Spiritual successors of the Wreckers, the Breakers use high-tech instead of bright lights and their targets are trucks, not ships.
But they have the same lack of respect for life…
…and they’ve just chosen a new target…
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(c) 2017 Simon Goodson.
Story Disclaimer
Breaker Breaker
Rob cursed the piece of shit navigation software in his
truck. It was supposed to be infallible,
never wrong, and always working. Today
it had broken all those promises. Now he
was stuck halfway up a mountain on a road to nowhere with no chance of turning
the huge trailer around. Any chance of
getting his on-time delivery bonus had evaporated and pretty soon he’d be
looking at some hefty fines.
He hadn’t worried at all when his route turned off the
motorways onto side roads, and then onto back roads. It happened on many deliveries. The route planner was dynamic, factoring in
millions of variables including traffic density, weather conditions and
projected traffic flow. It made custom
decisions based on the size of his truck, the weight of the load, and the
particular criteria of the contract — sometimes calling for speed over all
else, other times focusing on least fuel burnt for environmentally concerned
customers or avoiding particularly rural areas.
He’d started to worry when the route headed into large hills
and on towards a range of peaks. He
didn’t know the Lake District very well but he’d always imagined it would have
a lot more lakes and a lot fewer mountains.
When his phone lost signal he really started to worry. It couldn’t even manage the normal “emergency
calls only” message. It truly had no
signal.
When the satnav suddenly died in a burst of static it was
almost a relief. Its map had looked
nothing like his surroundings for twenty minutes at least. Now he could make his own decisions on the
route, though for the moment the only options were to park and walk or carry on
along the road. The weather was foul,
rain and hail slashing down out of a dark winter sky, so carry on driving it
was.
His good cheer soon faded.
He really started to worry when the road narrowed even more and started
to climb the nearest mountain. If things
didn’t change soon he was going to be in serious danger of getting the truck
stuck, which would be hugely expensive and would force him to walk to find a
phone signal or someone’s house.
He rounded another corner and, to his amazement, saw someone
walking the other way. A local judging
by the outfit — they were wearing dark waterproof working gear rather than the
fluorescent brightness of a rambler.
Smiling at his luck Rob eased the truck alongside the local, a man in
his fifties, who had stopped and was smiling.
Rob suspected the smile was because the man knew Rob was on a road to
nowhere and was about to get stuck, but he didn’t really care. The local could tell him whether to continue
and where to walk to if not. He might
even have a mobile with signal.
Rob slowed the truck to a stop, making sure the brakes were
on solidly, and pushed his door open.
Leaning out the truck he called down to the man.
“Sorry mate, can you help me…”
The sight of the solid black gun in the local’s hand
penetrated Rob’s brain only a split second before the bullets did. His body slumped forwards and tumbled from
the cab. The local raised an antique
short range CB radio to his lips.
“Breaker, Breaker… go go go.”
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