Shepherd

SIXTEEN

Before the last mile was up and he'd found another bottle, the roadblock up ahead appeared, manned by eight or so troopers in bio-hazard suits of bright yellow. It spanned the freeway and was built from concrete sleepers and the parked hulks of several Humvees. Shepherd glanced at the scuff and drew the truck to a halt before them, maybe three hundred meters from the nearest soldier.

"So close," whispered Nat. "Just up there. We're waiting."

"Hmm."

The soldier raised his hand in a needless gesture; he wasn't coming any closer. He began walking towards him and when he was a few feet from the front of the rig, Shepherd began to talk into the microphone.

"Parcel for Mr Fipps," he chuckled to himself, releasing the button as a coughing fit began. "Who's gonna sign for it?"

The soldier shook his head and pointed to a space cleared for him off the road. Shepherd tutted.

"No-can-do. Got a date with my woman. She's been waiting a long time for me and I hate to keep her waiting any longer. I'll just drop the rig right here and be on my way."

The soldier began waving his arms and pointing to the space again but Shepherd just ignored him. With a hand hot with fever he thumbed the controls and felt the trailer drop onto its own suspension. Free from his last ever delivery, he grinned.

"God bless America," he laughed. Then, gunning the engine, he sped forward, scattering those manning the roadblock in all directions and destroying at least one of the Humvees as he smashed through.