Road Rage E-Book

Robert Jeschonek

• Herausgeber: Pie Press
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Pray you never see Walter Haskell’s headlights in your rear-view mirror. This road-raging vigilante roars up and down the highway, burning rubber as he guns for reckless drivers with his fast and furious moves. Walter plays for keeps in his war to make the roads safe—and redeem himself for a terrible accident that totaled his life. But one night, the road warrior becomes a moving target, as the actual highway comes to life and strikes back. It's the ultimate case of road rage as the haunted pavement turns against Walter, racing him through a nightmare journey where the final exit is Hell itself. Don't miss this edgy, exciting, and surprising horror thriller in the tradition of Stephen King. It’s the latest story from award-winning storyteller Robert Jeschonek, a master of unique and unexpected horror that packs a punch.

Leseprobe

ROAD RAGE

A HORROR STORY

ROBERT JESCHONEK

CONTENTS

Also by Robert Jeschonek

Road Rage

About the Author

Special Preview: Bloodliner

ROAD RAGE

Copyright © 2023 by Robert Jeschonek

www.bobscribe.com

Cover Art Copyright © 2023 by Ben Baldwin

www.benbaldwin.co.uk

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved by the author.

Published by Blastoff Books

An Imprint of Pie Press Publishing

411 Chancellor Street

Johnstown, Pennsylvania 15904

www.piepresspublishing.com

ALSO BY ROBERT JESCHONEK

Bloodliner

Daddy’s Little Girl

Diary of a Maggot

Dionysus Dying

ROAD RAGE

As soon as the two-lane road opened up into four lanes, Walter Haskell swung his mammoth Dodge SUV out from behind the Honda compact he’d been chasing and jammed the accelerator to the floor.

“All right, you son of a bitch,” said Walter as the Dodge bolted ahead of the Honda. “See how you like it.”

Heart pounding, Walter pitched the SUV back into the right lane in front of the Honda and immediately slowed down. The Dodge dropped from seventy miles an hour to sixty, then fifty...and kept slowing.

When the Dodge hit forty-five, the hotheaded ballcap-wearing kid at the wheel of the Honda tried to dart into the left lane and get past Walter...but Walter wouldn’t let him. Every time the kid slipped left, Walter swerved in front of him, cutting off his escape. When the kid veered right, Walter followed and intercepted him there, too.

In his rear-view mirror, Walter could see the pissed-off jerk screaming and cursing and making obscene gestures. It made Walter feel like a trillion bucks.

Justice was served...Walter’s version of it, anyway. He’d seen the kid tormenting an elderly couple in an Oldsmobile, first tailgating them, then passing on the double yellow and trapping them in a snail’s pace crawl for five miles or so. The couple had finally pulled over, defeated, and the kid had roared away into the night, penalty-free because there hadn’t been a cop in sight.

But he hadn’t counted on Walter. Walter had followed at a distance, watching everything...and Walter was a guy who took road rage personally, even when it wasn’t directed at him. Especially then.

Walter made it his business to balance the scales for victims of hotheads like this one.

“There, asshole,” he said, punching the Dodge left as the kid made another attempt to pass. “That’s what you get. Let’s see how you like a nice, slow ride for the next ten miles or so.”

Mission accomplished. Another road rager put in his place, thanks to the self-appointed guardian of the highway.

The kid charged left, then right again. Walter blocked his every move, bolting the Dodge from side to side with deft flicks of the customized joystick that served as his combination steering and shifting apparatus.

The reason for the joystick – his useless left arm – hung at his side, strapped to the plastic splint he’d worn ever since the accident.

* * *

It had happened on the same stretch of road he now drove, a state route between Dayton and Troy, Ohio. It had happened with him at the wheel (with two good arms then) and his wife in the passenger seat, sound asleep.

It had happened one year ago today.

Walter and Sue were on their way back to Troy after a night out in Dayton, celebrating their twentieth anniversary. Sinatra was in the CD player, crooning away as Walter guided the Mercedes through the warm July darkness.

As Sue slept, Walter mused about time and how fast it was passing him by. Though not unhappy, exactly, he felt a longing for something more. Once, his whole life had been laid out before him, flashing with magic and potential; now, he felt like walls were closing in around him, narrowing down his choices, trapping him in a single, limited space.

He was comfortable, and occasionally delighted, but never fulfilled. Something was missing. He felt as if he had been meant to do something important, but had never quite managed to figure out what it was.

And time was running out.

It was just as he was thinking these thoughts that the souped-up Nissan came barreling up alongside him.

The silver Nissan was tricked out street-racing style and had a filigree of flames painted along its side. It swept up out of nowhere, leaping into the left lane...and slowing down to pace Walter’s Mercedes.

At first, Walter couldn’t figure out why the Nissan was holding position beside him instead of swooping past. Then, in his rearview mirror, he spotted a set of headlights cruising up from behind him.

As soon as the headlights surged to within a car-length of the Mercedes, they peeled left, jolting over behind the Nissan. Then, they were back, flashing

bright-dim bright-dim in the rearview, accompanied by the squawking of a horn.

Walter held steady at seventy mph, but he gripped the wheel tighter. As the lights darted left and back again, bright-dim bright-dim, he understood the situation.

The Nissan was boxing in the driver at the rear, matching speed with Walter to keep the third vehicle from passing. Walter recognized the game from personal experience.

He’d done it himself in the past, a time or ten.

The headlights behind him went bright and stayed there, pressing closer, urging him to go faster. Walter’s hands sweated on the wheel.

He was just as boxed in as the car behind him. If he speeded up, he knew the Nissan would speed up, too...and the Mercedes would never get enough of a jump on the silver street rod to open a gap for the third vehicle to slip through.

If Walter slowed down, so would the Nissan. If he cut his speed suddenly, he might get hit from behind. If he veered off onto the berm, he might slide on the gravel and crash in the fields along the road.

It was a bad situation, and he knew it.

“Walter?” said Sue, stirring in the passenger seat. “What’s going on?”

Walter kept his eyes on the road and held steady, but inwardly he flinched. He wished she had stayed asleep until the end of the action; Sue was a terrible passenger under the best circumstances, prone to sudden jumps and outcries over nothing. She even got alarmed if a car pulled up to a stop sign on a side street ahead of them in their own suburban neighborhood.

“Nothing to worry about,” Walter said tightly. “Get some more shuteye, honey.”

Unfortunately, Sue sniffed out the danger right away. “Oh my God,” she said, looking left at the Nissan, then twisting around to squint into the high beams behind them. “Slow down, Walter,” she said breathlessly, the seeds of panic already audible in her voice.

“Honey,” said Walter, watching the brights rush closer in the rearview. “Please close your eyes. I promise everything will be fine.”

“Slow down,” said Sue, her voice rising. “Pull over and let him pass.”

“He might hit us,” said Walter. “He’s right on our ass.”

“I asked you not to do this anymore,” she said, anger joining the panic in her voice. “No more road rage.”

The headlights cut left, then jumped back seconds later. “It’s not me,” said Walter. He pried his right hand from the wheel and wiped his sweaty palm on his pants. “I swear I didn’t do anything. It’s this maniac beside me.”

“Just pull over!” said Sue.

Walter wiped the palm of his left hand on his pants, then tightened both hands on the wheel. He knew she wouldn’t like what he was planning to do...but he was sure she wouldn’t like anything he did at this point. “I’m sorry, honey,” he said. “Hold on tight.”