He was walking down the road in the near dead of night. Cars passed only inches from him as he looked down keeping himself between the steel guard rail and white painted line. Interstate I-95 ran all the way up from Maine down into Florida and at the rate he was going it would be the Tuesday of next month he got there. I-95 was typically a four-lane road split down the middle by concrete dividers. Two lanes of traffic passed on the far left side going north while where he was going south. He had long given up on hitchhiking his way south, the reality of it was no one was gonna stop for him. Not even the state troopers who patrolled their sections of road. Cars and trucks were simply going too fast, close to eighty miles an hour down the road to slow down and pull over. No, he had given up and decided to just hoof it to the next rest stop another ten miles down the road from where he was. Which honestly he wasn't sure exactly where that was. In fact, he had at one point decided that it was worth the effort to get a ride so he stuck his thumb out. The massive bellowing air horn of a passing by semi-saved his hand from being torn off at the elbow as it barreled by like an unstoppable train. Another SUV that passed, its bright white lights cutting the darkness around him slammed its horn honking the entire way down the road as he watched the red tail lights fade away.

  So he was on the slow march south putting one foot in front of the other. His boots already were ready to fall apart at the seams, the stitching stretching out with every step. He could feel the gravel and rocks on every step he took as if there was no sole to his shoe at all. In fact, he picked up his own hitchhiker two miles back that had been viciously stabbing the inside of his foot for the last three hours. It was slow going and the pain wasn't helping him any. It was late at night and with the sound of another bellowing horn of a car passing him mere inches from his body, a dark jet black Sedan this time, he pulled the dark blue hoodie up over his black hair. His breath was making steam even this late at night which was unusual for early April but welcomed as he didn't feel like walking through heavy downpours or in freezing cold conditions. That was another reason why he was heading south, the cold and he never got along. Not even in Arctic Warfare training did he like it, and he loved the service. No two months of living in Antarctica in an igloo had only soured his mood more towards the colder weather. Still, whenever he got cold he could always say he wasn't there, wasn't a blue icicle hanging on the damn ceiling anymore. He laughed remember how he and the other twenty-six literally turned blue from the conditions. He did miss it that was for sure and he continued on his way.

  There was a crack of tires rolling past him at high speeds that kept him alert snapping him back from his memories and into reality. All it would take would be one lazy driver to swing his way. He looked out to his right over the waist-high guard rail that was dwarfed in comparison to himself. The question persisted, was, In fact, was he? The mile marker on the side said...his mind trailed off again, it was getting harder to stay awake. He looked back to the tail lights to see the dull red grow brighter. Brighter meant people slowing down, he felt a ping of hope in his chest. Slowing down meant maybe someone would pick him up now. Although how many hitchhikers got picked up these days anyway? Facts were most were dangerous some being killers or the one who picked him up being the killer. The world seemed to have gone crazy since 9/11 and slowly like his boots falling apart at the seems. No, he would probably have to walk the way or steal a car if he wanted to really put some distance between him and the city.

  Maybe one of the truckers was his best shot, they did nothing but drive all day and night alone. Maybe the idea of some company would be appealing to them. Appealing enough to let him ride along though? He didn't know or cared by this point his feet hurt and he was exhausted. The guard rail opened up weaving out to allow another lane, the overhead sign that gun off the massive steel poles read, I-95 Rest stop then listed off all the stores and food places there. He stuck inside his little bumper and walked alone down the road curving to the rest stop. No cars followed him down this road which was incredibly dark and stepping off to the side like this he could see the place better. It was a large empty building with maybe two cars parked in spaces out front. He could see the signs on the place, places like McDonald's a convenience store and bathroom signs. There was a single light post in the darkness that was the parking lot giving the place that late night horror movie vibe. Outside was a small kiosk and about six rectangular pumps exposed to the elements. He cut through the parking lot not changing his pace which he had already set long ago. Changing now to let his feet rest would mean losing ground and he wasn't ready for that.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  The place looked empty and few lights on inside. He put his face up to the glass to look in to see the empty tables and chairs that littered the interior. The small convenience store was the only place with lights on the rest had long turned their lights off. He could hear the humming coming from the industrial lights inside. He turned back to look over his shoulder and felt a shiver go down his spine. It felt as if...he stopped no he knew someone was watching him. Was it inside? Someone inside the car? Too many damn questions, not enough answers and it bothered him. He turned back putting his hand on the glass to push it open and stopped. Something was telling him no, a little voice inside of his head was talking to him telling him no. It was the same little voice that saved his life before, the same that told him and drove him before. He reached back to feel the nonexistent gun he liked to stuff in his waistband. He wished he had kept the damn thing rather than tossing it into the river along with his wallet and phone. He kept his ATM card and the loose cash though. No, he needed to go inside, he needed to rest. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. A burst of warm air hit him as well as the smell of food that had been cooked all day had yet to dissipate.

  He picked at a nearby stand looking through the fliers and brochures of the area as well as a map of two. Shit, he cursed he was only a few miles outside Washington at the most. He picked up the map and shoved it in his pocket after folding it over once then looked to the convince store. It was a simple long bar, behind it was several rows of food snacks drinks. The back wall was a refrigerator unit with built-in glass doors to take what you wanted out of. The McDonald's was shut down with a metal grate pulled down across its counter. The lights inside clearly still on as he could see it shining through the cracks but the sign above was off. He started his slow walk over to the counter of the convenience store. It stopped short four feet from the wall where there was an opening for the owner or clerk to walk behind. The top, a brown granite and white paneled wood base. In the opening where the clerk would walk through to begin ones shift he could see the red glistening blood. He stopped in his tracks and looked at the body. The black hair matted in the blood her back to him as she was laying on the floor. Was she dead? He asked himself and carefully started walking over. She was twisted at an odd angle her one arm bent weirdly under her. Her other arm straight out as if one would use it to support themselves while sleeping on the ground. He took a side step noticing the line where the black of her shirt became darker. He wanted to speak but couldn't he looked for the steady rise and fall of her chest, there was nothing.

  He took a step closer and knelt just outside the growing puddle. He touched her shoulder with a shaker hand and carefully pulled her onto her back. Her eyes were wide open, he could see the fear and confusion in them still. She didn't know what happened. But he did, he had seen it more than enough. She was executed, the front of her forehead blown out in a decent sized hole. She was shot from behind, as dead as stone when she hit the ground. He shook his head, at least she didn't suffer. But why? Why was she killed, that answer came soon enough. A quick scan of the area showed the cash register had been pried open. The metal bent from where the attacker had used an object most likely a crowbar to pull it out. It was empty inside. The change spilled onto the floor. He turned back to the girl shifting slightly in his crouched position. She was short, five foot two probably he guessed and carefully he adjusted himself more to see where the bullet entered the top of her skull. That's when it dawned on him. What the hell are you doing? He thought and cursed standing up, your not supposed to be here, you don't do this anymore.  He took a step back and looked at her with pity. She was someone's daughter, she had a life maybe some friends. Now she was dead. He took one more second and turned to leave, he didn't wanna be here when someone found...Shit, he thought and turned to see the man standing before him.

  He was as white as a ghost and that's when he looked down to see the blood had wrapped itself around his boots making it look as if he was standing in it. Not to mention leaving bloody footprints. Which he too cursed himself for because the detective who caught this case would have to decipher who's boots they were if he did it etc he pulled a rookie move and moved the body contaminated the crime scene. The man never took his eyes off the dead body through just as fearful as hers were. He snapped in the air in front of the man trying to break his trance. If he was here he might as well get her some help. Hopefully, they would at least give her a proper burial soon and let her rest peacefully. The man looked at him, "you have a cell phone?" He said having the man's attention now. He nodded unable to speak, "good call the police tell them there's a dead woman here at the rest stop that she was shot in the back of the head and the cash was taken out of the register, okay? Can you do that?" Again a nod. He waited for the man to turn some away from both the body and the door as he pulled out his phone to call the police. He was already heading for the door by that point trying to leave.