Storm - Part 2

CONTINUED FROM "STORM", IF YOU HAVEN'T READ IT, YOU'RE MISSING OUT! CHECK OUT MY PROTFOLIO AND GIVE IT A WHIRL

Marla’s heart froze a little in her chest and she faltered. “You….you fired at him?” she asked weakly.

Sam continued to sob quietly, his barrel like chest heaving with each breath.

“I…I killed him Marla. God help me, I shot him.” Tears mixed with the rain that dripped from his hair to his face. “But it wasn’t him Marla. It…Christ…it wasn’t him. He was broken up. He was all broken up. And his eyes. His goddamned eyes.” Sam’s legs went out from under him and he slumped into the chair. He folded his arms and dropped his head and continued to sob. Marla patted ineffectually at his shoulder, struggling to take in the enormity of what he’d told her. Her brain stopped. She couldn’t form a thought, didn’t know what to do. She cast her eyes helplessly around at the rest of the group, silently imploring them to help.
Brenda unwound herself from Hank and went to her.

“Alright. Alright. We’re okay here. We’re all okay here. Now, let’s just organise ourselves. Marla love, sit down, you’ve had some big shocks. Here, you sit down here next to Sam.” She pressed gently on the other woman’s shoulders and forced her into a seat.

“Sammy. Sam, look at me. Sammy?” she took his chin in hand like you would a child and raised his head to meet his eyes with her own.
“Sammy, you didn’t shoot Calvin. He was already gone, we all could see that. I don’t begin to understand what happened here, but you didn’t kill Calvin. You know it yourself too, don’t you?” she locked her eyes on his, seeming to convey and understanding of what he’d seen. Sam nodded slightly.

“His eyes Brenda, they were…shit, they were…” his breath hitched again in his big chest.

“I know Sammy, I know,” she patted him on the shoulder, although she had no idea. Brenda turned to Hank, searching for support. He clapped his hands together

“Right! Let’s gather all the extra furniture here and put it up against those windows. We don’t want the storm coming in to get us.” Shannon turned to survey the windows to the right of the door - those not currently blocked by a table.
“I’ll get some of the extra table cloths out of the storeroom too. We’ll hang them first, and then put the tables up.” She walked to the kitchen seemingly grateful for something to do. She was careful to keep her eyes on her feet so as not to catch site of Phil’s cloth covered form and the pool of maroon blood on the floor.

“Come on then, little help,” Hank gestured to the twenty-something’s. Griffin held his eye for a moment, and Hank felt the muscles of his spine twitch. The moment was gone as soon as it came. He signalled to the other three to help him with the tables. Bree snorted briefly but with the tilt of Griffins head quickly set about her task with the others. Al scooted his table over towards the window himself, all the while his lips forming silent words and his alert eyes watching the group through his eyelashes. Hank was quietly grateful for Al’s calmness, even if he did come across a little crazy. He patted the man gently on the back. Al simply nodded at Hank and went about gathering more furniture.

“Marla?” Brenda squatted to eye level with Marla at the table as the woman stared helplessly at the scarred tabletop.

“Marla, I need your help now. “ Marla turned her head to look at her, her pupils dilated to the very edge of the iris, on the brink of complete panic. Brenda gave her shoulder a sharp shake.
“Marla!” she said sharply. “I need candles Marla, lot’s of candles, in case the power goes off. And the first aid kit too, just in case. Can you get those for me Marla?” Marla stared back at her for a moment, seeing nothing past her panic. Brenda pinched the skin of her arm as hard as she could.
“Marla!” she shouted into her face. Marla gave herself a little shake and Madga watched as her pupils retracted a little.

“Candles and a first aid kit?” she said quietly.

Brenda nodded.

”Okay, there’s a kit in the office I think. And the candles are in the kitchen, up on the back shelf.” She stood slowly, wobbled a little and grabbed the table for support.

“Candles and a first aid kit.” With that, she began to make her way out back slowly, her hands out to either side of her, as if she were walking in the dark and seeking guidance. Brenda let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“Sam. You gotta get a hold of yourself my darling. You can’t fall apart right now, these people need you strong.” Sam nodded, wiping moisture from his face.

“You’re right. I know. I just, I gotta just have a minute.” He stood and made for the restrooms to the right of the counter. “I just need a minute.” Brenda watched him go and nodded slightly to herself.

All of the available tables, bar one, were now stacked near the remaining uncovered windows facing the car park. Shannon had dragged a stool over from the counter and was busily hanging table cloths in front of the glass while studiously avoiding looking out into the car park, at the cruiser, and the murky, spooky dankness of the near solid sheet of water that continued to fall.
Once all of the makeshift drapes had been hung, the tables were upended and pushed up against the moulding around the windows. Chairs were then propped against them to force the weight against the mouldings, keeping the tables firmly in place. Hank dusted off his hands and admired their handy work.

“Good stuff. It’ll take a hell of a gust of wind to push those in. Thanks team.” He smiled quickly at the twenty something’s, all of whom smiled back just that little too much, as if on the brink of laughter. He felt the twitch in his spine again and shuddered involuntarily. They turned to one another and moved toward the counter in a huddle, muttering to each other. Al stood off to the side watching them, mouthing away silently. Hank found it strangely comforting. He moved quickly to Brenda who sat deep in thought in the chair Sam had vacated.

“What are you thinking dear?” Hank asked quietly.

““Something ain’t right here Hank. Those weren’t accidents. And that wasn’t Calvin out there.” Hank nodded.

‘I know Brenda, I know.”

“I mean, how does a car just fly through the air? And his face Hank. His face…” Hank wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Hush now baby love. Hush. Don’t start more panic.” Brenda gathered herself and nodded.

“Hey! Do you hear that?” The couple turned in their chairs. Shannon had stopped still in the middle of the diner, her ear cocked toward the ceiling. They did the same. Sam and Marla arrived back in the dining room at the same time and stopped still themselves to listen.

“What are we listening for?” Sam asked as he reached the spot Shannon stood. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly! I don’t hear anything either! The rain has stopped!” Shannon beamed at him. “We can run to the truck and use the radio. Maybe the phone will even come back on,” she said excitedly. Sam turned his head back to the ceiling. She was right - the persistent drumming of rain on the roof was gone. So was the howling of the wind. In fact, it was eerily quiet inside the diner. Aside from the occasional murmur from the twenty something’s.

“Come on!” Shannon tugged at Sam’s sleeve. “Let’s go out to your truck.”

She moved towards the door and put her hand on the handle.

“Now, wait a minute honey, I don’t think it’s such a good idea. Whoever or whatever threw Calvin’s cruiser and…and…well whoever was out there with Calvin, they’re probably still there, just waiting for us to come outside. Just wait a minute here while we think about this.”

Shannon hesitated, looking uncertainly back at Sam.

“We can’t just sit here and wait. We need the police to come and catch the guys that did this. And we need to….we need to call someone for Phil,” she shifted her gaze to the kitchen doorway. “We have to go out to your truck and use the radio.” She turned back to the door and made to unlock it. Marla stepped forward.

“Shannon, honey, Sam is right, we can’t just go racing around out there, okay? We need to think about this.” She placed her hand on Shannon’s shoulder. “Come on now, come sit down and we’ll talk about it. We’ll talk about how to get us all home.”  Shannon resisted.

“No, we have to go now. We have to go out to the truck and use the radio and get the police here to help. We have to go outside, we can’t stay in here, we have to get out and go home. We have to!” her voice became more and more shrill; her last words almost a shriek. Marla hushed her and wrapped an arm around her, tears wetting her own face.

“I know, I know, I want to go home too, I want so badly to be out of here. But we have to be sensible about this, okay?” The younger girls face crumpled into tears and she and Marla stood for a moment, lost in their panic together.

“Okay sweetie, come on, come and sit down.” Marla walked her to the table. Sam also took a seat at the table. Hank dragged a couple of spare chairs over and soon the group, excluding the twenty something’s, were sat at the table. They looked at one another silently, still trying to take in the enormity of the last half hour.

“Do you think its terrorists?” Shannon asked quietly through her sniffles. A snort came from the counter where Zac stood with his arm around Bree.
Griffin cast them a sharp glance.

“Is anyone hungry? I think I’ll pop back here and whip something up. We’ve come a long way, and I think better on food.” He looked to the table for orders. Everyone shook their head, surprised he could eat given the circumstances.
“Guys?” Griffin gestured to his friends and motioned them all to the kitchen. The followed him in single file, heads down like naughty children.
Sam shook his head.

“Kids. Who could eat?” He offered a weak smile to the table.

“Something’s not right with those kids” Marla said quietly. Hank nodded furiously in agreement.

“I know what you mean. There’s something…off…about them.” Brenda whispered. They all looked at each other, not sure what else to offer to the conversation.

“So, what the hell do we do now?” Sam spread his hands out, palms up. “Do we stay sitting ducks here in the diner or do we make targets of ourselves in the car park?”

A collective sigh went up from the table.

“What if we went outside via the storeroom door?” Shannon suggested. “Whoever they are, they’re watching the front door, but not the side door, right? So we sneak out, stay low, get to the truck and radio for help. Then we stay put in the truck. I’ll go. I mean, I’m probably going to be the fastest across the car park, right?

Marla shook her head. “Shannon, that’s madness. The…people…that are out there may be in Sam’s truck. Or around it, it’s just too risky.

Shannon glared at her. “Well what the hell do you suggest little Miss Paranoid? Huh? That we sit here all night and hope that they’re going to leave us alone all night and leave in the morning? Fucking ridiculous.” Shannon began to drum her fingers on the table in irritation.
“Don’t you see? Don’t any of you see? We’re trapped here!” She threw her accusing look around the table and no one met her eye. They knew she was right. Sam eventually spoke up.

“Alright, I go to the truck. At the very least I can get into it and drive it up to the door. You can all get in, and you’re blocked from whatever is out there.”

“I’m coming with you.” Shannon folded her arms over her chest.

‘No way.” Sam shook his head.

“Yes way Sam. You need someone else to open the doors for you, that way you won’t ever have to lower the gun. It’s a two person job. I’m going, and that’s all there is to it.” Shannon stood and walked to the counter. She reached around behind it and pulled out her coat.

“Come on, no time like the present.” She shouldered on the thick duffle and made for the door. Sam rose wearily and took up the shotgun. He checked the shells and cocked it, ready to fire. Shannon unlocked the main door and opened it a crack to peer outside. The rain had stopped, but she was surprised and disorientated for a moment when she relaised she could see nothing at all, not even the wreck of the cruiser. A seemingly solid fog lay about in the air like a slug. She could see no further than the top step. All was still.

“Well,holy shit. That's either convenient or a giant pain in the ass, depending on how you look at it," Sam commented, having moved behind her to look out.

"Fuck it, let's go with convenient. Come on.” Shannon shut the door, locked it, and headed for the storeroom, off the kitchen.

Sam turned to the table.

“Alright. I’ll radio for help; make sure there’s nothing out there. Brenda, Marla, when I honk twice outside, you come running and get straight into the truck. Hank, you too, bring your keys, you parked next to my rig, right? I’ll back up to your car. You get in, bring it back, and pick up everyone else. I can only fit four in there, and there are 10 of us.  Get those kids organised, I want everybody waiting here by the door ready to run, got it?”

They all nodded.

“Okay.” Sam nodded and walked out to the kitchen. The twenty something’s had all been standing at the serving window.

“You get all of that?” Sam asked. They nodded, still smirking. Griffin stepped forward.

“Good luck man, good luck.” Sam stared at him a moment, and simply nodded his head. He moved over to where Shannon stood at the door to the storeroom. She walked ahead to the exterior door.

“Let’s go.” Sam saw a flash of silver in her hand and spotted a long, sharp kitchen knife. He gripped the shotgun a little harder and pushed against the door. They stepped out onto a small ledge about 2 feet off the ground, used for unloading cartons from their suppliers. Sam squatted to his haunches and eased his bulk quietly to the ground. The fog wrapped itself around him like a lover – somehow damp and cloyingly sweet, and dry and musty at the same time. Once on the ground he stood and realised he couldn’t see his feet. He turned and held his free hand out to Shannon. She slipped noiselessly off the ledge to the ground beside him, noticing at the same time as he that their legs from the knee down had disappeared into a soupy grey. They inched around the side of the building, Shannon holding the back of Sam’s flannel shirt so she wouldn’t lose him. Their footsteps were muffled by puddles of water and the fog. Sam listened intently for any out of the ordinary sounds, but all he could hear was the drip of water, their footsteps, and Shannon’s panting breaths. They inched around the building slowly, until they came to the front corner. Sam turned to whisper in Shannon’s ear.

“The cruiser is off to your right. We’re going to go straight ahead, but watch your feet. Keep low and keep close. Do not let go of my shirt. Got it?” Shannon nodded violently her agreement. Sam nodded once in return, drew a big breath and bent himself double.

“Let’s go,” he whispered.

The started off at a reasonable pace, nearly running in a bent over commando style. Sam held the shotgun braced in front of him, ready to fire, but with the fog the way it was, an attacker would have to be practically on top of him before Sam would even see him. He prayed they were alone in the fog. Over his laboured breathing and their footsteps, a noise caught his attention. He stopped almost immediately, Shannon running straight into the back of him.

“Hey!” she cried out in surprise. Sam stood and slapped his hands straight over her mouth, motioning her to listen. Silence but for the dripping water. But what was that ever so soft, barely discernible thump? They listened a moment longer, and Sam eased his hand away from Shannon’s face.

“Sorry, I thought I heard something.” Shannon merely nodded her response. The fog felt and looked as though it had thickened to a rubbery soup around them, clawing at their bodies like skeleton hands.
Sam felt an imperceptible shift in the atmosphere. He felt rather than saw that they weren’t alone in the car park.
He turned quickly to resume the commando run across the car park. Within a few more paces, Sam thought they had come the wrong way – disorientated in the fog. He slowed to a walk, scanning the fog for any shape or clue as to the trucks parking spot. Nothing. The fog was simply too thick. He felt panic begin to well up inside him, felt eyes on him, felt exposed and helpless, even as he tightened his grip on the shotgun. He swore he heard that soft thud again…

CLANG! Sam was slammed to a stop physically. Sharp pain pierced his left side, just below his rib cage. Shannon screamed, the noise seemingly confined within the fog and magnified.
He braced himself, ready to fight whatever had hit him, one hand waving out violently trying to catch whatever was in the fog. A loud thud resounded as he made contact with it. Shannon whimpered behind him and stepped back as she felt his body shudder. The pain in his side was searing.

“Sam!” she cried, panic rising into her throat. “SAM!” She grabbed at the back of him to pull him back from whatever had a hold of him, then realised he was laughing.

“Sam?”

He turned to her. “It’s the truck Shannon. I ran smack bang into the cab of the truck with the gun barrel.” He reached around behind him to the source of his pain and felt the knife Shannon had been holding sticking out of his back.

“You stabbed me.”

Shannon stared at him, her features twisted in horror as she followed his arm to the wound. The kitchen knife was embedded in his back at least half an inch.

“Oh my God, Sam, I’m so sorry…” she whispered. Sam nodded, still chuckling away to himself.

“Hit the damn truck, and you stabbed me. What with all the other…” he gestured back towards the diner, or at least where he thought the diner would be. “I’m having a hell of a day today Shannon girl. Hell of a day. Ah!!” He tugged quickly on the knife and removed it. The pain eased in his back but he felt warm rivulets of blood flow down to the waistband of his jeans.

“It’s okay kid; it doesn’t feel too bad, more of a scratch really.” He pressed his hand against the wound and moved forward to the truck door.

“Come on, get in. There’s a first aid kit in here, you can patch me up.” Shannon nodded faintly and scampered quickly to the door. She climbed up and crawled across the driver’s side to the passenger side she turned back as Sam put the shotgun on across the middle of the seats.

‘Pull it over your way honey. Next thing you know, I’ll sit on it and blow a hole through my ass.” Shannon grabbed the stock and gingerly brought the gun towards her, its weight far from comforting.
Sam gripped the handle next to the door for purchase and hauled his not inconsiderable bulk up onto the step.

“Damndest thing’d be if I didn’t bring my keys…nope, here they are.” While standing on the step, upright, Sam fetched the keys out of his pocket.

“Couldn’t see you pushing this…” Sam was yanked downwards and out of site before the thought of the sentence even completed itself in his head. Shannon’s eyes widened in horror.

“SAM?!” she lunged across the seat, tangling herself in the barrel of the gun. Frustrated and terrified, she kicked it out of the way onto the floor under the dash of the rig and scurried over to where Sam had been.

“SAM!” she screamed. Nothing but silence. “SAM?!” her voice took a hysterical edge. Vulnerable, and yet somehow brave, Shannon leaned over the edge of the doorframe to look for Sam on the ground. She saw nothing but the murky soup of the fog.

“Sam!” she shouted again, with less conviction this time. He had to be just below the truck door, surely. He’s just slipped off the step. She lay her body across the seats of the truck, stomach first, to lean further over the side of the truck and perhaps see under it.

“Sam, are you there? Are you okay? SAM!” She lowered herself further out of the door, hips now resting on the very edge of the driver’s seat, her body bent in an L shape toward the ground, bending slightyl under the truck. She waved her hands helplessly in front of her, hoping to catch his shirt in her hand. She connected with skin and fabric and gripped firmly.

“Sam!” she tugged and felt heavy resistance. He was there! He was next to the truck, on the ground, maybe unconscious. She scooted herself into a sitting position and prepared to slip on to the ground to try to rouse him. She slid slowly toward to the concrete, hoping not to stand on him. Her toes found the pavement and she began to shift her weight onto them…until she felt something curl around the top of her foot and slowly tighten. Panic caused her to yank hard back in her direction. She screamed in panic and felt whatever it was around her foot tighten. She yanked again, adrenaline now charging her system.

“SAAAAMMM! PLEASE SAM, WAKE UP! SAM! HELP ME!” Gripping the handle next to the door for purchase, she yanked back and forth trying to dislodge whatever it was that had her foot. It didn’t yank back, but had a firm grasp of her foot. She leant forward as she tried frantically to kick it off. As she leant forward she caught sight of a hand and a wrist clad in lannel - Sam had a hold of her foot.

"Oh fuck, Sam, it's you, are you okay? Are you hurt bad?"She slid down to a crouch, peering slightly under the truck toward where she guessed his head was - it was impossible to see him in the fog.

"Just slipped a little girl, that's all, help me up," came his voice. Had she been concentrating, Shannon would have realised it sounded thicker and lower than normal. Sam's body shuffled slowly toward her, appearing inch by inch toward her in the fog. She pulled at his shirt, heling him to shimmy toward her before he could sit up. Sams hand moved from her foot to her arm as he moved towards her, using her as leverage.Soon, his whole body was free of the truck bar his head. Shannon scooted back a little to give him room, glancing pointlessly over her shoulder to see if there as anything behind her. All she saw was a wall of fog. As she turned her head back, she began to scream. Sam had emerged from beneath the truck. His bottom jaw had been ripped downward, and hung loosely by the skin of is jowls. Both of his eyes were missing and Shannon found herself staring through bloodied, gory holes in his head to the pulsing greyish white of his brain. In her terror she didn't notice both of his ears were missing too. Adrenaline kicked in and she leapt sideways, grabbing onto the door of the rig. Still screaming she got one foot up on the step. Pulling her other leg she fetl a vice like grip clamp down. Her yanking intensified and she felt the grip slip a little. Doubling her efforts as she tried to scoot backwards and pull up at the same time, she felt searing pain in her foot as her tendons objected to being stretched and tore from their moorings.  Screaming now as much in pain as in panic she thrashed violently to dislodge it and finally felt it come free. Shannon yanked her foot inside the cab of the truck and, scooting backwards, pulled the door shut with a slam behind her and locked herself in. And Sam and whatever tore him up was locked out.

She continued to scream and cry in panic and pain as she frantically scrambled to the far side of the cab of the truck. She drew her feet in to herself and locked the passenger side door. As her screaming eased off to moaning, over which she had no control, she pulled her foot up to rest on the seat and saw her ankle had swollen up over its lip like a fully baked muffin.  Shannon drew it carefully toward herself and continued to moan and rock in place, her heart still hammering in her chest from the effect of the adrenaline.

After a time – maybe an hour, maybe 5 minutes – her heart slowed down, and she gathered herself. She sat stock still, listening intently for any signs that what was left of Sam was trying to get in. She heard nothing but an eerie, muffled silence. She looked around her, and shuffled down the seat to reach the shotgun. Having grown up on a farm, she had a fair idea of how to use it, and also that she would need more shells. She had to get back to the diner with the shotgun and tell everyone what had happened, that someone (or something) was out here. That it had gotten Sam.

“Sam!” she said with a whispered exhalation. As far as she knew, he was still lying beside the driver’s door of the truck. She shifted slowly over to the driver’s seat, peering through the window toward the ground, hopeful for a sign of Sam to know where he was, but terrified to see him at the same time. She saw nothing. But she did realise she could now see the pavement beyond the truck. The fog appeared to be thinning. Great for being able to see what was out there, not great for whatever was out there being able to see her…

“I’ve got to get to the diner…how am I going to…” as she shifted in the seat to turn away from the glass, a familiar clinking set up from beneath her. Reaching beneath her thigh, she felt the keys to the truck. Sam had dropped them when he… when he fell.
Shannon stared at the keys in her hand, then at the gear shift, then out of the windshield. She’d have to drive the rig to the door of the diner.

‘Okay, okay, can’t be that hard. It’s just like driving a car. A really, really big car,” she muttered to herself as she looked again at the gear lever. 18 gears? Who needed that many? She inserted the key into the ignition of the rig and tentatively pressed her injured foot to the clutch, sending searing hot pokers of pain through her body. She shrieked, but cut the sound off as soon as she could to avoid drawing more attention to herself in the truck.

"FUCK!" she whispered fiercly in pain and frustration. Tears rolled unabashedly down her face as she mentally swam in panic. Her eye caught the shotgun. She hooked it off the seat and  emptied the shells out of it, hen flicking on the safety, spun it around so the butt rested on the clutch. Sending up a silent prayer that her plan would work, she pressed it to the floor holding onto the barrell and wiggled the gear stick, making sure it wasn't in gear.
Then she turned her attention to the dash and the multitude of switches and dials. She peered carefully and silently berated herself for not paying more attention when she had spent some time in the cab with a trucker on his way through th area last week. Her attention had been more honed on his tentative kisses and expert lovemaking. She flicked a few and tried the key, nothing. She flicked more, still nothing. Frustration growing she continued to flick the switches and try the keys. Panic and fury mounted until she was screaming in frustration without realising it, tears blinding her. It took her a moment to realise the engine was turning over. She pumped the accelrator felt her heart leap as it caughty, shattering the disquieting peace with its seemingly deafening roar. She fumbled the shotgun as she pressed it to engage a gear and howled in fury. She stared out of the windshield and realised she could see the outline of the diner, so close and yet so far. Closing her eyes, she took a deep, calming breath.

"You can do this Shannon, you can do this. Come on, get this fucking truck to that fucking diner and get your fucking ass inside.!" Gripping the barrel firmly, she pressed the shotgun downward again and engaged a gear. What gear it was she would never know, but she eased the clutch upward and pressed against the accelerator, and, almost imperceptibly at first, she felt the truck move. The engine bellowed its protest but the big truck kept up it’s forward momentum, carrying it’s trailer and it’s terrified passenger across the diners wet, dark car park. She pressed harder on the gas.  As she rolled, she kept her eyes firmly forward, hoping not to catch a glimpse of Sam’s prostrate body in the rear view mirrors. As the truck inched forward, she saw a shape emerge – the wrecked cruiser that lay in front of the doors of the diner. Her heart leapt in her chest. She had made it! She eased her foot back and let the truck roll slowly alongside the cruiser where it gave a loud shuffer and stalled, jolting her forward hard so that she cracled her nose on the wheel. ain blinded her momentarily, buit she soon shook it off with the thought of getting inside. Pushing herself over to the passenger door, careful not to bump her foot, she reached for the door lock and slowly slid it up. Fear began to overtake her heart again at the thought of sliding to the ground. Fear of Sam and his ruined face. But fear of being alone out here with...well with what exactly she didn't know...was infinitely worse. She took a breath and flung the door open, then, leading with her good foot, slid to the ground. She moved around the door as fast as she could, using it for support, then dropped to the ground on all fours. Moving like a crab, she suffled as fast as she could toward the front steps of the diner and up to the door, screaming in pain as she banged her foot. Finally, she felt the door infront of her and began to bang and scream.

"It's me, it's Shannon, let me the fuck in, please, let me the fuck in!" She heard scraping behind her, and then the groaning resistance of metal on metal. Refusing to look over her shoulder, she increased her pounding and screaming.

“Open the door! OPEN THE GODDAMNED DOOR!” She crashed her body against it and began to hammer with her fists. Against the will of every cell in her body, she glanced over her should. Someone or something was in the cab of the truck. She invested even more energy hammering on the door of the diner.

“LET ME THE FUCK IN! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!” She threw her full weight against the door, ingnoring the blinding pain in her ankle and the blood pumping from her nose as she heard the trucks engine growl into life.

“LET ME IN!! OPEN THE DOOR!” her sobs mingled with her screams. She heard the truck reverse, sensed the change of gears and heard the engine rev in place. She turned again. The rig was now positioned to face her and the diner. Shannon froze.

“Oh god no…” she whispered.

The truck's engine revved again, once. Twice.

“OPEN THE GODDAMNED DOOR!!!!!!!” With her last command, she heard the lock slide on the inside and felt the door give beneath her. She threw herself forward as the truck began to accelerate towards her. Brenda’s arms caught her and she was dragged into the room.

‘Shannon? Honey what…”

“RUN! GET AWAY FROM THE DOOR!” Shannon crawled as fast as she could go, dragging the startled woman towards the kitchen, screaming for everyone else to follow.

“FUCKING MOVE! IT’S COMING RIGHT FOR THE….” Her sentence was never finished as the big rig crashed into the concrete and wood of the diner’s entrance.

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