Fiction » “Murder on the Dashboard”
“Murder on the Dashboard”
Part 1 of 4
Ethan Zachary hurried out of the main entrance, fumbling with his car keys, security tag and overcoat. He stopped suddenly, negotiating the coat over his shoulders as he bent his elbows awkwardly and craned his neck.
As he stepped outside into the cool morning air the doors slid shut behind him and locked themselves automatically. The offices of Energy Futures Industries were leading edge, equipped with the highest caliber of automated security systems.
The sun had risen just moments ago and checking his watch, Ethan realised that, yet again, his computer had stolen his night. He shrugged his shoulders and fastened up his coat. A chilled wind whistled around the side of the building. The sky was pink, cloudless.
Ethan quickened his pace as he made his way to his car. He was due back at work in three hours, but decided he should go home at least once this week. His red eyes matched the sunrise and he and his pillow were due some quality time.
Normality was optional for Ethan.
As he spun around the corner towards the staff car park, Ethan stopped. A delivery truck, as grey and characterless as the others that normally serviced the company, had been parked thoughtlessly behind his car, blocking him in.
Ethan marched around the back of the trailer, furiously shaking his head at the “How’s my driving? Call 1-800-555-2000” bumper sticker. As he reached the cab, he stretched up and slammed the palm of his hand against the door several times. There was no answer.
The sound echoed around the car park. No one was around.
“Deliveries are on the other side!” he shouted, using the step to climb up to the cab’s side window.
He knocked at the window but there was no one inside. Instinctively, Ethan tried the door. It opened. He shrugged and climbed inside. “I’ll just back it up a bit,” he whispered to himself. “And then I can get out of here.”
Ethan bounced onto the driver’s seat, smoothing his hands around the steering wheel. “Keys, keys, keys,” he said. He checked the sun visor first, flipping it down.
A set of keys dropped down into his lap. Ethan laughed to himself and then inserted one of the keys into the ignition. A small red light blinked on the dashboard and a polite, innocuous tone matched its rhythm. Ethan peered down at the light, realising it was asking him to put on the seat belt.
“Safety first,” he said to himself.
After pulling down the seat belt across his chest and securing its buckle in the lock, Ethan tried the ignition again. The cab shuddered and the engine roared into life. The radio turned itself on and music poured out of the speakers mounted in the doors. The song sounded tinny but recognisable regardless. He hummed along to the lyrics.
#Ah, but… two hours of pushin’ broom#
Ethan pushed his foot down into the clutch and grasped at the gearstick, wrestling the truck into gear. As the radio continued its song, the doors to the cab locked themselves. Ethan was too busy concentrating to notice.
#Buys an eight by twelve four-bit room#
The cab shuddered again and the gearbox groaned, refusing Ethan’s movements. “Come on!” he shouted.
His seat belt tightened slightly.
#I’m a man of means by no means#
Ethan reached over, placing both hands on the gearstick, grappling with its tenacity. He pushed down hard. The seat belt continued to tighten, cutting unnoticeably into his neck.
Ethan was getting breathless. He forced the gearstick down with such might, he wondered if he might dislocate his shoulder.
The cab lurched. The radio fell silent.
#King of th—
Ethan pushed himself back into the seat. There was a sudden tightness across his chest. He slid his thumb under the seat belt in an attempt to loosen it. He reached down to release the buckle. It wouldn’t move.
He felt a sudden tug and then gasped for breath as the seat belt tightened further. He thumped down on the steering wheel with both hands. He was trapped inside the cab.
White noise hissed suddenly from the cab’s speakers and then a voice boomed out. Ethan froze with fear. The voice was sharp, cold and inhuman. A chill ran up his spine then down his arms and into his trembling fingers. The seat belt squeezed across his throat, lancing his skin.
“Fleshling,” the voice growled, reverberating around the cab. “My fellow Decepticons call me Motormaster, but to you it’s just ‘Master’.”
Continue Reading | Jump to Part 1 2 3 4
Tags: Fiction
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