*Edited for language
Nicole woke to the steady purring rumble of the cherry stock ‘68 Mustang Convertible. The tires made a steady thud-dump, thud-dump, thud-dump, like a heartbeat as she drove. She took a quick glance at her mutt sleeping on the floor, the bag on the passenger seat, and the rearview mirror to look for any pursuers. Satisfied she wasn’t being followed, she pulled her eyes back to the mesmerizing flash of the amber lines on the road’s surface racing past the car.
“Where the h*** are we?” she muttered to the sleeping dog. The heartbeat sound of the tires coupled with the hypnotic nature of the passing flares of yellow tried to drag her back into a trance-like state. She shook her head, attempting to clear her thoughts.
“I still can’t believe his woke a** called me a dirty slant to my face…” Anger worked well to wake her up. She hadn’t fought her way to America for that racist crap.
Her eyes glanced in the rearview mirror again. The glow of the city had disappeared. Her mind raced. D***… must be out of it… Need some rest. I left the city. Ditched the a****t in the dust… two days ago? Must’ve blacked out… Last thing I remember was dusk and the circling vultures. How long ago?
“D*** clock!” The clock in the dash pointed straight up and down. It might have been saying either six AM or PM, but either way, the sun should be up. It was pitch-black outside, and she was certain now the clock was broken.
She reached for her bag, glancing over long enough to unzip it slightly. Inside lay piles of twenties wrapped and neatly stacked. Reaching in, she felt around the stolen Beretta until she pulled her cell out. The phone had no signal and still read six PM. “D***!”
She flung the cell back in the bag and reached for the tuning knob on the classic radio. Twisting it, the selector glided over the various frequencies, finding only static. “D***, and double d***! I must be way out in the sticks.”
She rolled her head, attempting to crack her neck and failed, then looked out the windshield up at the night sky. The Milky Way blazed overhead, the lack of light pollution evident by the number of stars visible. There was no glow of civilization on the horizon. Upon checking the gas gauge, it showed three-quarters of a tank. Nicole figured enough for 250 miles. Of course, she had no idea where she was or how long until the next station, though she had a feeling she traveled south.
There must be a storm following behind, no light, no stars. The night was black as a lawyer’s heart. The sagebrush flashed by, washed in the glow of the headlights. The calm of the desert outside was an inverse reflection of the storm of thoughts inside Nicole’s head.
<<<<<<<>>>>>>>
Look for "Nicole Falling: A Southwestern Horror Story" in the upcoming anthology, Dreamtime Damsels and Fatal Femmes, by the Dreamtime Fantasy Authors!
More Excerpts:
No comments:
Post a Comment