by Hope Sullivan McMickle
Copyright 2008 Hope Sullivan McMickle
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The exit ramp beckoned to him – a bright oasis of light in the midnight blackness of Interstate 70 – and so he took it. He jerked the steering wheel hard to the right and veered across two empty lanes, careening off the Interstate at more than 65 miles an hour. Clyde savored the rush of adrenaline and squinted at the rapidly approaching intersection. He readied his foot above the brake and shoved down the clutch. The truck’s momentum carried it forward; he was running on fumes, anyway. Clyde wanted to be ready for the stop sign. He’d missed them before, most recently near Fort Collins, when he’d stopped for gas and a breakfast of frozen burritos. Bonnie gazed dispassionately out the window, her head turned away from him. Clyde could see her opaque eyes reflected in the glass.