Page 2

Great, he thought bitterly: Just what I need…

He thought about calling a tow truck (because he sure as hell didn't feel like getting down on the cold pavement and wrestling with a flat, especially not at this time of the night), but he couldn't see a phone inside the diner and he doubted they'd be willing to let him use their "business phone." (Why he felt this way, he wasn't sure- but he did.)

He was a traveling salesman, so approaching people shouldn't have been difficult for him- but it was. Maybe that's why he had a back seat full of unsold encyclopedias…

With a curse, he went to the trunk and opened it. He reached in and picked up the L-shaped tire iron, hefted it; it felt reassuring. He was bending in to get the bumper jack when he heard something. He froze, listening, and heard it again.

A moan.

What the…?

He straightened, the tire iron clutched tightly in one fist, and looked back down the road in the direction he'd come. The sound had come from that direction. Lowering the hood of the trunk, he stared into the dark, waiting.

He suddenly stiffened. He could see the man in the white gown coming up the road toward him, emerging ghost-like from the darkness. He was walking slowly, awkwardly, as if he were injured. There was also something threatening in his approach.

John took an involuntary step back, collided with the car; moved around toward the diner. He swallowed. The man in the gown was reaching out to him, moaning. As he came nearer the light, John could see that he had been injured: blood had soaked through the chest of his gown. He was big, almost bald, and his skin was pale.

"I'm, I'm not a doctor," John heard himself plead: "I can't…"

He looked toward the diner. Where the hell is everybody…? "Hey! You there! In the diner!" He glanced at the injured man before turning and running to the door of the diner. He almost expected it to be locked. It wasn't. He jerked it open and went inside.

It was like walking into a tomb. Nothing moved; there was no sound. The air was thick and stagnant. And then he caught a whiff of something- something foul. It was the smell of something dead…

His skin crawled. He looked through the window to see the man outside staring in at him. He caught his breath. The handle of a large butcher knife was protruding from the center of the man's chest. The blade must have hit his heart. There was no way it couldn't have…

Then how the hell is he walking…?

The man walked stiffly to the window and, reaching up to paw ineffectually at the shatterproof glass, opened his mouth and began to gnaw hungrily at it. Drool streaked the glass. The man's eyes were locked onto John. John stared.

It's me he's after, it's me he wants!

The realization caused his knees to buckle; he fell back against the counter. "Jesus Christ," he breathed: "Holy mother of God…" And then he saw the words stenciled across the front of the gown: STATE MENTAL HOSPITAL. Of course: the man was an escapee; he had attacked someone, and had been stabbed…

John whirled and looked toward the kitchen area. The door was open. He stumbled the length of the counter, was brought up short by the sight of a pair of legs protruding from the kitchen. It was a woman. She lay on her back, one arm extended straight up as if she'd been fending off an attacker when she'd died. Her head was a red ruin that caused him to look quickly away.

She must've been the one who stabbed the crazy…

A thump behind him caused John to whirl, startled. The crazy was at the door, palms slapping against the thick glass. He was moaning again.

John saw him reach down and start trying the knob, but he couldn't seem to get it to turn. John felt terror spread like wildfire through his nervous system. He backed slowly away from the door, toward the dead woman, staring at the man through the glass. The man's left eye was milky, was covered with a cataract. His mouth continued to work hungrily. John felt revulsion at the sight.

He wondered where the keys to the front door were- and then he realized that the dead woman must have them. He turned back to her and, trying not to look at what was left of her head, went to one knee and reached into her apron pocket. He felt a bulge, heard the gratifying jingle of a key ring. He stood, staring down triumphantly at the keys, when a sudden noise brought his head up.

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