Rumbling Noise When Driving Novels & Stories

I want to make sure first that everything is okay before I let him ride in a car. While recalling everything. I started hearing scratching again. The sound of it is like a blade scratching into a metal. That creates an irritating sound that will make someone’s brain hurt for sure when they hear it and that is what I feel right now. I feel like my brain will explode because it starts aching again. “No… no… no” I whispered; not again. I tried to avoid it but I keep on hearing it over and over and it gets louder and louder.

Another sound followed…a low grinding noise beneath the hood. “What the hell…” I muttered, glancing at the dashboard. The temperature gauge flickered, then the engine light blinked red. “No, no, no. Not now.” The sound grew louder. I pressed lightly on the gas, but the car jerked instead of moving smoothly. “Come on,” I hissed, hitting the steering wheel. “Not now. Please.” The road around me was completely deserted… no lights, no houses, no sign of life. Just the sound of the wind slipping through the trees and the car’s dying hum.

The scent of burnt rubber and something I couldn't quite place a name to, filled my nose. “Oh, shit…” My voice came out weak, barely audible over the ringing in my ears. “What the fuck is your problem!!? Are you freaking bling!? Do you want to get yourself killed?” I turned to the other raging driver who had his head out of his window and I just couldn't bring myself to say anything. In the wake of my silence, he mumbled something to himself and drove away his black sedan that now had one headlight bumped in. I forced myself to move, my fingers gripping the wheel as I blinked rapidly, trying to process what just happened.

It swings open, silent, and smooth until I start the engine. I flinch at the sound of the engine roaring in the middle of the night. It surely is loud enough to wake up anyone in the distance. Anyone. Before anyone catches me, I press down on the accelerator, and the car thrusts forward but doesn't move. I put it on reverse and it quickly lurches back before slamming into a small tree. "Shit," I curse before shifting the gears again and driving forward. "Get a grip." I tell myself while moving down the dirt road that leads straight out.

The sane part is still trying to argue that point despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. Another impact reverberates through the street, the car lurches on its suspension. The bonnet caves inward with a metallic crunch that bounces off the surrounding walls, I flinch so hard my shoulder slams into the wheel behind me. I can't breathe, can only cower and listen to chaos unfold on the other side of a few inches of steel.

I put my head down on the cold, vibrating pavement and prayed that the driver was looking at the road and not his logbook. The air horn of the truck let out a deafening, earth-shaking blast, a scream of a hundred decibels that shattered the night. The screech of air brakes followed, a high-pitched wail of protest as tons of steel fought against physics. Behind us, a gunshot rang out. A bullet sparked off the asphalt inches from my head. Then another. But the truck was there. It was a wall of light and noise, a mountain of iron that skidded to a halt mere feet from where we lay.

She matched it. The ride to the docks was too quiet. Engines growled against the night, tires crunching gravel, radios whispering static, but the silence inside the vehicles was louder than any of it. Men checked their rifles for the third time. Fingers drummed against knees. Breath fogged the air in shallow bursts.

Loaded down with four plastic bags, I packed the trunk, re-buckled Leo into his seat, and started the slow drive back toward our subdivision. To avoid the flooded main avenue, I turned down a quiet, winding two-lane back road flanked by dense pine woods. It was a dark, isolated stretch of pavement with no streetlights and deep ditches on either side. We were halfway down the ridge when the Honda made a sound that made my heart leap straight into my throat. A sharp, violent clunk echoed from beneath the hood, followed by a horrifying grinding noise of metal shearing against metal. The dashboard lights flickered wildly—the oil light, the battery indicator, and the check engine light all illumi

They were lost, driven here by that abomination, and they were running out of road. Naelis gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white. She looked in the rearview mirror, checking on Silas. “Arggghh!” “Arggghh!” “Arggghh!” The growling began again, but it wasn't the sound they had heard before. This one sounded more dangerous and it sent chills down her spine. The necklace at her neck suddenly went wild, vibrating so hard it began to bruise her skin, emitting a high-pitched sound that made her ears bleed.

Before Julian could process the crushing weight of the truth, the oppressive silence of the sanitarium was shattered. From the gravel driveway three floors below, the low, synchronized roar of heavy engines vibrated through the stone walls. It wasn't the rhythmic, guttural thunder of the Vultures' V-Twin choppers. These engines were lighter, higher-pitched, carrying a frantic, chaotic frequency that Julian recognized instantly. The Vipers.