Two semis struggle side-by-side up a curving, four-lane highway. Ahead of them, the asphalt stretches long and empty until bitten off by the top of the steep hill. Only the cars rushing past on the other side betray how slowly the trucks move--those cars, and the roar of beeps behind them. The Kenworth sways and veers in the left lane; it oscillates between scraping the concrete divider and plunging over the yellow line. Each time it swings out too far, its Navistar companion nudges it back into place.
They crest the hill. There, in the distance: the gleaming, bulky backs of the rest of the herd. The Kenworth manages a low note from its horn that sputters out as it begins down the hill. The Navistar trails it, and then leaps forward as the Kenworth swerves more seriously. It cannot stop the Kenworth's swayback roll as one of the Kenworth's right wheels gives out.
The Kenworth lands heavily on its side. It splays across the road, and the impact scares dark, flitting shapes out of the brush for miles. The truck's steel body tears up the asphalt and leaves behind immense furrows. The Kenworth isn't moving. It's blocking that side of the highway entirely, and the shoulder is steep. Smaller sedans and trucks behind the Navistar beep their consternation and crowd together.
They're still huddled like this when motor bikes' sharp whines split the air. Chaos shatters the relative stillness as vehicles scramble. Some smash forward into other cars, others take their chance with the gravelly shoulder, and a few begin reversing. The Navistar cannot turn. The Navistar cannot survive the shoulder's steepness. It endures the pandemonium as vehicles hit it, the Kenworth, and themselves in their need to escape.
A sedan with half its bumper crumpled around one of its back wheels falls in the initial onslaught as the pack arrives. The bikes cut through the traffic, flooding through the jam or breaking off seemingly at random to attack overturned and stalled vehicles. A number of the bikes, their narrow headlights fastened on easy prey, focus their steering columns forward on the semis. They ignore the Navistar's gear-rattling horn to feast on the Kenworth's mechanicals entrails. They lunge at the Navistar's high undercarriage.
It revvs and plunges to the side as best it can; the semi crushes a few bikes under its heavy wheels, but it goes off the shoulder. Like its companion before it, the Navistar lists to the side, and then collapses. Motorcycles spatter oil across its underside as they jockey for position around the cab.
A jingle in the distance makes the cycles quiet their motors. The slight clatter of chains solidifies into a trio of tow trucks lumbering up the hill. Their diesel engines roar, and their hooks sway. The motorcycles break and flee.
The tow trucks begin the process of clearing the trucks off of the road. They pay no mind to the circling helicopters that land to feed on the scrap that remains.
They crest the hill. There, in the distance: the gleaming, bulky backs of the rest of the herd. The Kenworth manages a low note from its horn that sputters out as it begins down the hill. The Navistar trails it, and then leaps forward as the Kenworth swerves more seriously. It cannot stop the Kenworth's swayback roll as one of the Kenworth's right wheels gives out.
The Kenworth lands heavily on its side. It splays across the road, and the impact scares dark, flitting shapes out of the brush for miles. The truck's steel body tears up the asphalt and leaves behind immense furrows. The Kenworth isn't moving. It's blocking that side of the highway entirely, and the shoulder is steep. Smaller sedans and trucks behind the Navistar beep their consternation and crowd together.
They're still huddled like this when motor bikes' sharp whines split the air. Chaos shatters the relative stillness as vehicles scramble. Some smash forward into other cars, others take their chance with the gravelly shoulder, and a few begin reversing. The Navistar cannot turn. The Navistar cannot survive the shoulder's steepness. It endures the pandemonium as vehicles hit it, the Kenworth, and themselves in their need to escape.
A sedan with half its bumper crumpled around one of its back wheels falls in the initial onslaught as the pack arrives. The bikes cut through the traffic, flooding through the jam or breaking off seemingly at random to attack overturned and stalled vehicles. A number of the bikes, their narrow headlights fastened on easy prey, focus their steering columns forward on the semis. They ignore the Navistar's gear-rattling horn to feast on the Kenworth's mechanicals entrails. They lunge at the Navistar's high undercarriage.
It revvs and plunges to the side as best it can; the semi crushes a few bikes under its heavy wheels, but it goes off the shoulder. Like its companion before it, the Navistar lists to the side, and then collapses. Motorcycles spatter oil across its underside as they jockey for position around the cab.
A jingle in the distance makes the cycles quiet their motors. The slight clatter of chains solidifies into a trio of tow trucks lumbering up the hill. Their diesel engines roar, and their hooks sway. The motorcycles break and flee.
The tow trucks begin the process of clearing the trucks off of the road. They pay no mind to the circling helicopters that land to feed on the scrap that remains.
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