Red Dirt and Cold Steel
Running for her life, Heather’s past is catching up fast, and her only hope might be her biggest danger yet.
Welcome back to The Devil’s Road, where vengeance runs as thick as blood through the veins of Sequoyah County. In Issue #20, Heather finds herself on the run, forced to navigate a brutal game of cat and mouse as the net tightens around her—and those she’d risk everything to protect.
If you missed yesterday’s post, can catch up on the Chapter 5 Digest.
Now, settle in, my Faithful Ramblers, for Chapter 6, Issue 1 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.
Heather’s feet pound into the red dirt clay of the trash-strewn hillside behind the Old 64 Truck Stop. She has to keep moving, faster than her lungs can handle. Her heartbeat drums in her ears, her breath is short and tight, but she can’t slow down. Madeline—her Madeline— has just taken off for Tulsa with a duffel bag full of crystal meth riding shotgun and a Sequoyah County Sheriff’s cruiser tailing close behind. Today was about to go from bad to worse.
At the bottom of the hill, Heather reaches the edge of the gravel lot where semis idle in the rising morning sunshine. She runs between two of them, making a beeline for the payphone on the back wall of the truck stop. Madeline had bought a cell phone a month back, and Heather had laughed, calling it a waste of money. Who needs to be that connected all the time? Now, it’s the only link she has to warn her that there is danger on her tail.
The gravel gives way to asphalt as she nears the diesel pumps. She skids to a stop as she gets to the phone, shoving her hands into the pockets of her cutoff shorts, pulling out a few loose coins. She cradles the receiver between her shoulder and ear as she feeds the money into the payphone’s slot with shaky fingers.
Two dimes and a nickel slide down into the phone’s guts and jingle as they land in the pile of other coins. She steadies her hands to dial Madeline’s number, taking a couple of deep gulps of air, trying to slow her pounding heart. She doesn’t want to sound too panicked when Madeline picks up.
The phone rings through the earpiece. It rings a second time, and then a third. What if Madeline doesn’t pick up, or maybe she’s already been pulled over? The drugs sitting in the passenger seat are their only hope to escape this sinkhole of a life. Madeline’s got to answer.
“Come on baby, hear it ring,” Heather whispers into the receiver.
“Hello,” Madeline’s voice comes through, calm, the faint sound of radio music in the background. She’s safe. Well, at least for the moment.
Heather opens her mouth to warn Madeline, but a force slams her against the back wall of the truck stop. The receiver slips from her hand, dangling from the cord. A heavy body presses against her from behind, one hand shoving her head forward to prevent her from turning. Another hand siezes her right wrist, twisting her arm behind her back, pinning her hard against the wall. Cold metal snaps over her wrist—handcuffs.
“Gotta sneak up on me, you bitch?” Heather snarls, assuming it’s Sheriff Samantha Hart, who’d been watching her from across the highway. She spits out, “Been getting your rocks off watching me every morning, and now you gotta come get yourself a feel?” If she’s going to jail for life, which she most certainly will if they find those drugs, she might as well earn every day of it. She readies herself for a fight.
But when Heather’s spun around and shoved back against the wall, it’s not Hart. It’s worse. It’s the man from yesterday, the man with the gun, the one who’d given her a light right before she found the drugs. Were they his?
Moses Blackrock reaches into his jacket, pulls out his badge, and flashes it in her face. His expression is cold unreadable.
“I take it from the look on your face, you remember me,” Moses says, slipping his badge back in his pocket. “And, you don’t look a bit surprised to see me.”
Moses searches Heather, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and the rest of her loose change, tossing it on the sidewalk. “I’m looking for some answers, and you’re going to help me.”
“Got a funny way of asking for help,” Heather snaps back.
“Look, I got a couple of questions I need answered, and I think you might be able to help. But, you keep giving me lip, and I’ll try a different method. Got it?” Moses says as he gets a little closer, using his size to intimidate her.
“Yeah, you look like the type that likes to slap around little girls,” Heather says a second before she receives a fist as hard as a cinder block to the ribs. Her breath catches as her lungs collapse. The world starts to dim and she slides down the wall and lands flat on the sidewalk. She struggles to pull in air, but her lungs aren’t listening to the request.
“Now do have your attention?” Moses asks as he sits her upright, waiting for her to catch her breath. He watches as her eyes lids begin to droop and close. She’s going to pass out. He slaps her in the face. “Hey!” he snaps.
Heather’s eyes flutter open, the world still spinning, and she starts to laugh, though the pain in her side stifles it. Moses smiles. She’s a tough cookie. He gave her a little bit of his weight to get her attention, but now she’s just laughing at him.
“What, you want another one?” Moses asks, looking down as Heather winces in pain.
A voice from behind Moses cuts in, calm but firm,“Put your hands behind your head and interlace your fingers.”
Heather looks up, a weak smile stretching across her face, “Never thought I’d be so damn happy to see a cop.” She spits the saliva building up in her mouth on Moses polished black loafers.
Sheriff Samantha Hart stands behind Moses with her gun drawn and pointing at his head. Her voice doesn’t waiver. “I said put your hands behind your head and interlace your fingers.”
Moses complies with Sam’s request. “You make a habit of beatin’ up on sex workers agent Blackrock?” Sam asks.
“What the fuck?” Heather protests.
“Keep your mouth shut,” Sam demands coolly. With the gun still aimed at Moses, Sam reaches inside his jacket and pulls his service revolver free. She steps back and holsters her own weapon.
“Can I put my hands down now, Sheriff?” Moses asks.
Sam clicks the release on the side of the weapon releasing the clip, pulls back the slide and clears the chambered round from the gun then tosses it back at Moses. He snatches it from the air and puts it back in his holster.
“So now what?” Moses asks.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Sam responds curtly.
Moses sighs, he doesn’t like explaining himself, especially when he’s just compounding one lie on top of another. “I told you I was working a case. She’s part of the case.”
“I been watching this one for over a month, and seen no evidence of using or dealing. Pretty rare given her daily occupation,” Sam counters.
“Look, I don’t know what ya’ll are talking about, but I’m not…” Heather starts, but Sam cuts her off with a look.
“Agent Blackrock, you may continue,” Sam offers.
“You’re really enjoying this aren’t you?” Moses says with a grin, but get’s nothing in return from Sam. “It was your idea to come check this place out, in case your forgot. Turns out to have been a good lead and I think this one here on the ground might of seen something. So, I was questioning her.”
“I didn’t hear any questions as I was walking up, just a sucker punch to the ribs,” Sam says as she motions for Heather to take her feet.
Sam unlocks her handcuffs. Heather rubs her wrists, looking wearily back and forth between the two officers. She does her best to keep a look of anger and defiance on her face, but inside all she can think about is getting back to her Madeline. Sam gives her a nod, signaling for Heather to take a hike.
Heather doesn’t need to be told twice. She tosses Moses handcuffs at his feet and and takes off around the side of the building, leaving Sam and Moses alone.
“Now, you wanna explain to me why you’re beating information out of a woman half your size, Agent?” Sam asks.
Moses scoffs at the question, running his hand over his stubbled chin. How much can he say without implicating himself?
“I got word that the product was left here by the mule to be picked up by a local dealer. It was in a small duffle. I figured since she works the lot, she probably saw somebody with it, and could point me in the right direction.”
Sam taps the clip from Moses’s gun in her hand, thinking. Something’s not adding up here, but standing in the rising morning sun arguing with a federal agent wasn’t going to do her or him any good. Madeline was carrying a duffle with her when she left Heather’s trailer this morning. Was it the same one? That would be a hell of coincidence. She’s also got to get Heather support. Freeing her today should go a good way towards that goal. With her help, Sam can get access to the surveillance tapes in the truck stop. If Heather’s arrested for trafficking, that’ll slow down her own case.
“Know anywhere we can get a drink?” Sam asks.
“At nine in the morning?” Moses says with a smile.
Sam shrugs at the question. Moses nods and says, “Sure, I know a place.”
Sam tosses the clip to Moses, her eyes never leaving his. “Good. Then you can explain to me what it is you are looking for. Maybe if I scratch your back, you can scratch mine.”
Moses slips the clip back into his gun, his gaze hardening. “I’ve got my case, Hart. Yours is yours, unless you’re looking to get tangled up in something bigger than you can handle.”
Sam smirks, “Oh, I can handle plenty. But try to push your weight around Sequoyah County again, and we’ll see just how big your think you are.”
Moses pauses, a flicker of something crosses his face. Respect? Admiration? Finally he nods. “Well then, let’s go have us a talk, Sheriff. Looks like we may be in this one together, whether we like it or not.”
Sam watches as he walks to his car, a half-smile playing across her mouth. Maybe Moses Blackrock thought he had the upper hand. But in the game she was playing, she’d seen men like him come and go. She knew this road better than he ever would, and she’d be damned if she was going to let a fed with a badge and a bad attitude slow her down.
Sam slips into her cruiser and picks up the receiver, “Bandy this is Sam, over.”
“Sheriff Bandy Williamson at your service, over,” Bandy answers.
“You still on that hatchback, over,” Sam asks.
“Yes sir, indeedy,” Bandy chirps back.
“Good, keep your distance, but don’t let her get out of sight. Hart, over and out,” Sam finishes as she hangs up the receiver. She cranks the engine, the rumble of the cruiser echoing across the mostly empty lot. She grips the steering wheel tightly. The path she was on was twisting in front her, pulling her towards some unforeseen ending. Whatever came next, she’d be ready.
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 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.