I wasn’t surprised to find that the storm was still raging when I left the roadhouse and went outside. It was still dark as well, and I came to the conclusion that it was like this here all the time. I doubted anyone trapped in this world had ever seen the sun, which seemed fitting somehow.
A world of darkness within an even bigger world of darkness…
The battered Charger was still sitting where I left it. As I didn’t have any other form of transport, I had no choice but to hop back into the Dukes of Hazzard car, even though it was full of rain water at this point. The seats were soaked, and there were puddles in the footwells. The car still started though, and of course, the radio still worked as well.
“Howdy folks,” the woman on the radio said, her sultry tones fighting to be heard over the wind and rain coming through the gap were the windshield glass used to be. “It seems like this night is coming to an end soon. But don’t worry, folks, because the darkness never truly lifts in these parts. It just takes a little nap, gathers its strength, and comes back with a vengeance. Just like our friend Kade. Isn’t that right, sugar?”
I gripped the steering wheel tighter when I heard her mention me. It was the first time she had ever used my name, and it made me uneasy.
“You’ve faced some tough challenges, Kade,” she continued, her voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur, as if she was speaking directly to me. “You’ve stared into the abyss, and the abyss has stared right back at you. But you’re still standing, aren’t you? You’re still fighting. And that’s what counts in this godforsaken world. That’s what makes you a survivor.”
“If you say so,” I murmured, staring straight ahead.
“But remember this, Kade,” the DJ said, her voice taking on a harder edge, a warning tone that cut through the static and the storm. “The night is darkest just before the dawn. And in this world, the dawn never comes. There’s always another challenge, another monster, another Trial waiting just around the corner. You’ve proven yourself, sure. But the road ahead is long and treacherous, and it’s only going to get harder from here on out.”
“Tell me something I don’t know, doll.”
“But don’t despair, Kade,” the DJ said, her voice softening, the sultry tones returning. “Because you’ve got something that most people in this world don’t have. You’ve got heart. You’ve got determination. You’ve got the will to survive, no matter what it takes. And that’s something that can’t be taken away from you. That’s something that will see you through the darkest nights and the toughest trials.” She paused. “But the Drifter is still out there, Kade… and he’s waiting. The question is, are you ready to face him? Because he’s sure ready to face you.” She laughed softly at that. “In the meantime, here’s a song from Survivor to help keep that fire burning bright.”
As the opening riffs of “Eye of the Tiger” blurred from the speakers, I shifted the Charger into gear and pulled out of the Roadhouse and onto the wet, slick highway once more.
* * *
The drive was a tense one, not only because of the storm that felt like it was violating the inside of the car, but also because I was looking out for the Drifter. I kept expecting to see him, maybe standing by the side of the road with his thumb pointing out, luring his victims to stop. Or maybe just standing right in the middle of the road, daring me to run him right over.
But he never appeared. What I saw instead, after a half hour or so of driving, was another car up ahead, parked at an angle just off the side of the road. The driver’s side door was wide open, as well as both back doors, allowing the wind and rain to rage inside. The tail lights glowed ominously in the dark, beckoning me to stop… or perhaps warning me not to.
I pressed on the brake and slowed the Charger to a crawl as I came up behind the seemingly abandoned car. Up close, I soon recognized the car as a Toyota, silver in color.
The same car Dad used to drive, I thought nervously. Hardly a damn coincidence.
I sat staring at the Toyota for a few moments, a voice inside in my head urging me to drive on, that I wasn’t going to like what I found here.
But an even stronger urge was already guiding me out of the car to see what was what. Whatever had happened here, it had the Drifter written all over it.
I stepped out of the Charger, the storm immediately enveloping me in its icy embrace. The rain pounded down, soaking me to the bone within seconds, the wind howling like a pack of wolves, hungry and relentless. The darkness was almost absolute, the only light coming from the faint glow of the Toyota’s tail lights and the intermittent flashes of lightning that illuminated the night like a strobe light.
I approached the car slowly, my heart pounding in my chest, a sense of dread washing over me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and a shiver ran down my spine, not from the cold, but from the anticipation of what I might find. The storm seemed to grow more intense with each step I took, the rain lashing against my face, the wind whipping around me, as if trying to push me back, to warn me away.
As I reached the back of the car, I could see that the interior lights were on, casting a dim, eerie glow over the scene. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I was about to see, and then I looked inside.
The sight that greeted me was one of pure horror. In the back seat, a small figure lay slumped against the door, her eyes wide open, staring at nothing. It was a girl, no more than eight years old, her throat slit from ear to ear, the wound a gaping, bloody smile. She was wearing jeans and a Pokemon T-shirt, the bright colors a stark contrast to the dark, congealing blood that stained her clothes and the seat beneath her.
A wave of nausea hit me as I stared at the lifeless body, the realization of who I was looking at dawning on me like a punch to the gut.
It was my sister, exactly how I remembered her from al those years ago when we were kids.
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The sister who had thought I was a joke, a useless entity. The sister I had loved and fought with and protected. The sister who was now dead, her life snuffed out in the most brutal, senseless way imaginable.
My hand went to my mouth, a strangled cry of anguish and horror escaping my lips. I felt my stomach churn, the whiskey I’d drank at the roadhouse threatening to make a reappearance. But I forced myself to look, to take in the full extent of the carnage that had been wrought here.
Beside my sister, another small figure lay crumpled on the seat, his belly slit open, his intestines spilling out like some grotesque parody of a Halloween decoration. It was a boy, no more than five years old.
It was… me.
The me I had been twenty-odd years ago; the me who had been innocent and carefree; the me who had not yet been touched by the darkness and the horror of this world.
I turned away, my stomach heaving, the whiskey burning its way back up my throat as I vomited onto the wet, muddy ground. I retched until there was nothing left, my body wracked with sobs, the rain mingling with the tears that streamed down my face.
But I knew I couldn’t stop there. I knew I had to look in the front seats, had to see the full extent of the Drifter’s handiwork. I took a deep, shuddering breath, wiping the tears and the rain from my face, and then I stepped forward, my eyes scanning the interior of the car.
In the driver’s seat, my father sat slumped over the steering wheel, his eyes wide open, his face contorted in a silent scream of agony. He looked young, just as he had twenty years ago, his hair dark and thick, his skin smooth and unlined. But his youth was marred by the gruesome wounds that had been inflicted upon him, his body a bloody, broken mess.
In the passenger seat, my mother sat upright, her eyes closed, her face pale and serene, as if she was merely sleeping. But the dark, jagged wound that stretched across her throat told a different story, a story of violence and brutality, of a life cut short in the most horrific way imaginable.
I stood there, staring at the tableau of horror before me, my mind reeling, my heart shattering into a million pieces.
“No…”
A wave of anger washed over me, hot and fierce, burning away the shock and the grief. This was the Drifter’s doing. This was his sick, twisted game, his way of tormenting me, of breaking me down.
“Fuck you, you sick fuck,” I said through tears and gritted teeth. Then I turned and shouted into the storm, as if the Drifter was out there somewhere, watching me with that razor smile on his face. “Is this all you got, you fuck?! I’m coming for you! I’m—”
I stopped shouting when I saw flashing blue and red lights speeding up the highway toward me. A cop car.
Seriously, in this place?
I couldn’t believe it. I turned and started to run back to the Charger, adrenaline now surging through my veins. But it was too late. The highway patrol car screeched to a halt just inches from me, the force of its sudden stop sending a wave of hot air and gravel washing over me.
The doors of the patrol car flew open, and two cops emerged, their guns drawn and aimed directly at me.
“Get down on the ground! Now!” one of them shouted, his voice harsh and authoritative. The other cop echoed the command, his gun steady in his hands, his eyes locked onto me.
I threw my hands up in the air, my mind racing. “Wait, wait! I didn’t do anything wrong!” I protested, my voice shaking slightly. “This was the Drifter! He did this! I just found them like this!”
But I knew I was wasting my breath. The cops weren’t listening. They advanced on me, their guns still pointed at my chest, their faces set in stern, unyielding expressions. I could see the suspicion in their eyes, the judgment. They had already made up their minds. I was guilty in their eyes, and nothing I said was going to change that.
“I said get down on the ground!” the first cop shouted again, his voice rising in intensity. “Don’t make us shoot you!”
I hesitated for a moment, my mind screaming at me to run, to fight, to do something. But I knew that any sudden movement would only get me killed. Reluctantly, I lowered myself to the ground, my hands still raised. The cold, wet asphalt pressed against my cheek, the rain pounding down on me, the storm raging around us.
The cops moved in, their boots crunching on the gravel as they approached. One of them kicked my legs apart, while the other pressed his knee into my back, pinning me to the ground. I felt the cold metal of handcuffs snap around my wrists, the bite of the steel against my skin a harsh reminder of my helplessness.
“You have the right to remain silent,” one of the cops recited, his voice mechanical, devoid of emotion. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”
The cops hauled me to my feet, their grips rough and unyielding. They dragged me toward the patrol car, the blue and red lights still flashing, casting an eerie glow over the scene. I glanced back at the Toyota, at the lifeless bodies of my family, and a wave of despair washed over me.
Then, just as the cops were about to shove me into the back of the patrol car, a loud noise cut through the storm. A gunshot. The sound was deafening, echoing through the night like a thunderclap. The cop holding my left arm suddenly let go, his grip going slack as he stumbled backward, a look of shock and pain on his face. He crumpled to the ground, a dark stain spreading across his chest, the rain quickly washing away the blood.
I turned to the other cop, my mind racing. But before I could react, another gunshot rang out, and the second cop’s head exploded in a spray of blood and brains. The force of the impact sent him sprawling to the ground, his body twitching and convulsing as the life drained out of him.
I stood there, frozen in shock, the rain pouring down on me, the storm raging around me.
And then, out of the darkness, a figure emerged.
The Drifter.
His long raincoat billowed out behind him, the fabric snapping and fluttering in the wind like the wings of some dark, malevolent angel. His face was a mask of cold, calculated malice, his eyes gleaming with a sick, twisted satisfaction.
He stepped over the bodies of the fallen cops, his boots splashing in the puddles of blood and rainwater. He came to a stop a few feet away from me, his gun still pointed at my chest, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“We meet again,” he said.
From his face, I expected him to blow me away right there and then. But instead, he lowered the gun and smiled.
“What are you playing at?” I asked him, painfully aware that my hands were still cuffed behind my back.
“Playing?” The Drifter’s voice was barely audible over the noise of the storm. “That’s an interesting word, ‘playing’. What do you think I’m playing at, Kade?”
“I think you’re playing at being a sick fuck. You think all this will rattle me? You think it’s gonna stop me from coming after you? It won’t!”
“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, moving toward the patrol car, reaching inside and grabbing the radio. “Dispatch, this is Unit 27, reporting a man down. I repeat, man down. Suspect is male, driving a 1969 Dodge Charger R/T. I’m in pursuit. Send backup immediately!”
With a smirk, the Drifter got inside the patrol car. “I’d say you have a couple minutes to get going, Kade, before the friends of the officers you killed come to… well, kill you. Better get moving.”
The Drifter pulled away again, speeding off up the road, leaving me to stand in the rain with my hands still cuffed behind my back. I could already hear the sound of multiple sirens in the distance.
“Motherfucker.”
I quickly went to the nearest dead cop and awkwardly searched his body for the key to the cuffs, eventually finding it. It was a struggle to get the key in the small hole and finally unlock the cuffs, but I did it. When I was free, I took the cop’s gun and ran to the Charger, quickly sliding into the rain soaked driver’s seat.
As I slammed my foot on the accelerator and screeched away from the scene, I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the flashing blue and red lights cutting through the darkness behind me.
The chase was on.