Troublesome Trucks Face Novels & Stories

Maverick’s Point of View The truck collided with the first of their cars. I lurched forward, gripping tightly onto the dashboard. My driver floored it. Scraped the road with their scrap metal. I braced as we hit another one. Men darted from their positions. Drew their guns and fired rapidly at the sides of the truck. Bullets peppered the steel but refused to go through. Thousands and thousands of rands were spent securing my people.

Enzo called out. ​The big man appeared from a side office, his arm in a sling from the estate firefight. He looked exhausted, his face grey. "Boss. We’re struggling. The Sokolov wipe hit the routing tables for the Cicero shipments. We’ve got three trucks sitting at the border with no digital manifests. The drivers are spooked. They think the Feds are pinging the VINs." ​Enzo looked at the monitors, then at me. He didn't say a word. He just gestured to the central terminal—the "Throne."

I stepped back from the bar and answered immediately. “I found their truck,” he said. My stomach rolled in anticipation. I needed those two old troublemakers to be safe. “Are they okay?” Silence for a minute. “It’s come off the road, just past Hangman’s Bend.” “Did they have a crash?” “I don’t know that yet. There’s significant damage to the truck.” I was getting impatient. “Are they ok? Just tell me.” “I wish I could tell you that. There’s just no sign of them anywhere. It’s like they've just disappeared into thin air.”

"You knew that something like that might happen." I nodded. "I feared it might. I hoped we wouldn't have to use them this way." We were sitting in my team's headquarters, trying to find where Charlie and all the weapons had been taken. We all assumed that it might have been the same location—some temporary base with warehouses or a lot of containers prepared to ship the equipment out of the country. We just needed to find it. Unfortunately, we had no luck with the trucks. The drivers must have had the same jamming devices that were used in the factory, which literally made all the trucks disappear from the traffic surveillance system, especially once they left the New York City area. Right n

We began to fire at each other but my team dogged every bullet. “We’ve got a problem, Alpha,” a warrior named Finn reported, his voice tight. “They’ve got heavy armor.” “Focus on the tires,” I ordered. “Shoot at the tires and disable the truck.” After it took a few bullets, the truck swerved, as its tires shredded. I watched it crash into the quarry wall and heaved a sigh. We secured the cargo, and found the crates filled with rifles, grenades, and other deadly weapons. “Third truck approaching,” Caleb’s voice reported through the mind link.

"They have forty trucks sitting at the main checkpoint right now. They are blowing their horns. The noise is keeping the whole sector awake." I stand up and walk to the window. Down below, the headlights of the massive transport trucks cut through the grey fog like yellow teeth. "Call the border guards," I say. My voice is too quiet. "Tell them to spike the tyres on every third truck. If the drivers open their mouths, lock them in the holding pens under the pier." Axton stalls. His boots stay glued to the floor. "Penelope, those are Alpha males from the old bloodlines. They will start a riot."

While it wasn’t the first time someone had shortened my name from Thorne to Cal, it was the first time I’d allowed it without giving an attitude. I shoved my cell back into my pocket and took a swig from my beer. The grin that had worked its way onto my face moments before reappeared. It remained intact even when Tobias’s huge ass truck came barreling down the driveway. He didn’t take any of the potholes or craters into consideration, but then again, he never did. He had mudding tires put on the thing for a reason. The truck was his baby, but he tested its suspension daily. His philosophy was, why have a truck made specifically for off-roading if you never took it off-roading for a little fu

The client ended the call immediately. Quickly, I faced Jerome. "Reach out to them. They should be close by now," I panicked. Jerome contacted the riders, but their line wasn't going through. We kept on calling for the next ten minutes, until one of the riders finally picked up. "Sir." "What the hell?! What's taking you guys so long?" I questioned, almost bursting out in rage. That's when my whole world came crumbling in seconds. The trucks... The tyres were punctured, leaving the trucks stuck in-between Wolf Crest and Silver highway!

The officer continued cautiously, "And it's still strange, sir... a large transport truck overturned on the side of the asphalt road leading to the farm, and about a kilometer further on, another large truck overturned on the side of the road. Neither vehicle had any documents or licenses indicating ownership, but we took the license plates and sent them to the traffic police to trace the owners in the records." Hisham's expression hardened, his tone a mixture of praise and urgency:

Jack gaped at the anxious werewolf before directing his gaze to the truck and said, "I am okay but this truck isn't okay!" Everyone waited patiently for Jack to explain his point. Jack saw the werewolves and said gravely, "The brake of this truck isn't functioning properly. There's some issue with it! I could have run into an accident because of the brake!" One werewolf said, "What?! The brake isn't working and we are planning to drive this faulty truck?" Blowing out a sigh, he went to Jack and patted his back, "Thanks buddy! It's dangerous to drive this truck!"