David Wisehart - Blood Alley

“Die, motherfucker!”

On the fourth swing, the hammer crunched through and sank into the driver’s skull.

The man jerked his head away. The haft of the hammer slipped from Trevor’s hand. The driver grabbed the handle and removed the hammer from his skull. It came away dripping blood and brains. The driver examined the hammer, turned it curiously, and sank its claw into Trevor’s belly.

The boy fell back, gushing blood.

With his last ounce of strength, Trevor gave the steering wheel a hard kick.

The truck turned sharply.

And rolled.

The cab nose-dived into the pavement as the trailer rose high into the air.

Trevor flipped and fell and bounced and rose and fell again.

When he finally stopped moving, Trevor saw stars above him and a reddish moon. White feathers floated in the air. He lay on the highway near the roar of a fire and the smell of burning diesel. The dead body of the truck driver lay next to him.

But Trevor was alive.

Hurt, broken, bleeding—but somehow alive.

He struggled to rise.

Something’s wrong.

He looked down.

A sheet of glass was lodged in his chest. A piece of the windshield.

Oh, shit.

Blood pulsed down the pane.

I’m a dead man.

In the shard of glass he saw the reflection of a fireball, flames licking the sky.

The truck was destroyed, the driver dead.

I did it. I saved them…

Something moved on the road.

Trevor watched with horror as the Highwayman rose up from the dead man’s body.

The Hummer idled on the highway. Claire set the parking brake and watched the fireball in her rearview mirror.

Trevor…

She saw the Highwayman standing over two lifeless bodies, silhouetted by a wall of flame as the big rig burned.

Trevor, I can’t do this without you.

A car drove out of the flames. It was sleek and black and looked like a demon with two bright headlights for eyes and a coffin-nosed hood.

It drove into the back of Fowler’s ghost. The driver’s seat caught and cradled him, and the Highwayman took control.

Claire said to Dakota, “Buckle up.”

“But Trevor—”

“ Buckle up! ”

Claire released the parking brake, shifted gears, and floored it.

Dakota buckled up.

Claire wiped away tears as the highway hummed beneath her.

Dakota, too, was crying. “We’re never gonna get off this road, are we?”

“We’ll just need to make it through the tunnel.”

“Why does he hate us? We didn’t do anything to him.”

“We took his road,” Claire said, “without paying the toll.”

“What that even mean?”

“His name is Eldritch Fowler. Someone killed him so they could build this highway. They took his land, took his family, took his life. They buried him under this road, Dakota, and now he can never leave.”

“And he won’t let us leave, either.”

“There’s something else he wants,” Claire said. “I think he’s been toying with us all along. If he really wanted us dead, we’d be dead already.”

“Ethan’s dead. Trevor’s dead.”

“I’m not. There’s something he wants from me.”

“ You? You think this is all about you, Claire?” Her voice was rising. “My brother’s dead and my boyfriend’s dead, and all you can think about is your self? ”

“He wanted me to find the photo.”

“What photo?”

“The one I found in the farmhouse.” Claire took the photo from her pocket and handed it to Dakota. “That girl in the picture—it could be my grandmother. Rebecca Fowler. The girls in the fog called me Becky. I look like her. We must be related. It connects me to him.”

“To the Highwayman? You’re his…what, his granddaughter ?”

“I don’t know, Dakota. I really don’t know. I was adopted, I never knew my family. Now this. I think he wants me to know to the truth.”

“Then he should just fucking say it and let us go free! ”

“Maybe it’s something he can’t tell me. Something I need to see. Isn’t that what they say about restless spirits? Unfinished business. They were hurt or wronged or betrayed in our world. Some dark, buried secret that needs to come out. Maybe the Highwayman just wants to set the record straight, to clear his name.”

“By killing people?”

“There was a crime, and a coverup, and a legend full of lies.”

“But the legend is true, Claire. It is a haunted highway. It’s pretty fucking real.”

“Maybe we can end it. Put his spirit to rest.”

What does he want to show me?

“Just get us through the tunnel.” Dakota was sobbing louder now. “I want to go home.”

The tunnel…

She remembered a news photo on the memorial wall. A picture of the Devil’s Tunnel. An image of the mouth of hell.

“Of course,” Claire said. “The tunnel fire. Nine people died last year in the Devil’s Tunnel. Before that, twenty-two. It’s the deadliest place on Blood Alley. That’s where he ends it. That’s where he…”

“What?”

“… lives .”

Dakota said, “If all those people died in the tunnel, then it must be a trap.”

“Joshua made it through.”

“Who?”

“The truck driver in the diner. With the burn scars on his face.”

“Claire, we have to find another exit. Another way.”

“Not tonight.” Claire sped on, more determined now than ever. “We have an appointment with the Highwayman.”

Responding to a call for assistance, Officer Carlos Ramirez punched his patrol car out of the Devil’s Tunnel and raced down the mountain at 90 miles an hour.

That damn eclipse always brings out the crazies.

Ramirez saw two sets of headlights in the distance, one vehicle approaching fast in the opposite direction, and another chasing behind.

Well, hello there.

He radioed in. “I have visual of the suspect. Five miles south of the tunnel.”

Ramirez slowed and pulled to the side, but left his party lights on. His orders were to report and pursue if necessary, while others set up a blockade at the tunnel.

The suspect’s car sped closer.

Ramirez clocked it going 123 mile per hour.

What’s your hurry?

“Suspect is driving a Hummer H3. Color is red.”

The Hummer sped by in a Doppler rush.

Ramirez pulled onto the road and joined the pursuit.

It appeared the other patrol car— Stevens? —was far behind, but gaining.

“ Slow down and pull over! ” Ramirez commanded over the loudspeaker.

He checked the headlights behind him, to see how Stevens was coming along.

That’s odd.

It didn’t look like a patrol car.

The headlamps were too close together and the hood was the wrong shape.

“What is that?” he said aloud.

Whatever it was, it moving fast.

Hella fast.

Bastard’s gonna hit me.

It didn’t.

The other car drove into the patrol car, and through it.

What—?

Ramirez was seized by an icy chill. It ran through his body, through his soul. His muscles tensed. He screamed in agony. His scream became something else, something other . A strange force had crawled inside him.

I am the Highwayman.

Ramirez heard the dispatcher on the radio. “Officer, is there a problem?”

The thing inside him answered with Ramirez’s voice: “Accident in the tunnel on Devil’s Pass. Repeat. Major pile-up on Devil’s Pass. Send all units.”

And then the thing inside him was gone.