In Our Blood

“—Can expect heavy thunderstorms from 9pm to 3am,” Chris’ radio buzzed as he trundled down the exit to the rest stop, windshield wipers working overtime as the rain and wind pelted his semi. He would have to wait out the storm, lest he risk ending up in a ditch. All the better for me, he thought to himself as he pulled up to the truck stop. I can finally look for someone to play with. 

Chris had been a trucker for years, enjoying the solitude of the road and the freedoms it granted him. Were he to succeed at his goals, he would need space and quiet. His routes offered him just that. Nobody had caught onto him yet, though the news was always warning potential victims away from hitchhiking. He was a legend along I-80, killing travellers and truckers alike. 

He climbed out of his truck, hurrying inside the rest stop as the rain poured. The place was completely dead; Chris sighed, cursing his bad luck. First the storm, and now nobody around to play with? He was going to have to keep moving, wasn’t he? His fingers itched to grasp a life by the throat, to tear it apart piece by piece until there was nothing left but red. It had been too long since he had had free reign. 

He thought back to his last hunt; he had snuffed out a college kid whose car had broken down on the side of the road, some freckle-faced loser whose name he didn’t even remember. That kid had put up a good fight, but he was no match for Chris. None of them were. He grinned to himself; he would find someone to play with soon enough. 

The sound of the rest stop doors banging open startled him, and he turned to find two sopping-wet figures shaking themselves dry in the entryway. They looked young and weak, Chris noted with a wolfish grin. Perfect.

“What are you boys doing out here all alone?” Chris called out, watching his prey with barely-concealed bloodlust. The young men eyed him warily; one of them stepped forward, standing between Chris and his friend. “It’s not safe out there in the rain.”

“Our car broke down,” the young man said quietly, voice meek and small. “We need a ride. Can you help us, mister?”

Chris couldn’t believe his luck. “Where are you two headed?”

“Chicago.”

Chris grinned, extending a weathered hand for the boy to take. “We’ll head out when the rain has let up a bit, then,” he said, introducing himself. “My name is Chris, what do I call you two?”

“I’m Matthew,” the boy who shook his hand said. 

“And I’m Sam,” the other said warily. They were perfect for Chris in every way, soft and unassuming. 

“Well Matthew, Sam; do you two need something to eat? I can get you something at the vending machines.”

“No thanks,” Matthew shook his head; he would be a difficult one, wouldn’t he... “We’re okay.”

The trio sat in awkward silence for about a half an hour, waiting for the rain to let up. Chris fidgeted where he sat watching the two young men, impatient. He supposed he didn’t have to wait for the rain to let up completely…

“Wanna head out?” he asked, standing. “I don’t think waiting around here is gonna do us much good. The rain is supposed to continue almost all night.”

“Fine by me,” Matthew sighed, helping Sam to his feet. “After you, mister.”

Chris led them through the pouring rain and towards his truck, helping them up into the cabin. Thunder boomed overhead, a sinister soundtrack for what was about to come. Chris got Matthew and Sam situated and then pulled out of the rest stop, heart soaring with anticipation. 

“So what’s in Chicago?” Chris asked, looking over at Matthew. “Family? Friends?”

“A new start,” Matthew said quietly, expression tense. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Perfect, Chris thought. They’re runaways. “Fair enough. I won’t make you talk if you don’t want to.”

“Where are you headed?” Sam asked, the first thing he had said the entire time he was in Chris’ truck. “Are you going to Chicago, too?”

“Nah,” Chris dismissed. “I’m headed for the east coast. Raleigh.”

“Not anymore.”

Chris gasped as Matthew reached across the centre console, wrestling the steering wheel out of his grip and sending them veering off the road. Chris swore as his trailer swung off of the road, rending metal screeching as sheets of rain cascaded down upon them. What the hell was this kid’s problem? Rage built in Chris’ chest as the semi came to a shuddering halt, firmly lodged in the drainage ditch.

“You’re ours now,” Matthew hissed as he stuck Chris in the neck with something sharp and stinging; he could feel the fight leave his body as Matthew and Sam dragged him out of the truck and into the ditch. What were these kids? Chris struggled against his captors, but whatever they had drugged him with was making it hard to coordinate his limbs. He was so tired…

“Sammie,” Matthew hummed as he brushed Chris’ rain-matted hair off of his forehead. “He can be yours. Happy birthday.”

Sam grinned wildly, the flicker of light against a blade catching Chris’ eye as he lay paralysed in the mud and grass. These kids were like him, he realised. He had fallen victim to his own game. He coughed weakly as Sam’s knife ghosted across his skin, stinging icy cold. He was completely at the mercy of those he was sure would’ve been his victims.

“You thought you could kill us,” Matthew mused, gaze cold and calculating. Lightning split the sky with a resounding crack. “We’re not scared of the likes of you. Now, we get to have our fun.”

The wind screamed in Chris’ stead as his captors took him apart. Oh, the irony of it all; here he was, reduced to a mere plaything in the heart of the storm. He never should’ve stopped at that rest stop. Only once his frantic heartbeat had fizzled out did the fear finally leave him; he stared unseeingly into the pouring rain as the sky mourned his loss. Matthew and Sam disappeared into the night, not a trace left behind.

“The Federal Bureau of Investigation has issued a warning to travellers along I-80,” Chris’ radio buzzed as the semi lay abandoned in the ditch. “Serial killings along the highway threaten lone truckers; do not stop for hitchhikers and report anything suspicious to local authorities.”