Iam’s alarm went off, and he rolled over to shut it off before remembering he’d put his phone in the bathroom to force himself to get out of bed. Reaching out, he found the flask on his nightstand. He’d managed to make it home and get to sleep without sipping from it but did so now. The warm booze burned its way down his throat, taking with it the beginnings of a headache. But, damn, that alarm was still blaring. He jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom, nearly tripping over the nonexistent mess he’d instinctively tried to dodge. Then, catching himself on the sink, he slid the alarm toggle on his phone to dismiss and exalted in the silence.

He’d found a few rolls of toilet paper while cleaning, so did his business with the confidence of a man who knew he could clean himself afterward. It was a much weirder and more momentous feeling than he thought it should be. He still didn’t have any body wash, so the handsoap would be joining him in the shower once more. Maybe he should have kept some of that money.

It wasn’t until Iam finished his shower that he realized he hadn’t done any laundry, despite cleaning up some. He also didn’t know what he was supposed to wear since there hadn’t been any discussion about the dress code. So he pulled from what he’d seen the flaggers wearing, combined with Jackson’s clothes, to develop his version of Texas outdoor casual. Light blue, loose-fitting gym shorts, an old, maroon, long-sleeve fishing shirt that let the breeze in, and even older steel toe boots. The ensemble looked ridiculous, but it was comfortable, and most important, clean…ish.

He snatched up the flask and refilled it from one of his rescued bathroom bottles. He didn’t know what liquor he was putting in or what was already in it, nor did he care. Booze was booze, and now, he decided it wasn’t even that anymore. It was medicine to be doled out on a schedule and with precision. And, medicine was supposed to taste bad. Of course, he probably wasn’t supposed to be his own pharmacist but wouldn’t dwell on that just now. The bottle he just dispensed his medicine from was so close to empty that Iam decided to go ahead and finish it. Smacking his lips, he headed for the door, but the buzzing of the breathalyzer stopped him in his tracks. Hoping he hadn’t drunk enough to push him over Jackson’s limit, he pulled it out and blew. As before, he put it back in his pocket without looking. He left the house and drove to toward work full of an odd mix of excitement and trepidation.

“Hey, Jackson,” Iam said into his phone.

“Is something the matter, Mr. D’Mann?”

“Oh, no, man. Everything’s fine. Wanted to let you know I’m on my way. Gonna be there a little early, even.”

“Mr. D’Mann, you don’t need to call and tell me you’re going to be on time. Just be on time.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Iam said sheepishly. “Well, I guess I’ll see you soon.”

“It’s perfectly fine, Mr. D’Mann. I understand. See you soon.”

The sun was bright in the sky, though only a couple of hours from setting, the gulls were screeching, and traffic crawled along, but despite it all, Iam had a grin on his face with a capital G. He passed the construction zone, and even the morose flaggers didn’t bother him. That wouldn’t be him. He was just too damned happy. The job was excellent, but that wasn’t why he couldn’t stop grinning. For the first time in his life, sobriety seemed within his grasp.

Jackson was waiting for him when he pulled into the parking lot, standing next to one of the Jack’s Asphalt trucks. He noticed truck seven parked out front and jumped out of his car. Jackson reached out a hand, and Iam moved to shake it.

“Not your hand, Mr. D’Mann,” Jackson said. “The breathalyzer.”

Iam’s shoulders slumped, and he reached in his pocket and retrieved the small device. Jackson took it and scrolled through the readings.

“Only two?” he asked.

“It only went off twice,” Iam said.

“No, Mr. D’Mann, it went off several times. I thought I was clear about this.”

“No, wait,” Iam said. “I was asleep all day. I didn’t hear it.”

“I see,” Jackson said. “Fine, I’ll only punish you a little. From now on, sleep lighter.”

“Come on,” Iam protested, “that’s not fair.”

“You want fair,” Jackson said without a hint of compassion, “go back to Kindergarten. Now, the second reading isn’t over the limit, but it’s close. Give me the flask so I can refill it.”

“Oh,” Iam said, “I kind of, uh, already did that.”

That horrible look of disappointment filled Jackson’s face, and Iam squirmed.

“I see,” Jackson said. “We’ll discuss this in the morning. But, for now, give me your keys.”

“My keys?” Iam asked. “Why?”

“You’re going to suffer one of the repercussions I talked about. I’m going to have your belongings moved to one of our worker barracks. You’ll be staying there until I can trust you.”

“Now, hold on just one minute,” Iam shouted. “I’m not moving anywhere, and how dare you try and tell me where to live!”

“Very well,” Jackson said. “I’m sure Jessis will give you back the Miller’s check. I wish you the best, Mr. D’Mann.”

Jackson walked away and got into his truck. The engine roared to life, and he started to pull away. Iam stood dumbfounded for a split second. Then, without deciding to do so, he jumped in front of the pickup.

“What!” he shouted. “That’s it? The first sign of resistance, you throw in the towel? Well, you know what? I don’t need you. Not if you’re that damn weak. Go screw yourself.”

The truck idled forward, and Iam gave ground as its inexorable movement continued. Gravel crunched under the tires, and Iam’s boots slipped, adding their own scraping sound. Jackson looked at him through the windshield, his face impassive. Iam pushed against the hood of the truck, his arms straight as he leaned into it. Sweat poured from his forehead, and he drew ragged breaths. Turning his head, Iam noticed they were getting closer to the roadway. He beat on the hood, screaming incoherent words. The loose gravel of the parking lot gave way to concrete. Iam’s boot caught, and he stumbled back. His arms flailed, but he managed to stay upright. The roadway was only a few feet away now, and Iam launched himself at the truck.

He punched the hood repeatedly, then when that didn’t stop Jackson, he started head butting it. His rage spent itself against unfeeling metal until nothing remained. Finally, he laid his head down, his sweat pooling on the hot hood. His maniacal ramblings died away until he was muttering half to himself.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“You bastard. You stole it from me. It was my last hope, and you stole it from me.”

Iam repeated that last word over and over, his breaths slowly coming under control. After a while, he noticed the truck wasn’t moving anymore. He picked his head up and saw Jackson through the windshield. His face held a complicated expression. His lips were set in a stern frown, but his cheeks didn’t drop with the corners of his mouth. His eyes were narrowed, but rather than focusing anger on him, they shone with compassion. Iam let his head fall. Sometime later, a hand patted him on the back.

“I didn’t steal it,” Jackson said. “You gave it away.”

“Whatever,” Iam mumbled. “Just…just leave me alone.”

He walked away from Jackson toward his car, only making it a few steps before Jackson called out to him.

“What? That’s it? The first sign of resistance, you throw in the towel? Well, you know what? I don’t need you. Not if you’re that damn weak. Go screw yourself.”

Iam spun on Jackson. Having his own words thrown at him reignited his anger. “What do you want from me? Just tell me what you want, please.”

“I want your obedience,” Jackson said. “This, Mr. D’Mann, is the second test. It is pass or fail, and there are no second chances. This is when you choose the path you walk for the rest of your life, and once you do, you are committed…end of discussion.”

“Why am I being tested?” Iam said in a low voice. “I mean, why me?”

“Are those different questions,” Jackson said, “or the same one reworded?”

“Huh?” Iam said.

“Mr. D’Mann, you will find that language has precise rules for a reason. For example, you asked just now for what purpose you are being tested and why you are being tested. However, it was clumsy and poorly spoken, leaving the possibility what you really meant to ask was a single question: why me? Now, with no ambiguity, ask your question again.”

Iam stared at Jackson for a long time. “Okayyy,” he drawled. “Why me?”

“I have no idea,” Jackson said. “Now, hand over your keys, or get in your car and leave. No more questions, no more stalling.”

Iam handed over his keys.

“Do you understand what this signifies?” Jackson asked.

“No,” Iam replied, “and I don’t care. I give up. I’ll do whatever you say, just please, get me sober.”

“Very well,” Jackson said, “on one condition. Agree to answer one question with complete honesty.”

“Yeah, sure,” Iam said.

Jackson looked hard into Iam’s eyes. “Why do you want to be sober?”

Iam started to answer, but the words he intended to speak died on his lips, and his mouth moved on its own. “For Jess. It’s what she wants more than anything in the world, and I want to give it to her.” Iam’s body shuddered, and he shook his head. “What the hell was that?”

“The truth,” Jackson said. “We’ll unpack later why you felt like you couldn’t admit that. But, for now, let’s get you to work. We’ve got a drive ahead of us.”

Iam put aside his confusion and focused on what mattered. He still had a job. “Where we going?”

“You’re missing a verb there,” Jackson said. When Iam returned his statement with a dumb expression, he continued. “We’ll come back to that. The job is on 77 near Odem. It’s about forty miles from here, and the cone crews should have the site set up by the time we get there.” He tossed Iam a small keyring. “That’s your set, truck seven.”

Iam caught the ring, noticing there was more than one key on it. One of them looked distinctly like a house key. Anger flashed, but there wasn’t much conviction behind it. He’d already decided to do what he was told, so it didn’t really matter whether Jackson had set all this up or not. He got into truck seven and followed his master onto the roadway.

The drive to Odem was peaceful, though Jackson seemed to be doing his best to lose Iam at every opportunity. It wasn’t that Jackson was driving overly fast either. The speed limits in Texas were on the high side, and it had been a long time since Iam had been able to drive seventy-five miles per hour. The speed felt unsafe, and Iam lagged behind often, only speeding up when Jackson would fall back, hit his brakes, then move on. On second thought, maybe it wasn’t that peaceful a drive after all.

To either side of the interstate was open ranch land that looked like it went on forever. Small scrub brushes dotted browning grass with the occasional cluster of cedar trees mixed in. Yet, despite the open land, Iam didn’t see much in the way of livestock. The way the fading orange light of day washed over the word gave the landscape an alien look. The long shadows blended into shallow gullies and furrows to create an undulating sea of darkness. By the time they made it to Odem, it was full dark, but Iam didn’t need daylight to know what the town looked like.

The small rural towns that dotted Texas were all basically the same. They had a single main highway that ran straight through the middle, and all the major businesses would be lined up alongside it. Old, disused farm equipment would feature prominently in the décor, whether by design or simple apathy. The people held onto old beliefs that no longer had a place in more populace society, and beyond the tiny business and residential plots lay unceasing farmland. Stoplights bathed the roadway in festive colors, and streetlamps did their best to wash away the pall of night. There would only be a handful of stores open this late in the evening because decent people should already be home by now.

The construction site started immediately past the last business on Highway 77, one lane completely blocked off with orange barrels. A dour woman stood at the closest barrel holding up a stop sign. She didn’t even blink when Jackson drove around the barrel and onto the shoulder of the roadway. Iam thought that was a bit blasé, considering Jackson hadn’t activated his amber lights, and the company’s logo wasn’t visible. Yeah, that would NOT be him. He was going to do the job right. He followed Jackson’s truck through the grass, and humps and dips in the ground sent him and the truck on a carnival ride. They stopped by a behemoth piece of machinery with several people standing around it. Lights mounted on top of the thing shone down, illuminating a large swath of the road. A man held up a hand in greeting, and Jackson stopped. When they were both outside, Jackson motioned for Iam to join him.

“Iam, this is Tito. He’s your new boss.”

Tito was a short, slim Hispanic man whose skin had been darkened by years of working outside. He looked young with short black hair, a thin mustache, and a narrow beard. He smiled, revealing brilliant white teeth. Not, I take care of my mouth white, but movie star, I spend thousands of dollars on my mouth, white. It was a little creepy. He wore blue overalls with orange reflective stripes that ran down both sides from shoulder to boot.

“Oh hey man,” Tito said, “so you’re Jackson’s new hard-luck case, huh? Bro, you should have been here an hour ago.” He patted Iam hard on the shoulder, which he had to reach up to do. “Good thing the boss is with you, am I right?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Iam said.

“Alright, then,” Tito said. “Let’s get you settled in. Juan doesn’t like running the scarecrow. See ya, boss.”

“Thank you, Tito,” Jackson said. “I’ll have his things moved in by end of shift.”

Tito waved. “No problemo, boss man. We’ll make sure to tuck him in nice and tight.”

Iam followed Tito, stumbling a little over the uneven ground. “What’s a scarecrow?”

“Eh, just a nickname for the signs,” Tito said. “You’re pretty lucky, actually. Our first truck is late, too, so we haven’t started tearing up the road yet. You’d barely be able to hear me if ole Bertha was chewing away at the asphalt.”

“Bertha?” Iam asked.

Tito gave a half-wave back at the large piece of equipment. “Yeah, we’re resurfacing tonight. Bertha shreds about three inches of asphalt off the top, then we come behind and fill it in. Only takes a few hours to do four or five miles of road.” He stopped near another man holding up a sign that read slow. “Hey Juan, break’s over, man.”

Juan looked a lot like Tito, and Iam felt ashamed as soon as he had the thought. Of course, there were slight differences the more he looked, but they really could have been brothers. Juan’s teeth weren’t as white, his beard was fuller, and his hair was longer, but none of those by much. He was also an inch or two taller, which put him around five-six or so.

“About time,” he said, grinning, “it’s my night on Bertha.”

He handed Iam a walkie-talkie and let go of the sign. It fell toward Iam, giving him no choice but to catch it. Unfortunately, he misjudged its trajectory, and the damn thing banged into his finger. He yelped in pain but held onto the sign.

“Okay, bro,” Tito said, ignoring Iam’s pain, “so, it’s a pretty easy job. You let cars go until Jenna, that’s the other flagger, radios for you to stop. You tell her what the last car was, then change the sign to stop. She’ll radio when it’s time for her side to stop…and you get the idea. Any questions?”

“No,” Iam said slowly, “seems pretty simple.”

“It is,” Tito said. He started to walk away, then stopped and snapped his fingers. “Oh yeah, almost forgot, bro. We get wild animals hanging around at night sometimes. So if you see something, radio it in, okay.”

“Sure,” Iam said.

“I mean it,” Tito said. “This is super important. Don’t try to scare it away or anything. Just radio it in, and we’ll handle it.”

“Yeah, I got it,” Iam said, a little annoyed. “It’s not rocket science.”

“You’d be surprised,” Tito said. “And hey, man, in all seriousness. All our butts ride on you doing the job right. You screw up; we get hurt. So, don’t screw up.”

Iam looked up and down the road at the utter lack of traffic. “Sure thing.”