Mélange watched the lorry pull up at the rest-stop. It was like a hundred lorries with solid sides and doors that opened at the back, except that it made her chest squeeze tight with fear.

  Now, why, she wondered, Do I feel like that?

  It was a fair question. Of the hundred or more lorries that had stopped before, none had made her want to weep. Why this one?

  With a flick of her trembling wings, Mélange flitted into the dense drapery of a clump of mistletoe. She wriggled her way into the centre of the clump and peered through its tendril-like foliage to watch the truck.

  She saw the door swing open, and watched as the driver jumped down from the cab. He headed straight for the first place most drivers went—the long-drop toilet set to one side of the carpark. Mélange waited until the door had closed firmly behind him, and left the shelter of the mistletoe.

  She tried to shake the sense of dread that clung to her, but couldn’t. Instead, she forced herself to fly through it, and land on top of the truck. Listening for the sound of running water that would tell her the driver had finished and was washing his hands, she tiptoed along the truck’s roof.

  The dread rode up from the soles of her feet, chilling her as she walked.

  Mélange couldn’t understand what it was. She had never felt this much fear before. It was greater than the fear she’d shared with the biggest of the creatures she’d ever encountered.

  That beast had been hit by a car, and tossed to the side of the road. Its agonized lowing had ended with the thunderous crack of what humans named ‘rifle,’ but the echoes of the creature’s terror and pain had taken days to fade.

  The dread Mélange felt, now, was not laced with pain. This was a dread created from pure, unholy terror, a potent mix of shared fear, and not the fear of wild, or even partially tamed, creatures. No, sentient beings rode in the container below, and she knew they wept, even though she couldn’t hear their cries.

  And why is that? Mélange wondered. I should be able to hear them weeping. The walls of the container aren’t thick enough to block them.

  With a quick glance towards the long-drop, Mélange fluttered over the side of the lorry, and flew along the edge of the container, inspecting where the sides met the roof. She worked her way from one end to the other, and then stopped to listen. Still no sound of running water.

  The edge of the container was seamless, as Mélange had expected it would be. She flew to the back of the lorry, inspecting where the doors came together, and where they touched the roof, and floor. The seams where they came together were there, but Mélange could still not hear any weeping, although, when she laid her hand against the doors, she knew it continued.

  The sound of the toilet door slamming, told Mélange she’d either missed the sound of running water, or the driver hadn’t washed his hands. It was too late to try to fly back to the tree; she might be seen. Glancing about, she realized that the nearest sheltering trees and bushes were too far for her to reach before the driver came around to the cab.

  The cab! Her only hope was to hide there. She flitted quickly to the cab, and found where the glass of the driver’s-side window didn’t quite meet the top of the frame. She slid through the narrow gap and into the cab, just as she caught sight of movement at the front of the truck—the driver coming around the bull-nosed bonnet.

  It didn’t matter, though. Mélange was inside, and she was small. There were plenty of places she could hide in here. She flipped over the back of the driver’s seat and into the space between the seat and the back of the cab. There, she found a discarded jacket and crawled into it to wait.

  She heard the driver open the door, and thought briefly of making a break for it, but she didn’t dare draw attention to herself—or to the existence of her people in the surrounding trees. She was sure someone had noticed her inspection of the truck, followed by her panicked dive into its cab. She was also sure they would send for help as soon as they could. The elves would know what to do.

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  Comforted by the thought, Mélange tried to relax as the truck rumbled to life and the cabin vibrated around her. She tamped down her panic at the feel of so much iron and steel moving around her, and settled more deeply into the jacket’s folds. Finding the leather was slippery, she moved until she found a pocket lined with softer material, and slipped inside it.

  It smelled of sweat and tobacco smoke, and very faintly of grease, but not enough to stop the truck’s vibrations from lulling her to sleep. The folds of the jacket, and the distance between the cab and the container were not quite enough to block the waves of dread emanating from it, but they damped it enough that it became nothing more than nightmare.

  Mélange woke to the sound of the truck door slamming. At first, she thought she was trapped, that some great, gloved hand had reached out and grabbed her, and was now holding her immobile. It took her a few panicked moments to realize she was tucked between two layers of cloth and leather, out of sight, and safe. It took her a few more moments to free herself from her hiding place.

  Kicking out of the jacket, Mélange flitted up into the open space behind the seat, and peered over the top into the cab. The cab was empty, but she could see the driver standing outside, with his back to the truck. He was facing a small cluster of humans, two males and one female.

  The female was solidly built, with a square-jawed face that might have been beautiful if it wasn’t for the look of malicious anticipation it wore. One of the men was short and stocky, well-muscled, but not as toned as he should be. The third man was one of the taller humans she’d seen, not skinny, but not stocky or solid.

  In proportion, Mélange decided.

  The driver was focused on him.

  Mélange ducked back down behind the shelter of the seat, and used it to stay hidden as she moved across the cab towards the driver’s door. The window was still open, and she was able to find a perch beside it, so she could overhear the conversation. Shifting cautiously so she could see, Mélange settled down to see what she could learn.

  “Your crates are closest to the doors,” the driver was saying. “Won’t take me long to unload them. You got a forklift?”

  “I think it would be better if you left the container here, and let us unload it ourselves.”

  “But I’ve got other cargo,” the driver protested.

  The tall man pulled a folded sheaf of paper out of his shirt pocket, and passed it to the driver.

  “It’s all ours,” he said, watching as the driver unfolded the sheaf, before tucking two smaller, grey-colored pieces of paper behind the pages, to begin reading.

  “That’s not what it says here,” he protested, raising his head.

  In a movement so swift it might have been made by an elf, Mélange saw the woman pull a small, misshapen version of the rifle from beneath her jacket, and heard the crack of it firing. Blood and brains spattered against the side of the truck, splashing up the window and obscuring Mélange’s view.

  “Pity,” the other man said. “Now, we need another driver.”

  “Yeah, but not one without the sense to take a coupla hundred in bribes.” That was the woman.

  “Get the truck out of sight, Marion. Inge, get the body into the warehouse. We’ll dispose of it later, and it’ll give the girls something to think about.”

  Realizing what the words meant, Mélange, ducked down behind the seat, again. There was no way she wanted to risk being seen by these three. Mélange was sure it would be the end of her, if they did..

  The driver’s door opened, and the seat sank under Marion’s weight.

  Mélange hunkered down and found a handhold, as the engine returned to life and the cabin shook.

  It was a short journey, however, with the truck moving from light to shade in a few short moments. Mélange breathed a sigh of relief as the truck stopped, and Marion climbed down from the cab. To her surprise, the woman left the door open, so Mélange crept around the side of the seat to the edge and peered around.

  “Get those crates unpacked.” The tall man had returned, and Mélange froze.

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  Mélange watched as the light moved, and then risked a peek through the open door.

  When she was sure no one was waiting outside, Mélange dove through the gap, and took shelter in the shadows beneath the lorry. She scurried from one set of wheels to another, confident they would not move without the engine coming to life, and confident she would have enough warning to get clear.

  She glanced up at the lorry’s underside, and notice all the ledges and crevices she could shelter in. At first, she felt relieved, but then she realized just how much iron and steel surrounded her. Perhaps the underside of the lorry didn’t offer much shelter, after all, and the dread was only growing stronger.

  Mélange wondered why that might be, as she worked her way to the back of the truck. She tucked herself in between the final set of tires and watched what happened next.