Load King

Load King

The early morning traffic was slower than usual, due to the line of dump trucks, some eight or nine in total. They crept from the entrance ramp onto the highway. On the side of each truck were the words "Load King.

I wedged my vehicle amongst the middle of the procession. The long slow hill that lay before us prevented me from passing safely and the speeding commuters in the faster lanes were not giving an inch. The morning radio talk show was drowned by the droning of the diesel engines. I resigned myself to remain tucked amongst the behemoths.

Another car swerved from the faster lane of traffic and tucked itself behind me within the row of slow moving trucks. I felt more secure knowing I would not be the only victim of the crushing metal train if one decided to jack-knife.

The row of trucks turned from the highway at the exact spot I needed to exit. Maintaining my grip on the steering wheel, I snuggled my car closely behind the hauler. The tail gate of this beast flapped with each bump encountered. The bed was covered with a tarpaulin and I was unable to determine what the contents may be. Making a left hand turn, the driver behind me became impatient and sped from the parade into oncoming traffic. The truck ahead of me reacted and crossed the median with a bound. Debris fell from the loose gate onto my hood.

The severed arm of an infant.