Mile 43

By Alden S Bauers

Young men are ditching their cars at the long-abandoned milepost 43 rest area and disappearing without a trace. State trooper  Brian Dunn wants to know why. Despite resistance from his superiors, Dunn investigates. He soon finds himself finds in a cat and mouse game with an otherworldly evil.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alden Bauers
• Release date: Mar 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463507414

Alden S Bauers

Alden S Bauers was born and raised on Long Island. He currently resides in Spartanburg, South Carolina where he works as a computer technician. He's married and has two young children. When he's not writing or spending time with his family, Alden enjoys modeling the Pennsylvania Railroad in N Scale and driving his 1965 Chevy Corvair

Book preview

Author’s Note

Inspiration can strike you in the strangest places. In the case of the story you’re about it read, it struck along a rural stretch of Interstate 26 in southern Spartanburg County. You see, I rather lovingly refer to the stretch between Spartanburg and Clinton as the dead zone. The exits are far apart and generally lack services.

At the time, I was on my way to a client in my 2004 Honda Pilot. This car was a hand-me-down from my in-laws and both a bottomless money pit and an endless source of frustration. So I’m driving this car on this stretch of 26 and I thought to myself yup, if this thing’s gonna shit the bed, it’s gonna be here, in the middle of nowhere.

Fortunately, I made it to my destination. While I was waiting for software to download to the client’s computer, I was messaging fellow writers and fleshing out the bones of what would become Mile 43.

Chapter One

Summer was still going strong one late September afternoon in Spartanburg County, South Carolina. The air was hot and thick with humidity. A yellow Chevy Cobalt headed east on I-26. Sucks to be you! The Cobalt’s driver, one Dennis Stuart thought as he saw a Mustang pulled over on the westbound side.

Dennis, age 22, was making the trip from USC Upstate back home to Orangeburg. He shifted his weight in the seat and turned up the radio. DNCE was signing about cake by the ocean. God damn Winnebagos! He put on his signal for the fast lane and mashed the gas. His little Chevy zipped past the RV.

Ah shit, he said to himself, feeling the Cobalt stutter. Please not here!

Despite his plea, the Cobalt’s ignition coil pack picked that moment to fail.

God damn it! Dennis shouted, pounding the steering wheel.

He hit the hazard lights and shifted into neutral. Just ahead, he could see the entrance to the long-abandoned rest area at Milepost 43. The car slowed down as it knocked over a handful of the plastic candlesticks blocking the ramp. He came to a stop just shy of a faded plastic barricade.

What the fuck am I going to do now? he said. I don’t have the money for this!

Despite having little knowledge of the workings of an internal combustion engine, Dennis popped the hood.

This is just fucking great! Out here in the middle of east bumblefuck and it’s hot as balls!

Dennis pretended to look under the hood for a few moments before pulling a pack of USA Golds out of his pocket. Nothing but the best, right? He lit his cigarette and glanced around. He had no idea how long the old rest area had been closed down, but based on what he saw, it had been a long time. The macadam was bleached nearly white by the unrelenting southern sun and bore a spider web of cracks. Through these cracks grew a jungle of weeds.

Whoa shit! Dennis gasped as a semi blasted by.

Luna Royce sat at the wheel of her black BMW 325. She was parked on an overpass carrying some nameless country road over the 26. To her left, she saw a state trooper busily writing citations for a very unlucky Mustang driver. Perfect! Keep the smokey nice and busy! To her right, she saw Dennis Stuart’s stricken Chevy, hazard flashers blinking away at the mouth of the old rest area. He’ll do. She dropped the Beemer into drive and made her way onto the freeway.

Dennis had just flicked his cigarette butt to the ground and raked his shoe over it when he saw a black BMW slowing down, its right turn signal on. The black convertible took out a few more plastic candlesticks and came to a stop just behind the Chevy.

Dennis’s jaw dropped got a load of the driver. She was the hottest woman he’d ever seen! She had long, straight ebony hair, alabaster skin, which set off her luscious crimson lips. She wore a long, flowing black dress showing just enough of her ample bosom to give Dennis’s imagination a day off.

Greetings, She said in a voice that soft and melodic. It appears you’re in a bit of a pickle.

Dennis felt his heart jackhammering. She may have been his age, but she was miles out of his league.

Uh, um, yeah, he said. Engine died.

Such a pity, The woman replied. And on a day like today. You look so hot and thirsty. Would you like a water?

Yeah, I’d love one.

Ask and you shall receive.

The woman reached into the back seat and produced a bottle of Fiji Water.

Thanks, Dennis replied, accepting the beverage.

He eyed her with a strange curiosity. Expensive car, expensive water, maybe she's a trust fund baby or a one-percenter's daughter. At least that's what his brain thought. His penis, on the other hand, thought who cares? She’s hot!

Where is your destination? She asked.

Back home to Orangeburg, Dennis replied.

My what a happy coincidence! I’m on enroot to Charleston!

That’s a bit of a haul.

Indeed it is. Some company for part of the drive would be just delightful.

Nah, I can call a wrecker and wait. I don’t want to trouble you.

In this heat? I won’t hear of it! I’ll drive you to Orangeburg. It’s no trouble at all.

Dennis had seen plenty of horror movies started out this way. But then again, he’d also seen his share of porno flicks that started this way too

Alright, let me get my stuff, He said. But at least let me give you some money for gas.

Nonsense, you are my guest!

Okay.

Dennis grabbed his duffle bag from the Cobalt’s trunk and dropped it into