy Wynette belts out “Stand by Your Man” at full volume through the damaged, tinny speakers. She reaches for the volume knob, but it’s jammed. Blood drips into her lap.
Her hair wrap slips, and red hair falls around her shoulders as she dabs at the cut on her nose. She stares into the rearview, relieved it’s only a small cut. Water covers her ankles. She unbuckles her seatbelt, sliding down into the footwell, and grabs the duffle bag floating beside her. Her phone is nowhere to be found, but there’s no time to search. She jerks on the door handle, pushing it open, but the mud wedges it tight, opening only a crack.
Leaning to the passenger side, she pulls on that door handle. It swings open. Thank God. Madeline crawls into the mud, shakily climbing to her feet. She digs her toes into the hillside, fingers clawing into the muck as she pulls herself toward the road.
When she reaches the asphalt, she rolls onto her back. Rain pours down, fat and unrelenting, mingling with the blood and mud that streaks her face. She sees the dull flash of yellow lights in the distance. It’s the semi.
“Hey! Hey, I need some help!” she calls out, pushing herself up.
She stumbles toward the truck, grateful for what might be a reprieve from the storm. Gripping the side of the trailer, she limps along toward the cab, her right leg numb and useless. She pounds on the door. “Hey! You okay in there?”
She grabs the rail and hauls herself up, pulling the handle. The door swings open to reveal an empty cab. She climbs in anyway, grateful for the warmth and dry air. Closing the door behind her, she sinks into the driver’s seat, using her wet wrap to dry her face and hair. As she catches her breath, she spots a photo on the dash—two adults and a child in front of a modest home, their faces beaming. A happy day, it seems. A better day than hers.
Madeline sets the duffle in her lap and begins to tug on the zipper. But something feels off. She stops, looking around the cab, then out each window. She unzips the bag slightly, glancing inside to see the stash still intact, though a little waterlogged. She zips it up quickly and tries to settle in, finally warming up.
A clap of thunder shakes the cab as lightning illuminates the world beyond the windshield. She reclines slightly, exhaling in relief. But as she shifts back, her fingers brush something wedged between the seat and center console. It’s a wallet, worn pink leather—a strange sight among the truck’s dark leather and metal.
Her wet fingers slip off the latch as she tries to unbutton and open the wallet. She rubs them against her jeans and tries again. This time the latch lets go and the wallet falls open. There’s a driver’s license in a windowed pocket. The woman’s picture on the license looks familiar, but the name doesn’t ring a bell for Madeline. She fishes the license out and holds it up in the light.
A pair of dark eyes look back at Madeline. The woman’s face resembles so many other faces found here in the middle of the country. Her skin looks stretched and prematurely aged hanging from her hallowed cheeks. The gaunt diminished jaw line and all the rest show clear signs of drug use. The woman is smiling, but Madeline knows why she’s not showing her teeth. Another bolt of lighting cracks across the sky and thunder rolls loud enough to shake the cab.
Then it hits her. The autopsy photo from last night. The one that crazy sheriff was waving around at Heather.
A creak echoes from the back of the cab.
Madeline’s heart skips. She whips around toward the curtain separating the seats from the sleeping area. “Hey… somebody back there?” Her voice trembles, barely a whisper. She slides the license back into the wallet and gently closes the clasp, but the click sounds loud in the silence. She stashes it between the seat and console.
With one hand on the passenger door’s handle, Madeline reaches forward and pulls at the fabric to peek behind the curtain. It’s dark. She can’t see anything, but she can hear something … breathing.
A flash of light pops in her eyes, making her pupil constrict and ghostly orbs of color float in her vision. There’s a mechanical whir from the darkness as hidden machine within grinds through its work. Madeline pulls on the handle and falls backwards through the open door landing hard on the asphalt in the rain. A high-pitched shrill of laughter erupts from within the cab of the truck.
Scrambling backward, Madeline watches as a thick arm reaches out and calmly shuts the passenger door. She staggers to her feet, heart pounding, and looks back to realize she’s left the duffle in the cab.
“Shit!” she mutters, slumping against the back of the truck. She peeks under the trailer, spotting the man’s boots landing in a puddle as he jumps down, duffle in hand.
“Here, little chicky, chicky, chicky… you forgot something,” he calls, his voice taunting, cruel.
Madeline turns and slides down the embankment, slipping into the ditch as she makes a desperate run for her car. Her right leg is completely numb, her body refusing to obey. She hears his laughter drifting through the rain as he closes in.
“You take a mighty fine photo, little chick-a-dee,” his voice drifts over her, sickening and playful.
Madeline crawls through the mud, her body dragging her down. She tries to stand, her numb foot slipping around like a phantom disconnected limb. Every time she gets a bit of leverage the wind whips through tossing her back to the ground, and then it stops. There’s a sudden stillness, the rain slows to a trickle and the hail has abated.
Madeline’s been through enough tornados to know that it only gets worse whenever it gets quiet. As the air clears up she can see further into the field ahead of her. Her car is only another fifty feet further. She checks behind her, toward the semi, but the driver’s nowhere to be seen. She presses herself forward. The mobile phone’s somewhere inside that car. She puts her head and down and presses forward.
The driver’s in mid-air when Madeline sees his reflection in the water. He lands hard over the top of her, shoving her face down into the muddy ditch. Her nose and mouth fill with oily water and mud instantly sealing her nose shut as she sucks in deeper, trying to breathe. He puts a knee in her back, shoving her whole body now into the muck like he’s trying to bury her without having to dig a hole. Madeline tries to push herself up. She tries to squirm free. Every effort to make a sound or breathe just allows more mud and water to fill her throat. It’s in her lungs now. She coughs it back up, turning her head to the side to get a sip of air. That’s when the wooden club comes down and everything goes dark.
The driver stands over his lucky find, rubbing his hands together in the rain to wash off the dirt and mud. He rolls Madeline over and crawls on top of her. He sticks a finger in her mouth and clears it of the debris. He leans in, putting his ear near her mouth and hears a slight wheeze.
A toothy grin stretches across his face. She’s alive, at least for now.
If this week’s issue got your blood pumping, refer a fellow traveler to join the ride and unlock some devilishly good rewards!
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REFER 2 FRIENDS: Unlock 1 month of The Devil’s Road for free—no strings attached.
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REFER 10 FRIENDS: Score 6 months free, along with a signed, mailed copy of The Devil’s Road pilot screenplay—your own piece of the story, right in your hands.With Halloween just around the corner, I couldn’t think of a better time to bring you, my Faithful Rambler, to the end of Part 1 of The Devil’s Road. Now six chapters in, I want to offer a refresher for any New Witnesses to the trail of bloodshed left behind by our enigmatic Driver. His identity remains a mystery—for now—but Part 2 may finally bring the truth to light.
