Escape Africa (4)

 

4: Black Dog

I’ve driven the same stretch of long straight road of the
N1 highway for a long time. That desolate stretch of road reached out into
infinity across the entire country. The Karoo is a killer when you least expect,
the desert is treacherous even to experienced, 
the road is littered with dead things baking in the dry Karoo heat,
chunks of rubber torn off after many grueling miles intertwined with the
fragile landscape. I’ve racked up the miles as a seasoned trucker and I’ve seen
a fair share of weird shit out there. Trucking was good business; long hauling
heavy payloads paid big money back in the day, time is money on the open road
so risks were necessary. The red eye run can be fatal let me tell you, one mistake
and snap, you’re done. Tired eyes waiting for the black dog to come up and bite
you, not me, trust my instinct, play it cautious, none of those stupid rookie
mistakes. I’ve caught a lot of wildlife in my headlights, BAM, without stopping
to check. I don’t mean to but you can’t stop a rig every time some innocent
forest critter stumbles onto the road.

Lately strange stuff is coming from Beaufort West. Guys
at the truck stops and weigh-in stations all saying the same thing about a big
black dog spotted outside of town running across the road in front of their
rigs. They hit the brakes hard thinking they’d hit the damn thing but upon
inspection; nothing boiled brakes and ruined tyres. Crappy stories, everyone
hits road kill.

‘Sounds like bullshit to me.’  I said to the weigh-in station inspector as I
climbed up into my cab but the old man was convinced of his story, the Black
Dog. I laughed it off, superstition; everyone knows the legend of a phantom
black dog claiming rigs and claiming lives when greedy men pushed too hard and
too far for too long. A truck mangling phantom sounds like crap to me but the
old man persisted.

‘I’m telling you son they all swear it’s the Black Dog, bright
yellow eyes and everything.’

Nope, there was no convincing me. I waved the notion off,
started my truck and pulled out the station but didn’t go further than few
clicks.

‘Goddamnit,’ discovering two of my rear axle tyres were
running flat on slow punctures, I had to make a choice. Change them out and lose
maybe two hours or over inflate them hope I reach Beaufort West. Screw it, I
thought, I’ve done more mileage on a lot worse. I hit the road at sunset and
ran through the night, the damn Black Dog story rattled around in my melon
since I left the weigh-in station. The trip was quiet, radio quiet and I don’t
appreciate radio silence. Apart from spots of rain, I maybe passed one other
vehicle or a hitchhiker; not too sure about the hitchhiker. The radio silence
unnerved me, dead air means your really are alone in the middle of nothing. I
hit a bump in the road and the radio crackled some static, a moment later it
felt like wheels locked up on my trailer axle. Damn air brake was failing under
the strain; I was dragging two flats and needed to pull over. The coupling hose
was sheared off. I dropped the remaining coupling to free tow the trailer the
rest of the way, a quick fix when you don’t have spares and an unnecessary
risk. I was a couple hours from Beaufort West, I could repair the coupling
there. I hit the road again. It was close to 03h00 when I passed the last road
marker:

Beaufort West 20km

Grateful I was nearly there, weary from long run on
softening tyres and oblivious to my recently reduced braking ability. Pushing
through the fatigue I quickly lost focus, getting agitated while resisting the
urge to rush it. Something flashed in my headlights, something moved into the
road in front of me. ‘Sonofabitch,’ I yelled out, hitting the brakes hard
enough to blow out the two flat tyres and start my trailer sliding. My brakes
were useless, the trailer jack knifed. I jerked at the wheel, stood on the
brakes with both feet trying to force the huge beast to stop when a thump from
behind alerted me the trailer hitch snapped free sending my overloaded trailer
spinning into a nearby ditch. I met the opposite ditch and came to a stop. I
waited for a moment in silence filling but the faint howl somewhere out in the
night was unmistakable. I climbed down a short time later with the smell of tyre
smoke and boiling brakes filling my head. My truck was fine but my trailer was
wrecked and the load was gone. The silence returned; there wasn’t another soul
to be seen; then that faint howling returned, somewhere in the night, echoing
in my ears, disorientating me. I heard noises close, noises far and claws
scratching on the tarmac behind me. I turned around, slowly, to come face to
face with an enormous yellow eyed black dog. The black beast stared at me,
waiting for my fear to overpower my logic and respond. I reached for knife on
my belt, I wanted to kill this miserable creature but the knife fumbled from my
fingers and fell to the ground; the black beast charged passed me, knocking me
off balance. I quickly reached down but my knife was gone. I looked up again
and the dog was gone too.

It took nearly an hour to find that damn knife, I not
stupid when it comes to survival because it’s them or me. Blade firmly in hand
I shouted obscenities into the darkness, fear quickly turns to anger during
conflict, I wasn’t giving this monster any advantage. ‘I’ll hunt you down and
castrate you, you mangy bitch.’ I searched the immediate area but couldn’t find
those shining yellow eyes; the Black Dog was gone, quietly slipping away in the
darkness. I screamed out aloud before giving up on the hunt. Dawn was a couple
of hours away and I needed to call someone for cleanup. I pulled myself up into
the cab and tried the radio, it was dead. I peered out through the windshield
but only saw darkness. Walking would be pointless as I was at least fifteen
clicks from town. I was trapped by the night and alone in the dark when the
howling returned. I pulled my knife on instinct and leapt from the truck. I
must have momentarily lost my senses as I set off running down the highway
slashing and stabbing at absolutely nothing. 
When I returned to my truck I was done.  I climbed back into the cab to meet immediate
dread of two giant shining yellow eyes sitting in the passenger seat, staring
at me, growling at me. I swear that monster was two inches from tearing my face
off, its grinding teeth and musty breath assaulting my skin. I closed my eyes,
content that I was about to punch out, when glass shattered. Splinters of rock
salt, safety glass and buck shot scratched cross my face, pity it didn’t scar.
I fell backward, letting the windshield crumbled onto my back. Another shot,
then another then quiet. A sharp bumping against the front grill brought me
back to focus, ‘Hey buddy, are you ok?’

Dawn approached and a local farmer saw the wreck. He come
to investigate and came upon what were nearly my final moments when he unloaded
several rounds from his shotgun. He didn’t kill anything as there was nothing
dead on the seat beside me, only a black shadow like stain in the upholstery.