Phantom Truck, the

by Freya-Kendra

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Rating: G
Summary: FEB, 2007--A creepy/silly Sentinel/Supernatural crossover inspired by real life.

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A quickly written, creepy/silly Sentinal/Supernatural crossover, inspired by real life...

The Phantom Truck by Freya-Kendra

*Get your motor runnin' Head out on the highway Lookin' for adventure And whatever comes our way*

There is something about freeway driving that can become mesmerizing, almost hypnotic - as it seemed to do for Jim Ellison on the drive back from a conference in Seattle. Snow was dusting down from a thin layer of clouds, but not enough to be a cause for concern. The road was dry. In fact, traffic was moving along particularly well. It was exactly the sort of steady flow that could trigger an almost Zen-like partial zone-out. Heck with Sandburg's meditation CDs. Just hit the road and head out of the city.

Jim found himself smiling, even as he began to realize he had no idea why. It was as though he had turned his mind off, as though one of those mental switches Sandburg was always telling him to imagine had been enabled for the sole purpose of allowing him to forget -- if only for a moment -- every thought, every burden. Gone was the weight of being a great city's sentinel. Gone were all his worries about Cascade's most recent major crimes. All that existed at that moment was the road in front of him.

Maybe Sandburg felt it, too. Jim's usually talkative partner was sitting quietly beside him, yet Jim sensed nothing disturbing in Sandburg's silence. As he stole a glance toward the younger man, Jim felt certain he saw serenity. He began to wonder how great it would be if he could package up this moment, if he could keep it in a special box, tucked away in a special place, waiting for him to open it whenever the burdens of life became too wieldy to bear.

Jim smiled again, realizing how ridiculous his wandering thoughts had become. He decided to simply allow himself to enjoy this tiny treasure for as long as it might last. Returning his full attention to the road, he let the concrete sliding by once again trigger his meditative switch.

Fortunately, Jim's partial zone-out did nothing to slow his reflexes when a sudden burst of snow rose up off of the roof of the semi in front of him. It crashed down onto the roadway like a mini avalanche. Jim's truck lost traction the instant he hit the white surface. He turned into the skid, conscious of the concrete barrier lining the narrow shoulder beside him as he spun around. An instant later, he found himself facing the traffic that should have been at his back. Yet the cars had all managed to stop in time, giving him no more cause for concern.

"You okay, Chief?"

Surprisingly, Sandburg smiled. "Now *that* was some spectacular driving."

Still, Blair paled as he gazed at the barrier now sitting barely an inch from his door. "I don't know about you Jim, but I'm thinking maybe luck's in our favor today."

Jim shook his head in wonder as he eased the truck around, taking advantage of the uncommon courtesy being offered by his fellow freeway drivers. He gave a wave of thanks to a white sedan that allowed him to pull back into traffic, and he continued his drive as though nothing had happened. Well, nothing *had* happened. They'd had a close call, thanks to a semi still carrying the remnants of last week's snow storm. But Jim's truck remained undamaged, and both he and Sandburg were unscathed. Maybe luck had some merit after all.

A few minutes into his renewed journey, Jim approached the semi that had nearly cost him his truck if not his - or Sandburg's - life. Although the driver could not be held to blame for dumping the snow, he should have stopped -- unless the semi's driver had been as mesmerized as Jim, and had not even noticed the events that had taken place behind him, *because* of him.

Jim sighed. Nothing had happened, right? Still curious, he glanced past Sandburg to the semi now beside them. It was still dumping snow, but only in small splashes here and there. And it was almost conspicuously non-descript. There were no obvious markings of corporate ownership. "National expediting" was written on the trailer, but it looked more like those words described what they did rather than who they were. The cab had the usual string of license and registration numbers, but again, no name. The plates might also be considered non-descript; they were so covered in grime the numbers were barely legible - even to a sentinel.

"I don't know how you did that, Jim." Sandburg was still watching the semi though his voice pulled Jim away from his own, private scrutiny.

"What's that, Chief?"

"How you managed not to hit anything. I mean, that barrier, for one thing--"

"Luck," Jim interrupted.

"What?"

"Luck. Just like you said."

"Seriously?"

Jim could tell that something about his explanation was not sitting well with his partner. "Why not?"

"Jim," Sandburg gave a nervous laugh. "Come on, man. Luck? Since when do you attribute something like that to pure luck?"

Shrugging, Jim still felt the effects of his earlier tranquility. "Maybe since today."

Jim smiled as he came to a literal fork in the road and maneuvered to the left, toward Cascade. But his smile faded when he noticed the snow-dumping, non-descript semi pulling up beside him.

"How's that for deja-vu?" Sandburg said. "I thought he was going south. I wonder when he moved into the left lane? I didn't see him do that, did you?"

"No," Jim answered, growing increasingly edgy. "I didn't."

"Looks a little eerie, doesn't it? Sort of like all that snow is creating its own little trail of fog. Straight out of a Stephen King movie."

"Yeah." There was something ominous about that truck, but Jim was not about to chalk it up to demonic drivers. "Call it in, would you, Chief?"

"What?"

"Have dispatch check out the license plate on that trailer."

"Why? I mean, you can't just--"

"Hazardous driving. Just call it in. Michigan plates, L3D 666" (*Author's Note: btw, 666 is not an uncommon grouping of numbers on Michigan plates -- at least for cars; I can't really say it's the same for trucks. I always said if they tried to hand me a plate with those numbers, I'd refuse it!)

"666? You're kidding, right?"

"Call."

At yet another fork in the road, Jim was not surprised to see the semi once again avoid the right fork it was heading toward and instead move over to the left at the last possible moment. With seconds to spare, it squeezed in right behind Jim.

"Sonofa..." Sandburg whispered in surprise before picking up the radio to follow Jim's request.

Jim kept his eye on his rear-view mirror while he waited for the reply from dispatch. He noticed that a large square of heavy cardboard was affixed to the semi's front grill. And there, across the entire square of cardboard, was a big, black "X."

Somehow, Jim was not surprised when he heard that the semi was registered in Hell, Michigan. (*Author's Note: yes, there is such a place; it's just down the road from where I live.)

"This is all just a little too freaky," his partner said, Blair's eyes constantly looking rearward to the big, black X.

"It's just a truck, Sandburg." Yet as Jim suddenly pulled onto the nearest exit, the semi remained behind him.

"He's following us. Why is he following us?"

"Coincidence," Jim said without conviction.

That coincidence lasted for another five miles as the semi followed close behind Jim's pick-up on a quiet, country highway. It consistently matched his speed no matter how much Jim varied it. It made no move to pass him, or even to gain ground.

"What is *with* that guy, Jim?"

"I don't know, Chief. But it's time we found out."

With a quick jerk of the wheel, Jim pulled to the side of the road. After skidding to a stop, he jumped out to face down the approaching phantom semi. A moment later, it too stopped. Jim could hear the driver rev the diesel engine.

"You'd better be prepared to run, Sandburg," Jim said, sensing his partner once again beside him.

"No, Jim. You don't think--"

There was no need to answer as the semi charged.

Scrambling to get them both out of harm's way, Jim pushed Sandburg ahead of him down a ditch and then into a copse of trees.

"What the hell?" Blair remarked when he stopped to catch his breath.

A classic 60s black Impala had raced past the roaring semi on the shoulder. Swerving at the last possible moment and barely avoiding Jim's truck, it spun back around and then waited, revving its engine. Jim could almost believe he was watching a Twilight Zone version of chicken.

"Oh, man. Jim. What's he doing? That semi will run right over him." Sandburg started waving his arms and shouting. "Hey! Come on! Get out of there!"

Jim grabbed him before he could leave the security of the trees. "Wait."

"Wait? Jim, we can't wait. He's going to--"

"Just wait." Jim did not intend to shout, but he had to be heard. "Look."

A black panther and a wolf had placed themselves in front of the Impala. As the Impala's engines roared, so did they.

"What the...." Sandburg's voice trailed away as the semi barreled down upon the animals and the black Impala.

For an instant, neither of the partners dared to breathe. They braced for an impact that would never reach them, expecting to hear the deafening sound of metal on metal.

Nothing happened. Silence reigned as the semi vanished into its own snowy mists. It dusted the Impala with a sudden, icy wind as it flew off like a living squall onto the roadway beyond, leaving nothing behind but a trail of white flakes.

Both Jim and Blair remained equally silent. What do you say when you've just witnessed the impossible? What can you say? They studied each other with quiet, questioning gazes, and then turned their attention to the two equally stunned young men stepping out of the Impala.

Casting persistent glances toward the vanishing squall, the four men approached one another, finally meeting at middle ground behind Jim's truck. Still, several moments passed before barely grunted, half spoken words evolved into actual conversation.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Jim shouted at the older of the two, the driver of the Impala. "You could've both been killed."

The driver smiled nervously. "We, uh, had it all under control."

"The hell you did--"

"Hey," the younger man interrupted. "You guys didn't happen to see a, uh, a blank panther and a--"

"Wolf?" Sandburg interrupted. "You saw them, too?"

"I swear they chased--"

"Stop it, Sammy," the driver shouted.

"Stop what, Dean? We all saw it."

"What were you doing out there, anyway?" Jim demanded, hoping to avoid the animal discussion altogether.

"We saw what that semi was doing," Dean, the driver answered. "Thought you might need some help."

"Help?" Jim asked, incredulously. "Help? How the hell were you going to help--"

"With a classic car like that?" Sandburg interrupted. "Man, she's a beauty. You mind if I check it out?"

Dean beamed. "Yeah. Sure. Want to take a drive?"

"Yeah. That'd be--"

"No," Jim countered. "Sandburg, you don't even know--"

But Blair and Dean were already heading toward the Impala, with Sammy, the younger one, trailing close behind.

While Jim stubbornly held his ground, he continued to listen to the conversation.

"I rebuilt her after--"

"After we got creamed by a semi," Sammy interrupted.

"You what?" Jim hurried to catch the trio just as they reached the Impala.

"Well, yeah," Dean admitted. "But that was ... different. A whole `nother, sort of ... semi."

"Who exactly are you two?"

Now it was Sammy's turn to smile. "Just a couple of brothers out on a road trip."

I like smoke and lightning
Heavy metal thunder
Racin' with the wind
And the feelin' that I'm under
Yeah Darlin' go make it happen
Take the world in a love embrace
Fire all of your guns at once
And explode into space
Like a true nature's child
We were born, born to be wild
We can climb so high I never wanna die

Born to be wild Born to be wild [Steppenwolf, 1968; MCA Music (BMI))

I was inspired to write the above story by the following incident, as it happened to me last week....

So there I was, obliviously driving along the freeway on my morning commute. Snow was dusting down from a thin layer of clouds, (yes, winter finally arrived in truth a couple of weeks ago) but not enough to affect the drive. The road was relatively dry. Traffic was moving along unusually well...

... when all of a sudden my attention was drawn to a burst of heavy snowfall ahead of me - it flew off of the roof of a semi, aka tractor-trailer, aka big TRUCK. Seconds later, traffic stopped, though I could see the truck was still moving merrily along. Next, what do I see? Headlights facing me. Now, headlights are okay when they're on the OTHER side of the freeway, but not on my side. A pick-up, aka little truck, had apparently been caught in the big TRUCK'S blast of snow, and had spun around.

Of course, anyone who's used to driving in winter conditions knows that pick-up's are about the worst thing you can drive on a slick road. No weight = no traction.

Anyway, I have to commend whoever was driving that little pick-up truck. He handled the entire incident without a scratch. He hit nothing, not even the guardrail, despite the fact that he came within centimeters of it. And no one hit him. Traffic was stopped for under five minutes while he casually turned around and got back on the road.

Providence ? Absolutely!

So, I continued my journey. I passed the one spot on the freeway that was now snow-covered, and a few minutes later I passed the big TRUCK. It was a very non-descript TRUCK, with no obvious corporate ownership. "National expediting" was written on the trailer, but it looked more like those words described what they did, not who they were. The cab had the usual string of license and registration numbers, but again, no name. As I said, "non-descript." And it was still dumping snow, but just little bits here and there.

Whatever.

I took the left fork in the road to head toward Detroit , expecting the TRUCK to continue on into Ann Arbor . It did not.

I discovered it beside me on the short stretch of freeway between two new forks, one still leading toward Detroit , and another leading toward Toledo ( Ohio ). He was still dumping bits - and occasional chunks - of snow.

From the lane the TRUCK was in, I figured he would take the right fork, toward Toledo . He did not. With seconds to spare, he squeezed in right behind me to take the left fork.

As soon as I could, I moved into the new lane opening up on the far left, leaving him on my right as we curved into our final stretch of freeway, on a bridge that can get icy quite easily. And I moved well in front of him, yet again. In fact, I forgot all about him...

... Until a few minutes after I got off on my exit. I discovered him beside me, again, as I headed toward the intersection with Prospect Rd.

Now, this stretch of road is a four-lane highway, but shortly after Prospect the right lanes disappear, and it becomes a two-lane highway cutting straight through farm country. Since the TRUCK was on my right, I knew he would soon have to merge into my lane. So I made sure to get well ahead of him, yet again. He merged, and for the first time in the entire drive, he was directly behind me.

This non-descript TRUCK was no longer non-descript.

There, affixed to the front grill was a large square of cardboard. Yes, cardboard, the thick, heavy stuff, as though it had been cut off of one of the boxes that had once been "nationally expedited." And there, across the entire square of cardboard, was a big, black "X."

"X"?

Whatever it meant, it looked a bit menacing in my rear-view mirror. And so it was for about 10 miles on that long stretch of country highway, until we finally came to a traffic light, and, as luck would have it the light went red. I stopped. And I watched him gain ground, moving closer and closer to my rear bumper, that big black "X" getting bigger and blacker....

... And ...

That's it. There's no more to the story. He stopped. The light went green. I went. He went. And we both drove into the city, that non-descript, snow-dumping, X-marked TRUCK, and I, happily without incident. But NOT without inspiration. Images of Jim's blue and white pick-up flashed through my mind, especially since the pick-up that spun out on the freeway was light blue, and especially when we both reached Prospect. Images of Sam and Dean flashed through my mind as well, especially when I saw the black "X." And especially when I realized that TRUCK could very well have just left Hell, Michigan .

So many stories, so little time! ;-)