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- Herausgeber: Black Cat Weekly
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
A gripping tale of brains and bravery on the open road! When a cash-strapped college student takes a job transporting two preserved brains across the country, he gets more than he bargained for. His car is stolen with one of the brains inside, leading him on a wild chase to recover the missing gray matter.
With the help of the other brain, a brilliant detective, he must track down the thief and the lost brain before it's too late. This thrilling adventure blends mystery, humor and a touch of the macabre as an unlikely duo races against time to solve the case of the purloined brain.
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Table of Contents
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
THE ROAD TRIP, by Mark Thielman
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright © 2024 by Mark Thielman.
Original publication by Wildside Press, LLC.
wildsidepress.com | bcmystery.com
THE ROAD TRIP,by Mark Thielman
My Dodge Polaris purred as it tore across the Nebraska prairie. I had the windows rolled down; my hand hung outside, surfing the air currents. Ahead, however, trouble loomed. The round gray clouds on the horizon looked like brains. Or maybe I just had brains on my brain.
I had a Stuckey’s pecan log on the passenger seat and a country song by Chet Rowdy played on the radio.
“I’m taking back roads going forward.”
I belted out the lyrics for every farmhouse along Interstate 80. I had two of the greatest minds in their respective fields riding in the back seat. If they objected to my off-key singing, they didn’t complain.
“Can’t escape my small town, I’ve got red dirt in my veins.”
Of course, they didn’t. My passengers were two brains fixed in formalin. They rode in specimen jars on the floorboards. They didn’t have ears.
Perhaps I should explain. My name is Mark. I was a student at Berkeley in the Spring Semester of 1974.
I needed a break from my roommate, Tim. We were both in our last semester, and the pressure of completing our respective theses began to wear on us. I had paused my studies and fixed a cocktail—a Fresca and tequila—a Markarita. I borrowed his 4-color pen and used it as a swizzle stick. He got mad and started shouting. I yelled back. He called me a slob. I called him controlling and a few other things that we don’t need to go into. Then, I stormed out of the dorm, choosing to keep the peace by leaving.
We’d been arguing more lately, usually about the stereo. I listen to country music. Folks who grew up in Bakersfield often do. Tim liked the Grateful Dead. He said my music was for hillbillies. I said that his was for hippies who couldn’t make a decision.
Neither the music nor my barware choices were really the problem. Graduation loomed, and I didn’t have a clue about what I’d do next. After finishing my thesis, I figured I’d flip a coin: heads—graduate school, tails—law school.
Over at the Student Union, sandwiched between a notice about the Political Science Club’s upcoming forum on Watergate and an announcement advertising the English Department’s roundtable discussion on the popular new horror novel Carrie, I saw a posting for a job opportunity. The Department of Neuroscience needed someone to drive to Boston, Massachusetts. I needed to get out of the apartment. They’d pay someone to take to the road. We were made for each other. I pulled down the handbill and headed across campus, chomping a peppermint Life Savers to mask any lingering Markarita on my breath.
