Lost the Will to Live

The lamppost was tilted at a sharp angle.  Glass and plastic shards littered the asphalt.  Yellow police tape surrounded the wreckage.

“Found it like this, sir,” said Chapman.  “No sign of the occupant except for that.”  He pointed to the spreading red puddle. 

The detective knelt and dipped a finger in the lukewarm liquid.  “This isn’t blood, rook.”

“It isn’t?”

“Synthetic.  Tacky to the touch.  Hasn’t been changed in a long time.”  He stood and stared at the car.  “Rust spots.  Duct tape.  This car has been badly cared for.”

“No homicide, then?”

“No.”  The detective shook his head.  “Autocide.”

Cavalry

The rats were silent, which somehow made the whole thing worse. No squeals, no shrieks, just the thrum of hundreds, maybe thousands, of tiny pairs of lungs all working at once. The alley reeked with their scent.

"What we need now," said Kristen, kicking at one bold climber, "is a really big cat."

With a sudden blaring of a horn and a halogen-bright flash, the car swerved into the alley. A series of tiny thumps punctuated its arrival. The rats shrieked then, swarming. At the rear, they were already circling back to gnaw at the tires.

"Or that," said James.

Inoculated

Wally didn’t see the intersection – or the pedestrian – until it was too late. There was a resounding thump. Wally’s car spun three more times and wrapped itself around a tree.

There was a rap on the window. Wally peered through the shattered glass.

“You okay?” said the brown-haired pedestrian. His clothes were torn to shreds from his impact with the asphalt.

“How’d you survive?” asked Wally.

The man shrugged. “I keep my vaccines up to date. Every five years. What about you?”

Wally chuckled. “Oh, I’m fine. I had a wreck when I was a kid. Can’t get it twice.”

Backseat Driver

Dan struggled to control the car as the dark van barreled past in the other lane. They must have been pushing a hundred miles per hour, at least.

Shannon clucked her tongue, glaring at the rapidly disappearing vehicle. “Asshole.”

Dan’s knuckles were white. He’d caught a glimpse in the window as the van had flown past. He’d seen the hairy, ape-like arms, knotted with muscle, reaching out from the darkness in the rear. A half-dozen hands tipped in claws that gripped the steering wheel, the gearshift… and clamped over the mouth and arms of the terrified woman in the chair.

Morning Breath

He’d fallen asleep in his car. Sleep came hard, especially on the edges of the forest, but driving into town after last night would have been tantamount to suicide.

He woke in the early morning darkness. His breath had fogged all the windows, cocooning him in his own white-walled world. For a moment he could not tell what had awakened him, other than the pain in his neck and back.

Then, ever so gently, a soft scraping. Something sharp against the outside of the car.

It couldn’t see in. It didn’t know he was here. He tried not to breathe.