Tales From the Gas Station: Volume Four by Jack Townsend

Author:Jack Townsend
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Humour, Horror, Paranormal, Fiction, Fantasy, Supernatural, Thriller
ISBN: 9781732827868
Publisher: Jack Townsend
Published: 2022-03-21T00:00:00+00:00

28 I had a theory about foreskins, but nobody wanted to test it out. Although, I can see why that might not apply here. [«]

Chapter Twenty-One

Where do you go when you can’t go anywhere? When the police are looking for you? When monsters want to kill you? When you’ve accidentally chucked your friend’s dead grandma at a caravan of her still-grieving relatives and that’s barely fucked up enough to register on your radar because the world is ending in a couple of days and you’re driving around in the most attention-drawing vehicle ever stolen and to top it all off, you can’t even remember the last time you ate anything?

“Don’t look now,” Rosa said. “I think we might be busted.”

I looked now anyway. The hearse stopped at a four-way intersection at the same time as a sheriff’s cruiser. I waited for the inevitable—flashing lights, siren, maybe a high-speed chase if Rosa panicked. But instead, nothing. The cruiser just sat there, waiting.

A moment passed before I realized there was another car at the intersection directly across from us—an old sports-car. The driver pulled into the intersection. Rosa did the same. We passed one another, right in front of the sheriff’s cruiser. I looked out my window and saw…

Holy shit, no way!

“Stop the hearse!” I yelled. Rosa hit the brakes. I climbed over the seats into the back, pushed open the door, and looked out right as the cruiser drove past. I locked eyes with the guy in the passenger seat… Me… He… I… looked back. I held up my bandaged hand and waved. They drove away, and we returned to the task at hand—figuring out how to disappear.

Turns out, disappearing was surprisingly easy. There were countless muddy paths off the main road leading to hunting camps in the woods around town, each clearly marked with a classic triple-P sign. While the exact wording stated “Posted: Private Property,” I read the message as “cops can’t follow you this way without a warrant.” We picked one at random and parked the hearse inside an overgrown nest of trees deep enough in the woods to avoid being seen by any passersby.

“What now?” Rosa asked, like she was narrating my thoughts.

My instinct was telling me to get as far away from the stolen hearse as possible, but that didn’t narrow things down much. We didn’t have an alternate vehicle, and even if we did, the authorities would be patrolling the roads and staking out any place we might think to hide. We really only had one option left.

“How would you feel about taking a walk in the woods?”

Rosa eyed the thinning dirt trail that snaked further into the wild forest. With its irregular terrain, encroaching flora, and hearty collection of nature’s favorite obstacles, the path was—by design—only accessible beyond this point by off-road vehicles and the most desperate of foot traffic.

“To where?”

“We need to stay off the grid for a little bit longer. This path goes north. If we keep going in that direction, eventually we’ll run into the abandoned railroad tracks to nowhere.

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