Chapter 2
Bud Bringer
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The smartphone on Bud’s nightstand displayed 04:00 a.m. when it started to vibrate. It was accompanied by the mega-loud and impressive Through the Water and Waves guitar riff, that many Guitar Champion players tried to flawless on expert. Bud’s eyes creaked open and his arm reached across the bed sheet to tap snooze. He closed his eyes once again, only to instantly time travel five minutes into the future and be assaulted by his 04:05 a.m. alarm.
“Ughhh.” Bud groaned as he grabbed his phone and forcefully hit the stop option. He sat up straight in his bed, and his covers fell off to reveal that he was naked. His hairy chest complimented his hairy nipples, and he scratched his sweaty armpit which left stains in his sheets. He looked around his dark room, the window blinds were closed but it was too early for the sunlight to come in anyway. The posters on the wall depicted album art of his favorite metal band, WyvernPulse. Others were of some of his favorite shows, Stein;Feld and Cosmicgate FG-42. His crappy desktop computer was still running the old Blind Sight operating system from the early 2000s, and he kept it on sleep mode otherwise it would take a half hour to boot. He used an old treadmill as his dirty clothes rack.
Bud threw off his sheets and got out of bed, ignoring his thought to make the bed presentable for his future self. He walked into his bathroom on the other side of the hallway and took a nice hot shower. The reason why he woke up so early is so he could get lost in thought under the water for half an hour. He felt that it was the only place he could think without the judging looks of people and lost souls around him. No, he didn’t have any form of extrasensory perception, he had just convinced himself that the ghosts of his dead relatives couldn’t scry him in his bathroom. He thought, “That surely would be sexual harassment, wouldn’t it?”
His thirty minutes were up, so he turned off the shower and dried himself with the towel hanging over the metal bar. The most plain shower curtain imaginable slid to the side and out he stepped, ready to be received by the foot towel below. He turned the shower on for a brief second to drain all of his pubic hair down the drain, and left the rest for his bi-monthly vacuuming session. The mirror did not want to view his face in the slightest, it had fogged up in embarrassment for him. He wiped it off anyway to reveal a man in his early forties, with the inability to grow a beard, staring back at him. He wet his hands and rubbed some Gillesol shaving cream on his hairy mistake. For a brief second he felt that he looked like a certain jolly man. Without a thought he started shaving it off with the old razor whose blade had somehow not rusted over the entire year he owned it.
Now staring back at him was his true form, a man that looked forty one and a half instead of forty two. His brown eyes had bags underneath, and crows feet were starting to form. His short brown hair was thinning, his receding hairline was starting to become noticeable, and the wrinkles on his forehead were starting to become visible without a scowl. He turned to see that the bald spot that was forming was not a fluke. His overweight dad belly and the lower back pain sealed the deal that he was most definitely not immortal. The only thing he had going for him was his dental hygiene.
He walked back into his bedroom and grabbed his uniform from the closet. It was wrinkled but he didn’t care. His outfit was a dark green two-button collared shirt with a name tag with “Bud” on it, and a hat with the words “Lucky Delivery Company” surrounding a four leaf clover logo. There was supposed to be matching black jeans, but Bud instead bought some pants so his crotch would be happy during long drives. He was sitting behind the wheel of a truck all day and not doing in person meetings, so he felt like he could get away with it. Bud grabbed a fresh set of boxers and changed.
Bud walked into the hallway and briefly looked at the room at the end of it. It was for his daughter, she was in her second year at Kalos University and living at the dorms. He gave her the master bedroom ten years ago to make her as comfortable as possible after the divorce. Shared custody was hard to deal with in his line of work, but they pulled through.
Bud walked into the kitchen and stuffed a protein bar into his bag while running the coffee maker. His stomach refused to work in the morning, so he usually waited until nine or so to eat. However, his body is a machine that converts caffeine into energy with no diuretic effects. The coffee filled his mug and he immediately poured it into a portable vacuum flask with a rubber grip. Bud grabbed his keys that had his company’s official four-leaf clover key-chain attached, and left his apartment.
It was now 04:30 a.m. and Bud got into his lemon. It was a beat-up silver 2007 Conda Concord with a scratched up driver’s side door because someone keyed it in a Rampmart parking lot. He kept the inside clean only because he didn’t like to drive anywhere but to work. He started the engine after a couple of tries, and pulled out into the street.
At 05:00 a.m. he got to the Lucky Delivery Company driver dispatch. He pulled into his designated parking spot that he was awarded for ten-years of service and walked into the long rectangular building. There was a small office area that was for dispatch, he waved at a lone guy with headphones on in front of a CB radio. He moseyed on through to the double doors and passed into the garage. The lights turned on one after the other and showcased a bunch of trucks facing their own garage doors, each with a number plastered on the hood. He walked past a total of six before finding his baby: A five hundred horsepower forward engine, one steering axle, two driving axle, diesel semi with seven miles per gallon. It even had the trademark four-leaf clover on the front. The company called it the Lucky Seven, but he called it Freedom.
Bud did some stretches before getting into the vehicle, otherwise his ass would get sore and his back pain would intensify. He slapped the side of the truck and reached up to pull open the door, then got inside using the steps. He checked the back seat for any homeless people. Nope, just a package of bottled water and some assorted snacks he had bought on the floor. He kept a blanket and pillow back there in case he had to stop overnight somewhere.
Pulling out his phone, Bud went onto the Lucky Delivery Company official dispatch app, this is how he picked available jobs. There was one to haul crates of oranges to a warehouse in Augusta, Georgia, it would be a five and a half hour drive. That’s eleven hours total, plus the pick up and drive back to his house. So about twelve hours not counting traffic. Not too bad. He accepted it, then turned on the engine. It roared to life, and he pressed the portable garage door opener. His CB radio turned on and he spoke into the microphone.
“This is Lucky Seven taking the orange job to Augusta, Georgia, over.”
“Good morning Bud, acknowledged. Safe travels, over.”
“Thank you Mike. You too, over and out.”
Bud shifted into drive and pulled out onto the road. At 5:30 a.m. he arrived at the pick-up point. There was a single trailer waiting there for him. Bud lined up his truck and backed into the trailer. He pressed a switch on his dash to connect it, then he turned off the engine and got out of the vehicle to connect the rest of the wires.
At 6:00 a.m. Bud was ready to deliver the oranges. He drove onto a side road and made his way to the interstate.
“Lucky Seven to dispatch, I have picked up the container and am headed to the drop off, over.”
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“Dispatch to Lucky Seven, acknowledged. Over and out.”
The rest of the drive over was smooth sailing for the most part. He managed to get onto the interstate before all of the morning traffic set-in. Once in the right lane he turned on his music and blasted WyvernPulse through the speakers. He stayed in lane and let the other cars pass him. To him, driving this vehicle brought a feeling of zen. There was no sense getting involved with trying to maximize efficiency, he had a perfect driving record and he intended to keep it that way. Time passed by quickly when all you saw was the road all day, and he got to enjoy some podcasts and audio books to pass the time. At 09:00 a.m. the morning rush started to die down so he ate his protein bar. His coffee was already gone so he made a quick stop at a rest area to empty his bladder and refill his thermos. He continued until he made it to exit nine and headed to his drop off point.
“Lucky Seven to dispatch, I have arrived at the drop off, over.”
A different voice on the radio answered him, “Dispatch to Lucky Seven, acknowledged. Spot should be labeled 04, over.”
“Gotcha. Disconnecting, over.”
At around 12:00 p.m. he arrived at the drop off. It was about thirty minutes later than the GPS estimation due to traffic and the rest stop but he still made good time. He backed into the spot and flicked the switch on his dash to disconnect the trailer. He turned off his truck and unplugged all of the wires.
“Lucky Seven to dispatch, drop off successful. I am going to take my lunch break now, over.”
“Dispatch to Lucky Seven, good job Bud. You are clear for your break. Over and out.”
It was now 12:15 p.m. and Bud only had an hour for lunch, so he found a Cheese Barrel chain restaurant to park and eat at.
“The inside always looks exactly the same,” he thought. Old American products lined the shelves, and photos that looked like they were from the thirties coated the walls. Bud went up to the register and the older waitress with a southern draw showed him to his seat. There weren't many people here right now, mostly just older people and others with a southern look about them. Georgia was no doubt part of the “south” of the United States. Where he was from, Florida, was a bit different. Many people from the northeast, New York, New Jersey, Massachusetts, Vermont, etc. came down to Florida during the winter. Floridians call them “Snowbirds”. They tended to flock to mid and south Florida, in towns such as Orlando or Miami. This turned these cities almost into a “New New York”, bringing some of the northeastern American culture with them. As a result, what people called the “south” of the United States, only spanned down to northern Florida. Once you hit Orlando it kinda flipped back to being the “North” again. Regardless, Florida is still a wacky state and made fun of all of the time on the internet.
After getting another cup of coffee, Bud looked at the menu and decided on some eggs in a basket with some bacon and cheese grits. A brunch anywhere else would be fancy but here it was the norm. Ten minutes later, the meal was placed in front of him. The eggs were seamlessly cooked into the toast, and the bacon was thick and hardy. The grits were served in a separate, smaller bowl and with a spoon. He scarfed down the meal in no time flat. After paying at the front, he took a leak, bought some candy, and headed back to his truck. He had about twenty minutes before his break was over, so he climbed into the back seat, went under the covers and rested his head on the pillow. He took out his phone and watched a BooTube video, it was one of those hour long documentaries on a really niche subject.
His twenty minutes were up so he paused the video and got back into the driver’s seat. He fixed the hair that was left on his head using his side mirrors and put his cap back on. The engine started and he spoke once again into the radio.
“Lucky Seven to dispatch, I’m headed back to the garage, over.”
After a few seconds there was a response, “Dispatch to Lucky Seven, acknowledged, over and out.”
At 01:20 p.m. Bud pulled out of the Cheese Barrel parking lot and headed back onto the freeway. The way back always seemed quicker for some reason. Bud thought he had heard something about how the brain didn’t have to process new information when returning home and instead just had to recall old information which was quicker. He wasn’t sure if this was the case and he was too lazy to look it up at the moment.
At around 05:30 p.m. Bud’s radio started to make some noise. It got louder and louder and he was getting visibly irritated at this. Once it was unbearable he gave it a slap and it stopped.
“Percussive maintenance to the rescue once again,” he thought.
A stressed voice suddenly sprouted from the radio, “Dispatch to Lucky Seven, dispatch to Lucky Seven, please advise, over.”
Bud raised an eyebrow and responded, “Lucky Seven to dispatch, what is the problem, over.”
“Lucky Four’s engine stopped working and went into the shop. We need you to pick up his delivery, over.”
“Is there anyone else you can ask? I just finished with my run for the day, over.”
“Everybody else is currently on another job or is too far away to take it in time, over.”
Bud sighed and leaned his head back for a moment, keeping his eyes on the road. “Okay, where do you need me? Over.”
“You are a lifesaver, Bud. Head over to the company warehouse. We have an internal delivery from there to the HQ, over.”
“Gotcha, over and out.” Bud placed the transmitter back into place. “I can’t believe they couldn’t get someone else to do this. Well, at least it would look good on my record.”
At 05:30 p.m. Bud arrived back in his hometown. He drove directly to the company warehouse. Another trailer was waiting for him in the loading area, this time on its side it read “Lucky Delivery Company” with the four-leaf clover present. He backed up into it and switched on the connector. He made the usual connections, then notified dispatch of his progress. At 06:00 p.m. he left the pick up point and headed to headquarters.
While driving, Bud noticed something peculiar. “Weird,” he thought. “The steering isn’t as heavy as before. Must be a light load.”
As he got closer to his destination flashing lights signaled a police blockade which stopped his progression. Bud rolled down his window for an officer.
“You’ll have to take a detour!” she shouted.
“Why?” Bud replied.
“There is a gas-leak here, everyone has been told to evacuate the area! Follow the signs!” The officer pointed at the orange signs.
“Okay,” Bud waved, “Thank you.” After closing his window, Bud mumbled “Unbelievable.”
He followed the orange signs and they took him a couple of streets over. It was now 06:30 p.m. and he found himself driving by his daughter’s university during sundown. He turned his low beams on. As he was passing through a strip of shops, something caught his eye on the right. The smears and smudges on his windows from the various bugs he smashed into during his day travels, caused him to roll down his right window to get a better look. Preceding over a reddish liquid on the sidewalk, there was a big bald man yelling at a university student. The man then uppercutted the student in the stomach, dropping him to the ground in pain.
“Ooof-ack!” A dragonfly suddenly shot right into Bud’s eyeball causing him to flail his arms and spit with his eyes closed to get it away from him. He momentarily lost control of the vehicle, making slight swerves left and right before slamming on the break.
A young man screamed, “ROBERTTTTT!”
Bud finally opened his eyes in response, his only thought was “Huh?”. The world seemed to go in slow motion. A brief second later a loud thud was felt underneath his vehicle. Blood splattered onto the hood and windshield. The Lucky Seven finally came to a stop shortly after, Bud turned off the engine, and turned on the hazard lights. He got out of the semi and looked to his left. A university student with straight spiky light brown hair, a slightly unbuttoned plaid shirt, and blue jeans was sitting on the opposite of the road, looking directly at the front of his vehicle. His mouth was frozen in shock, before vomiting onto the road. Bud looked across to the other side to notice the bald burly man from earlier turn his back and run away. People started to funnel out of the restaurant called “Max’s”. A ginger haired man in an apron ran inside to use the phone. Other students and patrons looked in disbelief, one of them looked like she was screaming. Bud couldn’t hear anything but his breath.
Bud slowly looked down and felt his breath accelerate. His eyes centered on a dark figure laying across the street right in front of the Lucky Seven’s wheels. Bud’s vision finally adjusted to the picture, a cold sweat went down his face. The figure’s legs were mangled, and the body was completely limp. The head, which had disheveled wavy black hair, brown eyes, and broken circular glasses laid against the road. The neck was completely twisted. A blood trail spanned the length of the student’s body, and scraped back a couple feet. Bud’s wet breathing caused him to swallow, his senses finally returned and the sound of screaming and police sirens filled his ears.
Bud fell to his knees.