Page 57 of Finders Reapers

We passed a row of trucks and made our way down the verge. The roar of the freeway was enough that I couldn’t hear anything else. The smell of gasoline and pollution made me gag.

“You alright?” Jamal lifted his voice to be heard over the roar of the traffic.

I gestured to the discarded trash on the side of the freeway. “How hard is it to just put it in a trash can instead of throwing it out of a window?”

Jamal made a sympathetic face, and we continued our journey parallel to the road.

I wondered if any traffic could see us—a short redhead in a bikini and a black man in board shorts. Then again, Las Vegas was known for its anything-goes attitude.

Jamal seemed unaffected as he put his phone away and squinted into the distance.

Although we only wore swimwear, I did not feel cold, nor did I feel the burn of the sun. A familiar feeling washed over me like it had in the parking lot at Target. The world shifted to that greyscale place where souls lived, and emotions and sensations went to die.

It happened so quickly. I could have blinked and missed it.

A lone motorcycle and an SUV with a U-haul with as much control as a wacky waving inflatable arm-flailing tube man.

I cursed but couldn’t look away.

Blink.

The trailer sideswiped the bike.

The bike turned on its side and dragged the man across the road like a human crayon. The U-haul tipped, taking the SUV with it as it slammed into the barrier.

Cars kept racing past. No-one stopped.

Someone was going to die. Knowing made it worse somehow.

I could watch horror movies. They were bearable before there was always someone left alive at the end. Someone escaped.

Real-life was different. It wasn’t a film.

The motorcyclist had been flung down onto the hard shoulder. The SUV had flipped on its side. The windscreen like a spider's web.

I counted and waited for a soul to appear.

For someone to die.

I wanted more than anything to grab Jamal’s phone out of his hand and dial 911, but the second the thought entered my mind, my limbs were immovable stone.

It wasn’t the motorcyclist.

One by one, they appeared on the verge.

Blank-faced and confused.

A family of three.

My heart broke.

A tear rolled down my cheek.

A mother. A father and a boy no older than twelve.

“Is that boy going to hell?” I asked as we made our way through the reception of HQ and towards the exit. I felt Sasha’s eyes burning into the back of my neck with a fiery passion, but I felt no desire to acknowledge her.

Jamal closed his eyes and inhaled slowly as if to gain fortitude.

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