The graveyard shift on Interstate 80 is a soul-crushing kind of lonely. It was 2:00 AM on a Tuesday. I’m a State Trooper, and out here, the night is just endless miles of black asphalt, freezing crosswinds, and the occasional rumble of an 18-wheeler hauling freight across the country.
The temperature had plunged to a bitter nineteen degrees. Sleet was coming down hard, turning the windshield into a mess of freezing slush. I was exhausted.
My coffee had gone cold three hours ago, and all I wanted was to finish my patrol, get back to the station, and thaw out. Then I saw it. About a quarter-mile up ahead, my headlights caught a dark shape dead center in the right lane.
My heart jumped into my throat. At seventy miles an hour, any debris on the road is a death sentence. I slammed on the brakes.
The heavy police cruiser fishtailed slightly on the icy patches before the anti-lock brakes caught, the tires grinding to a violent, shuddering halt just thirty yards away from the obstruction. I threw the car into park and slammed my hand down on the lightbar switch. Harsh red and blue strobes immediately lit up the desolate highway, bouncing off the sleet and the dark pines lining the road.
I leaned forward, squinting through the windshield. It was a dog. A medium-sized spaniel, its fur matted and dark with wet dirt.
It was just standing there. Dead center of the lane. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, gripping the steering wheel.
I’ve worked this job for twelve years. Do you know how many fatal wrecks are caused by people swerving to miss an animal in the middle of the night? Too many.
I’ve had to pull bodies out of mangled cars just because a deer or a stray dog decided to play Russian roulette with highway traffic. I laid on the horn. A long, deafening blast that echoed into the treeline.
“Move!” I yelled inside the cab. “Get off the road, you dumb mutt!”
The dog didn’t flinch. Instead of running toward the shoulder, it turned to face my cruiser.
It lowered its head, bared its teeth, and started barking. I couldn’t hear the sound over the roar of the wind and the engine, but I could see the aggressive, frantic jerking of its body. It was trying to intimidate a four-ton police SUV.
I felt a surge of pure frustration. I didn’t have time for this. I was cold, I was tired, and this dog was going to get itself killed, or worse, cause a massive pileup if a semi came barreling around the bend behind me.
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