“The back of your truck!” Tom heard, before the faces with their open mouths vanished into the rain ahead.

“Did the back open up?”

Tom looked in the driver’s-side mirror. He saw no swinging door. He took his foot off the gas, then pressed it hard. No swinging door.

He didn’t want to admit what was so obvious about the sudden road encounter:

They looked scared.

Scared for themselves.

“What’s on my truck?” Tom asked the otherwise empty cabin.

Keep driving to destination—Do not stop to check on box—

He looked at the clock.

Eleven thirty-eight.

He was seven miles from Goblin.

He had time to stop. He had time to do his job.

9

Tom pulled the truck to the side of the road, the front tires in matching puddles of rain. He grabbed the flashlight from the glove compartment. The short walk from the door to the rear of the truck went too quickly, it seemed, and he was facing the closed door before he wanted to.

What am I delivering to Goblin?

But the hollering from the Sunbird turned out to be just what Tom expected it was: a lot of fuss over nothing. What else but a burned-out taillight?

Tom smiled. He looked up to the back door.

“He’s not gonna know if you open the damn door, buddy.”

He placed his hand on the lock. Would this be the first time he ever willingly defied instructions on a delivery? Tom wanted to say no, of course not, but he couldn’t think of another time he had.

He unlocked the door.

“You see?” he said. “No fireworks. No bomb going off. No sudden police lights, either.”

The door screeched unoiled when he pushed it up.

And there it was! Lying on its side! The big box did tip over!

But…no.

Tom turned the flashlight on it and saw it was just the power dolly. He must’ve done a poor job securing it. The box itself stood exactly as he’d last seen it. Strapped in five times over.

He climbed up into the back of the truck. The rain came down hard against the metal roof and echoed in the rectangular chamber.

Tom stepped on something gooey and slipped and fell on his ass.

WHUMP!

On the floor now, he saw movement, a thousand insects, crawling at the base of the box. But when he trained his light on it, there were none.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Tom said. “I’ve got the heebie jeeb—”

“Drive.”

A voice. Unquestionably a voice. The echo of its one word lingered, round and round in Tom’s ear.

Then movement indeed. A shadow, a shape, just beyond the box, someone crouched behind it.

“Hey!” Tom yelled. “Is someone in there?”

He couldn’t believe the words that came out of his mouth.

“Driiiiiiiive.”