Blood on the Highway

Chapter Four

Blood Moon

The stolen Chevy rumbled beneath us, its engine struggling as we sped down the narrow back roads. The night seemed darker than usual, as if the fog from earlier had swallowed the sky and smothered the stars. The moon, a sickly red orb, hung low on the horizon, casting a strange glow across the barren landscape. It was the kind of night where the air felt charged, heavy with something unnamed, and I could feel it in my bones—a weight pressing down on us, like we were driving toward something we couldn't escape.

Dorian was at the wheel, his eyes sharp, his jaw set. The streetlights we passed flickered and buzzed, the weak orange glow barely cutting through the mist. I watched him in the dim light, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel like he was holding on to something far more important than a car.

"Where are we going?" I asked, my voice low, barely above a whisper.

Dorian didn't answer at first, his gaze still locked on the road ahead. His silence was unnerving, but it was something I had come to expect. He only spoke when he wanted to, when he felt like it, and when he did, his words felt heavier, like they carried more weight than normal conversation.

After a long moment, he finally spoke, his voice low and rough. "Does it matter?"

I swallowed hard, feeling that familiar knot tighten in my chest. "No, I guess not."

The truth was, I didn't know where we were going. I hadn't known since the moment I stepped out of that bar with him. It didn't matter where we went—just that we kept moving, kept running. And I had followed him, without question, because somewhere deep inside me, I knew that stopping wasn't an option. Not anymore.

The road curved sharply ahead, the trees on either side twisting and reaching out like skeletal hands, their branches tangled in the thickening mist. The world felt strange tonight, like it had shifted just enough to be wrong, like we had crossed some invisible line and found ourselves in a place where the rules no longer applied.

Dorian's hand slid from the steering wheel, his fingers brushing against mine where they rested on my lap. His touch sent a shiver through me, even now, after everything. There was something about the way he could reach me with just a glance, just a brush of his hand. It was intoxicating and terrifying all at once.

"You feel it too, don't you?" he asked, his voice softer now, but with an edge that told me he already knew the answer.

I nodded, my throat tight. I didn't need to ask what he meant. I felt it—the strange energy in the air, the weight of something inevitable closing in on us. It was as if the night itself was watching, waiting for us to make the next move.

"We're going to be legends," he murmured, his fingers tightening around mine. "Just wait."

I didn't respond. I couldn't. There was something in his voice that sent a chill down my spine. The way he said it, like it was already decided, like we didn't have a choice. The idea of being a legend, of living fast and dying young, had a dark allure, but it also felt like a trap—a cage made of blood and steel.

The car suddenly slowed as we approached a small gas station, the kind you only find on back roads that no one travels anymore. It was rundown, its windows dark and covered in grime, the neon sign that once flashed "OPEN" long since burnt out. The pumps were rusted, and the only light came from a single flickering bulb hanging above the entrance.

Dorian pulled into the lot, the tires crunching on the gravel. He cut the engine, and the sudden silence was deafening. The world outside seemed to hold its breath as we sat there, the only sound the faint ticking of the cooling engine.