Assigned to Ghost — Suzanne Eglington

Pike Evans pulled himself up by the handlebar observing inside the cab. The driver was clutching his chest. Pike opened the door, fumbling to get his phone. The driver grabbed hold of Pike's sweatshirt at center chest, This is a national emergency. These wheels have to keep moving. Can you drive a rig? Pike nodded yes. Good. As soon as I take my foot off the brake, we have 30 seconds to get this rolling. Are you clear on this? Pike nodded yes, again, wide eye darting from the man's hand on him, to the man's concerned face, to the inside of the cab that looked like a NASA control room. The guy relaxed his grip on Pike. My medication fell to the passenger's side floor. When I move, I need you to move into my seat and get these wheels turning. Pike asked, What if I don't? The man's head fell forward as he clutched his chest. He shifted his neck, turning his head up staring right into Pike's eyes. Then this place is going to light up brighter than the sun, and your life will be a memory. Pike nodded understanding, Move over.