TRANSPORTED

     The sight of people in both lanes as he rounded the downhill curve was a driver's worst nightmare.  He unconsciously stiffened his body and gripped the wheel so tightly his hands hurt.  There was no way to stop the pickup in time.  He ran over the one laying on top of his wrecked Harley.  The others scrambled out of the way.  As the white Ford slid sideways to a stop, the blue tire smoke settled over the eerie scene.  Then the sound of the shrieking tires punched it's way into his hearing.  Why was he hearing that now?
     He had heard the grinding of the bike under his truck and the popping noise of bones being pulled from sockets.  He had heard all that plainly.  But not the sound of the tires.  At that one terrifying second, he realised it was not the tires at all.  It was the angry screams of the bikers.  They were rushing toward his truck.  Frightened beyond fear, he sped off as if his life depended on it.  And it did.
     The sudden impact had slammed the dog to the floorboard.  He jumped back into the seat and stuck his head out the window.  As the driver sped off, the dog was jerked back into the back glass.  The dog was pissed off and wondered why he was driving that way.  The  orange flash of gunfire made points of light in the dusk.  Bullets shattered glass behind him and the dog.  He could see them in the rear view mirror running to their bikes.  If he were going to escape, he needed more than the heavy F-150 pickup.  Knowing that he could not outrun them, he turned onto a dirt road.  There in the distance was a field road.  He knew the pickup could handle it.  The heavy Harleys would have a hard time with the ruts, holes and sand beds.
     This little road of salvation suddenly ended at a locked gate.  It was to heavy to break through.  He slid to a stop just inches away from the massive iron structure.  He jumped out and clambered over the gate to the other side.  The dog was not running.  He could handle the whole bunch.  Being a dog he did not understand guns.  He called the dog desperately.  The dog reluctantly ran to him.  As they climbed over the gate, the bikers came around the bend.  With guns blazing and bullets flying, he and the dog ran off.  The bikers stopped at the gate and just milled around.  Thankful that they were not being followed, anymore they slowed to a walk.  It did not take to long before they came to a paved highway.  It was not dusk anymore .  It was bright as the noon day sun.  He could see for miles and there was not a lot of traffic on the highway.
     The road turned to the east and they began to walk toward the light.  The bikers were a thing of the past and the memory of them began to fade.  A maroon Ford F-150 with a crew cab pulled up beside them and stopped.  As the window came down the driver asked, "need a lift?" 
     "Yeah, thanks," he replied.
     "Put the dog in the back and climb in." the driver said.
     He knew the driver but could not place him.  The dog acted as if he knew the driver also.  Bewildered, he did as he was told.  The driver handled the Ford as if it were an extension of his body.  Speeding around hairpin curves, the truck gliding as if on air.  The driver brought it to a stop smoothly, after a hard brake. The driver could do things with a vehicle that was not supposed to be done. 
As we drove around the town his driving skills brought back vague memories.  However they were disturbing.  He knew a man once that could drive like this.  That scared him.  He began to study the driver.  His observation gave him a headache.  The dark hair, small stature, confidence and that smile.  His heart stopped for a moment.
     "Do I know you?" he asked.
     "Yeah, and you know me well, don"t you?"  the driver answered.
    "Yes," he answered, "but that is not possible!"
     "Why?"  the driver said with that tell-tale smile.
     "Because,  I was at your funeral over a year ago."  he said with a tremble in his voice.
     "Has it been that long?"  "I can't tell time here, all I do is drive."
     "Did it hurt when your car hit that tree?" he asked.
     The driver answered, "Never felt a thing.  I just changed from that Ford Cobra to this Ford pickup.  I need it to pick all these people that are walking down this road."
     "Why me and the dog?", he asked.  "How is it that we are here?"
     "You asked me about the pain.  What about you?  Did you feel any pain?"  the driver asked.
     "No, I have never felt better.  Why?" 
     Without answering, the driver turned around and headed back west.  The driver turned off the highway onto the field road.  He had a sinking feeling.  The dread swept over him like a flash flood.  As the driver stopped without hitting the gate, he could see what the bikers were doing.  They were gathered around a man's body and that of his dog.
     "Ready to go?"  the driver asked.
     "Yeah, I guess I am." he answered.

Little Itch

This poor bear has a spot that can only be reached by the rough bark of a tree.  Thank goodness for living in a forest full of scratching posts.
I carved this out of cedar.  It is 12 inches tall, four inches wide and 3 inches thick.