Chapter 2
Billy the trucker was barreling down the highway at breakneck speeds, rubbernecking the fairyland scenery of morning's darkness. There was nobody else on the road, and a sanguine warmth in his crotch where his priapic "trucker's wood" had been throbbing upright for hours. Billy spied an object on the street a ways up, shimmering like Will-o-the-Wisp in the gloom. As he pulled near it, what he saw chilled his heart. As he got out and assessed the wreckage, the hard-on went limp and the back of his throat tasted bitter and sick.
Both vehicles were demolished and burning pieces of them were scattered all up and down the pavement. What looked like a minivan had rolled into a ditch and resembled a crushed soda can, plus billowing fire and black smoke. The smell was profoundly toxic.
On the roadside gravel was the other destroyed car, out of which issued the unmistakable odor of burning flesh. He could make out a body inside, charred to a carbonized rind of whoever it had been.
"Don't move." An odd-sounding voice said to his right. He turned his head and saw a man standing there, with camouflage cargo pants in tatters and shirt apparently burnt off. And he was pointing a handgun at Billy's chest.
"Very slowly, look at me." said the man. Billy obeyed.
Before him stood an impossible vision. A side of the stranger's face had been melted, and one could see the bone structure though patches where it had come off. The other half of the man's face was intact and with a perfect complexion, a head full of hair on the unaffected side was curly and auburn. Embedded in the survivor's neck was a glinting piece of metal, and on the marred side of the body, ribs and musculature could be seen where the seared skin had been burnt through. The man had been very healthy before the damage, well formed to a superhuman degree such as Billy had never seen before. And even in the afflicted areas, there was no blood. No blistering or redness anywhere on him!
Everywhere the fire had touched the man, displayed the same melting effect and tiny strings like melted plastic could be made out, blowing in the breeze. It was like looking at a figure from a unfortunate wax museum, except it was talking to him.
"... Yeah, not so nice, is it?" said the disfigured man, if that's even what he was.
"What is this?!" Billy's voice shook as he spoke.
"I need your help. You're going to rescue me." Answered the terrible image.
"Then put down the--"
"But!" The gun made a clicking noise and cocked,
"But, you have to follow my directions and don't call anybody. Nobody can know about this. Ever."
"No problem. But you're very hurt and you might die if--"
"No I'm not. And I won't die. But if you fuck this up, if I don't kill you they will. Are you listening?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now, I wanna put this thing away as much as you want me to, but I have to know you won't freak on me. And I won't mess you up either. I can explain this shit and get out of your way, but we need to get moving, pronto. Do we have a deal?"
"Do I have a choice?" responded Billy, rediscovering his cool.
"Yeah, well neither do I." Said the survivor, matter-of-factly. There was a mutual nod between them, and the survivor holstered his gun.
