Seven Story Publishing

Reefer /ˈriːfə/ noun — A refrigerated truck or trailer used for transporting perishable goods.

Ghosts shuffled Crocs and sandals on the vinyl floor. Aluminium chairs screeched as washed-out travellers sat around me, rustled through paper-wrapped industrial cheeseburgers, and slurped Coke from paper straws. Some smelled like sweat, others like sweat masked by body spray. But they all had long, tired faces and misty eyes—ghosts.

I gazed at the displays of chocolates, bottles, cans, and schnick-schnacks across from the food court. 

I swirled a sip of coffee in my mouth. Tasted like rotten rubber. Small grounds stuck to my throat as it went down. I stared at the rest of this brown piss and pushed it aside.

A bloke stood in the middle of the service station—eyes peeled, fluttering all over the place. Wide awake, like the ghosts were not. Off his hands hung nylon bags stuffed with packaged diabetes and bottled water. Peeled Eyes stepped from foot to foot, swivelling his head like someone’s just pick-pocketed him.

I straightened my back. Rolled my shoulders. Eight more hours on the road. I would be in Hamburg by mid-morning. Unload the three hundred and ten toilet bowls I’d been hauling across Europe and take a shower.

Two metres from the exit, Peeled Eyes and another guy overtook me, rushing to the door. They had split the nylon bags between them and marched on like two jeans-clad soldiers. The new guy was tall, back wide and straight like he’d swallowed a walking stick. Peeled Eyes hissed at Walking Stick in a familiar Slavic language that I couldn’t place, and gesticulated. The nylon bag on his wrist swayed and rustled. What was he scolding him about? Had Walking Stick taken too long in the shitter?

Outside, summer night drizzle and diesel fumes took my mind off the two barabas. I walked between the pumps towards the lorry park. Few vehicles, no one around. A faint hum of traffic came from the motorway cutting through the surrounding Austrian forest. Most lampposts were dark. One threw flickering glints on the slick asphalt.

I sank into the soft seat in my cabin and turned off the light. Just another night alone with my thoughts and farts. As my hand reached for the ignition, my gaze flicked to the lorry park. Cold tingling pricked my face.

I was looking at a reefer. Parked all the way at the far end, despite the lot being almost deserted. The rear door was opened, and a torchlight flashed from inside the trailer. It had to be that distant light that had caught my attention.