Page 8 of Spike

My cellphone beeped in my pocket, and seeing it was a text from Nitro, asking how I was doing, I sighed.

Nitro was persistent, like a dog with a bone. Most of the time, I appreciated his concern, but he needed to learn to back away sometimes.

"I'm fine, leave me alone," I typed with a touch of frustration, then sent the text. I pocketed my phone.

I glanced up the closest watering hole on my phone.

"The Dirty Stallion it is," I said. With that, I finally left the cemetery behind.

3

GRAY/ SPIKE

GRAY

I thought the werewolves at the gate would stop me, but to my surprise, they simply waved my car through.

Still, I couldn't relax my guard entirely. Glancing over my shoulder, I half-expected to see another car with Jack in it, but the road behind me remained empty.

My nerves were getting the better of me.

With a self-deprecating laugh, I acknowledged how I was overthinking things.

Maybe Jack was genuinely just a good Samaritan, or perhaps that unsettling smile from the night before had simply unnerved me.

Either way, I reassured myself that I was out of the potential danger zone, back on the open road where I belonged.

That, I concluded, was all that truly mattered.

As the miles stretched before me, I allowed the hum of the engine and the rhythm of the road to lull me into a sense of calm.

Eventually, I turned on the radio to fill in the silence, humming along to a few of my favorite country tunes.

Singing at the top of my lungs eased the residual tension from my encounter at the pack house. Yet, as the miles rolled by, unease lingered.

It was when I noticed a dark blue truck in my rearview mirror that my unease became unreal.

At first, I dismissed it as paranoia, convincing myself that my mind was playing tricks on me. However, the persistent presence of the truck behind me made me reconsider.

Wondering if it was mere coincidence or a genuine pursuit, I decided to test my suspicions.

I turned the radio off and glanced at the rearview mirror again. The dark blue truck was still there.

Determined to confirm or dispel my growing apprehension, I made a spontaneous decision. I turned into a smaller road, half hoping my suspicions were baseless.

Yet, the driver of the blue truck followed suit, confirming my fears. Tension crept back, and my heart quickened its pace.

I kicked the accelerator, urging my car to surge forward in the hopes of eluding my mysterious stalker.

The speedometer climbed, the passing scenery a blur as anxiety coiled tighter within me.

I had no idea where I was going, and the pulsating panic was fueled by the realization that I couldn't rely on my cellphone.

Silly me had forgotten to charge it last night at Jack's pack house, and now it lay lifeless in my pocket.

To compound the horror, my car engine began to stutter, protesting the abrupt acceleration.

First, the heater failed me in the biting cold, and now this. My second-hand sedan seemed to have chosen the worst possible moment to act up.

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