The 0714 Files: File #1 Inferno (Remake 2)

Prologue

"When freedom does not have a purpose; when it does not wish to know anything about the rule of law engraved in the hearts of men and women; when it does not listen to the voice of conscience, it turns against humanity and society." – Pope John Paul II

. . .

September 29th, 1998

A large semi barrels down the road in a storm. Thunder strikes are heard off in the distance every few minutes while the windshield wipers feebly work to keep blinding rain off the windshield.

The trucker in the front seat hears each muffled strike but ignores them. He has another hundred miles until he reaches his destination, so he won't be stopping for several hours. No. He cares more about the smell of the burger he bought a few minutes ago sitting on the dashboard, growing colder by the minute. He hasn't gorged on it yet, slightly nervous; because of the weather. He wants to be a safe driver, to pay all of his attention to the road, and all that "driving course" safety crap.

But the rain has shown no sign of quitting for several hours at least. Then he rations how he hasn't eaten in hours, that he's seen nobody else on the road in a while...

He licks his lips and turns the radio up before grabbing the bun. Throwing caution to the wind for now and giving in to temptation. His justification with hunger and that he's in the middle of nowhere winning. He's within no proximity to cause an accident if his eyes wandered long enough to take a bite.

"Look man, I'm serious, okay? I saw this with my own eyes."

"Oh, I believe you, buddy, I believe you. Just tell us a story, tell us a story!"

He scoffs, mouth full of food. Another whack job is on the radio again for some talk show host to poke fun at for anyone listening. At least they'll provide him some entertainment for the next couple of minutes.

Taking another bite, he licks his lips and his mind settles in for whatever crazy story he's about to hear.

"Okay, well, it was last Friday night. I was walking home from the bar... This woman started walking towards me..." there's a pause, small, but audible. "She was staggering, you know? So, I, I figured she was drunk."

"Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Okay, be honest now. Tell us how many drinks you had?"

The trucker has the same disbelief towards this guest. He's hardly heard any of this story and it's already sounding like a drunk person misinterpreting something they saw. Kid likely had a shot too many of some liquor after being goaded on by his co-workers, or college buddies. Then those same friends were dumb enough to let him walk home alone. In his younger days, he did the same stupid shit too.

"No man. I, I barely had a buzz on!"

"Oh c'mon!"

It's heard in the guest's voice he's getting irritated he's not being taken seriously. "No, just listen alright? She got closer and I got a good look at her..." this pause is huge. "You had to see her eyes, her nose. Her whole face... it looked like it was rotting!" the host makes a noise of disgust, spurring the man further into his hysterical tirade. "You had to see her man. She looked like a corpse. Like a walking corpse man!"

The story might spook a few folks tuned in this late at night. Hell, if he believed in monsters, he might also feel a bad vibe at the woman described as undead. Being married close to fourteen years now though, he's seen his high school sweetheart in every appearance imaginable. Her arrival home in the morning alone appeared as if she'd been run over while working third shift at the new chain grocery store in town.