Amber by Dan-Dwayne Spencer (e book reader .TXT) 📕

was in the process of navigating a narrow curve banking around a large playa pond. An oncoming Corvette whizzed past him in the southbound lane, lights on bright and blaring his horn. The trucker yielded as far to the right as possible. The back wheels of his trailer slipped off the pavement and he swerved, pulling them back onto the blacktop. The whole truck undulated, the trailer swinging back and forth from side to side and lane to lane.

Rose slammed on the brakes to keep from ramming into the dark blue semi-trailer as it toppled onto its side and slid down the road. “Sweet Jesus, help,” she cried, and the next thing we knew, centrifugal force threw us onto the floor of the car. Before our eyes, sparks flew six feet in the air, gleaming like fireworks, as the sliding metal trailer scraped against the rock surface of the road.

We slid sideways—tires screaming. Out of control, the Mustang skidded and whirled as it spun across the asphalt. It abruptly came to a stop in the oncoming lane of traffic. Only a couple feet ahead, Dave’s trailer lay on its side, blocking the entire road. The cab, still attached, rested with the upper part in the playa pond. We piled out of the car to see if Dave had survived.

All I could think of was the neon lights strobing: Die…Die…Die.

Chapter Five

The Playa

It amazed me at how the entire rig had slid without rolling over and over. The metallic smell of hydraulic fluid, oil, and gas fumed from the wreckage, and the trailer’s frame sustained significant damage. The empty cab didn’t have one intact glass surface left. But where was Dave?

We searched twenty yards in front of and behind the cab. We hunted across the road in case centrifugal force threw him clear of the wreckage—still, no Dave to be found. If he hadn’t been crushed to death under the trailer, then there was only one other plausible answer. He had been ejected from the cab and gone into the pond.

Without a second thought, I threw off the oversized western shirt, unzipped my cutoffs, and stripped them off. Tightening the drawstring on my swim trunks, I dove into the playa. The combination of the dark moonless night and the murkiness of the playa’s muddy water prevented me from seeing jack shit, much less a submerged body. All I could do was head straight for the bottom and grope around, hoping my hand would recognize a person. After about a minute and a half, I surfaced, gulped some air, and plunged back into the soggy depths. Again I came up for air and dove back to the muddy bottom.

Jimmy stood on the bank by the cab, holding Rose in a bear hug. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Roger waded into the shallows, timing me between breaths, ready to sound an alert if I failed to surface in a reasonable amount of time.

On the fourth dive, my lungs felt as if they would collapse. An urgency to gasp haunted me while kicking and fumbling my way across the boggy bottom of the pond. I swam, enveloped in this pit of shadows. Darkness closed in on me.

“Leave him and save yourself. You can’t manage another long breath.” A gravelly voice clearly rang in my head.

“What? Who said that?” I thought as my eyes grew wide and instantly burned from the watery muck. “Where are you?” I almost forgot to hold my breath as I silently replied.

“Save yourself, return to the surface. Give up on Dave.”

“Who are you? No, don’t tell me—shut up. Shut the hell up.”

“You know me. Even if you don’t want to admit it, you know me. I care for you. Split this scene and get out of this crap. No telling how many germs you’re exposing yourself to.”

“No. I can do it.”

“Never. You’ll never find him in this mess.”

The voice spoke the truth; the pond was full of mess. Any swimmer would find it difficult because the water contained a significant amount of diluted compost. I mentally replied, “I’m going to find him. Shut up.”

“Damn it, you need to breathe. Do as I say.”

“I can stay under a few seconds longer.”

“Then move to your left.”

“Why are you talking to me?”

“You, shut up and move to your left.”

I’d been told any person who heard voices teetered on the edge of insanity, or at the very least an impending nervous breakdown. Although I’d never heard the voice before, I instinctively knew it was the voice of my old friend Mr. Dark. As frayed as my nerves were, I accepted the thought as fact and maneuvered to my left.

“Farther to the left. Now move forward.”

I kicked and felt the bottom. My fingers brushed against fabric. It was Dave’s pants.

“Satisfied?” Mr. Dark asked.

I didn’t waste time answering. I grabbed a fistful of trousers in each hand and dragged him to the surface with me. Drenched in mud, I barreled out of the pond, towing him in my wake. I made a quick rub across my chest, forcing a handful of slime and mud to slide off my skin. The rest would have to wait.

With Dave on dry-ground, I flipped him over onto his side and cleared the gunk out of his mouth and throat. Then I plopped him onto his back and began mouth to mouth resuscitation. I yelled, “Get an ambulance here as fast as possible.”

A car pulled up alongside the Mustang. Jimmy ran toward it—screaming, “Get help. Get an ambulance.”

The driver yelled back, “The wife and I live a few miles back. We’ll hurry and call from there.” The man looked grim. “Is the poor fellow still alive?”

Jimmy answered, “We think so. At least my friend is doing CPR on him—now hurry.”

After what had to