Book Extract: The Obsidian Rig by Earl D. Coobs

Chapter 1

The Promise

The day Garth finally got his Peterbilt was the last good day he could remember. He stood in the Tulsa dealership lot, his boots sinking a little into the fresh gravel, just staring at it. The truck wasn’t just a machine; it was a promise. He’d scraped and saved for ten years to custom-order this rig, and it was perfect. He knew every single detail by heart: a 1972Peterbilt 359, VIN 7201509359C. The deep, obsidian black paint shimmered in the midday sun, a finish so dark it seemed to pull the light into its surface. He’d nicknamed it “Iron Ray,” a nod to his late father and the raw power he saw in its lines.

The dealership manager, a man named Bob, had a nervous look on his face. “Garth, I just gotta be honest with you. This truck… There was an incident back at the plant. A factory accident. A man was killed. We took it back to inspect every square inch, and it’s perfect. No issues with the frame, no mechanical problems. But you’re getting a huge discount, and I have to tell you the reason why.”

Garth just waved his hand, his eyes never leaving the truck. “Bob, you don’t need to explain. Accidents happen. It’s a big machine, and these guys are working with huge chunks of metal. I’m not afraid of it. I love this truck.”

He walked up to the driver’s side and placed a hand on the cold steel  of the engine block. For a moment, a sudden, cold wave of psychic noise shot through him. A flash of something that felt like pure anger, followed by an image of a man screaming. Garth pulled his hand back, shaking his head. It must have been a trick of the light, or maybe just the chill from the engine, he thought.

He climbed inside, settling into the new leather seat. The interior smelled of plastic and new upholstery. He started the engine, and the Caterpillar 1693 rumbled to life, its 425-horsepower, a low, confident growl. The vibration was music to his ears. Garth worked the 13-speed Road Ranger transmission, feeling the gears engage perfectly. He looked out over the long hood, feeling a sense of pride and a kind of homecoming.

He didn’t head for the highway. First, he was going home.