End of the Road

by Jonathan Oliver

  Wanting, wanting, that’s all flesh is good for. Her hand remains cradling my cheek and I cannot make myself dislodge it. This close I thought she would smell of offal, but there’s only a scent of sweat, of her. “What might that be?”

  She lets her hand fall; my heart falls with it, to steep and ferment in the bitterness of my stomach. “Nothing. It was only a fancy. It’d profit us both to forget.”

  “If you like,” I say easily, as though none of this has meaning.

  I REMAIN AT her insensate shell longer that night. I’ve heard a krasue’s glow is sickly and jaundiced, but what I see is soft, candlelight amber. Innards drift behind her as though the tails of a kite.

  Even having seen that, my decision congeals slow, like blood thinned by lymph. Even having seen that I cannot think–

  A krasue in Prachinburi, and me its harbinger. She might have children there, and one of them will receive her legacy whether or not they wish, whether or not she wishes.

  It may be mercy as well as defense.

  So I gather wood, as dry as may be found in this weather, until I have more than I need. I gather dead leaves, though some are so damp they are nearly mulch. I moor my thoughts to the pier of Prachinburi; I think of what I will eat there, sweet and sour things, and of greeting friends long unseen. Above the sky lightens.

  The lamp oil Ploy and I collected is spent to the last drop. My hands are guided not by thought but by the reflexive process of fire-making, of burying her in branches and detritus. A mound of compost.

  It all crackles. Fire is a sound. It all leaps. Fire is an animal. It bursts with smells all pungent. Fire is a feast.

  It brings her, as I knew it must. I stand with feet braced and blade bared.

  Heart and lungs, liver and intestines, limned in that exquisite golden light the same precise hue of dawn. I would say she is unhuman, but are those not the most human parts of anyone freed from skin, while I hide myself behind the artifice of fabric and armor?

  Ploy’s face remains her own. There is no bestial rictus that reveals her for what she is. There is only a gaze piercing me like arrows, there is only a mouth parting around words like knives.

  “I desired you,” she says and her voice is not the hag’s croak that I was told would emerge from a krasue’s mouth. “I wanted to be with you – and there’d have been no children; I would have been the last.”

  “You would have killed and eaten.” My muscles tremble. My throat is shut and my breath comes fast.

  “Wild animals. Pigs. Invaders.” Her laughter rings pure and clear while her guts undulate, eelish and glistening. “I’ve long learned control, Thidakesorn. The Phma cut my nieces apart. There will be no more of us. This would’ve been the end.”

  “A krasue would say this.” My voice splinters. Beside us the fire grows loud, hungry, the heat and brilliance of it bringing sweat and radiance to us both. “A krasue would say anything to escape death.”

  “A krasue who wants survival would not give you her trust. A krasue who courts life would kill one who’s murdered her.” Tears on her cheeks, salt on my tongue. “I despise you.”

  I kick apart the pyre, plunge my hands into the flames. It is too late; it has always been too late. Beneath the kindling she is limbs gone to roast, flesh gone to broil, her breast bared and red-raw.

  Pressing blistered hands to my face I scream, and it’s hardly a human sound.

  She presses her mouth to my temple, and her guts move against me, coolly wet. I expect them to seek my neck and cord into a noose. But they slide across my shoulders and arms until I understand this is her last remaining means of comfort. “I despise you,” she whispers. “I love you.”

  We are no kin – her spit will not force her fate upon me – but she could still bite, could still kill. I wrap my arms around her, around a heart that pumps so strong it jolts my bones. My face in her hair and her lips at my ear, she tells me of how an aunt died when she was eleven and passed her this inheritance. Four years later she became mistress of the hunger; four years later she began to dream that she may not have to be her aunt, may live like any other girl save for her forays in the dark. In a prosperous place, a prosperous time, she could fill her belly full by the day, and so need not venture forth every night.

  I do not speak. This is her time to be heard. Her words come slower as the sun climbs higher, even though I keep us in the shade and shield her from the day. Her eyelids droop, heavy, and her head lowers to my shoulder as if to doze off.

  She crumbles in my arms. It seems unthinkable that she could turn from flesh to husk in a moment; it seems unthinkable that her face should collapse upon itself, her hair drying to twigs, her lips and eyes to sun-baked fruit.

  She is dust.

  The buzzing of flies grows in my head and I turn to the rising sun, toward home. My arms are full of her, dry flecks collecting in the creases of my clothes and skin.

  In the distance I hear war drums. The horizon shines gold with the beginning of fire.

  WITHOUT A HITCH

  IAN WHATES

  I must admit that I was a little surprised at receiving only one hitchhiker story for this anthology. The figure of the hitcher has been something of staple of horror fiction for a while, especially in the movies where we only have to look to Rutger Hauer’s psycho or the lunatic picked up by the cast of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. However, this being a story by Whates you can expect something a little different, an idea that is thrillingly and unexpectedly resolved.

  “DO YOU ACTUALLY like this sort of thing?”

  Fleetwood Mac were playing on the sound system – a ‘Best of’ collection that inevitably drew heavily on the classic album Rumours.

  “Yes. Why, don’t you?”

  She didn’t answer, just looked away, but the disdain was clear.

  Ben determined not to turn the music off. This was his car and he’d listen to whatever the hell he liked. But his resolve started to crumble almost immediately. It wasn’t in his nature to ignore the preferences of a guest and, besides, he found that he wasn’t enjoying the music anymore. Her attitude had somehow soured it for him. He held out for one more track and then, without saying a word, reached forward and pressed the ‘off’ button. She didn’t say ‘thank you’, but he felt sure she was thinking it.

  BEN WAS STILL a little bemused by this girl’s – this woman’s – presence in the car. He hadn’t intended to pick up a hitchhiker, not by a long shot.

  It was yet another example of how the day had gone from bad to worse. Too early to say whether or not the trip up north had been a total waste of time, but the meeting with Archibald hadn’t gone well, that much was certain. The man was sharp. Some of his questions had wrong-footed Ben, and it was a long while since any buyer had managed to do that.

  To top it all off this blasted fog came down. The nights closed in quickly at this time of the year and the meeting had been scheduled later than Ben would have liked – it was already dark and he hadn’t even reached the A1 yet. Darkness and fog: a combination guaranteed to make his journey home a miserable one. Perhaps he should have stayed the night after all – the company would have footed the bill for a modest hotel. But no, that would only have upset Sarah. Anyway, turning up at the office early the next morning all bright and breezy was bound to earn him brownie points. He was the oldest one left on the sales force, and couldn’t help but feel a little threatened by some of the young pups breathing down his neck – his so-called colleagues. He knew they joked about him behind his back; Gilbert in particular, the smug prick.

  Fog or no fog, Ben was going home. Everything would be all right once he reached the A1(M).

  He kept reviewing the meeting with Archibald in his head, going over the answers he should have given. He was doing precisely that when the girl appeared. Literally. Out of nowhere. One minute he was driving along an empty road, the next thing there she was, directly in front of him. It wasn’t just the fog hiding her, he felt sure of it. She hadn’t been there an instant bef
ore.

  He slammed on the brakes and wrenched the wheel hard round, grateful that the conditions weren’t icy as well as foggy. In the corner of his eye he saw the girl leap out of the way as he swerved past, narrowly missing her.

  The car came to a bone-juddering stop. He had missed her, hadn’t he?

  He glanced in the rearview mirror. She was lying by the roadside, unmoving. Oh, hell!

  Ben undid his seatbelt and jumped out of the car, hurrying back to where the girl lay prone. No, no, no! This can’t be happening.

  As he reached her, she moved a little. He had never felt such relief in his life. She stirred and gingerly pushed herself off the ground.

  “Are... are you all right?”

  She looked up, glaring at him. “I think so, no thanks to you. You could have fucking killed me!”

  Black hair worn in a ragged bob, a stud through her nose – the right nostril – and dark make-up heavily applied to emphasise what had to be the most beautiful eyes Ben had ever seen. She was small, petite; easy to mistake for a girl rather than a young woman. How old was she? Nineteen, twenty?

  “I know. I’m really sorry.”

  “Sorry? How fast were you driving, for fuck sake? It’s foggy, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  Did she have to swear so much? “I know, I know; you’re right.” Why was he feeling so defensive? He wasn’t the one walking along an unlit road in the fog at night dressed in a black leather jacket. “What are you doing out here, anyway?” was all he said.

  “Had a row with my boyfriend. He chucked me out the car.”

  “Out here?”

  “Obviously. He’s a bastard. What’s it to you?”

  “Nothing... Look, where are you headed?”

  She hesitated, as if unsure of a destination. “London.”

  London? “Well you are going in the right direction, but you’re in for one heck of a long walk.”

  “Yeah, I know. Was hoping to hitch a lift off someone.” The look she gave him was a blatantly expectant one.

  “I could take you some of the way, if you like.” Had he really said that? The words escaped before he could stop them. Sarah would flay him alive.

  “Okay.”

  And that was how he ended up with this taciturn, feisty, spitfire of a girl sitting in the seat beside him; a state of affairs he regretted more and more with each passing minute. Conversation had proved... difficult.

  “What’s your name?” he’d asked.

  “Karen.”

  “Well hello, Karen, I’m Ben.” Silence. “Where are you from?”

  “Does it really matter?”

  “No, I suppose not.” And a moment later, “How old are you?”

  “None of your business.”

  At which point he gave up.

  Ben was concentrating on the road and didn’t realise what she was doing until he heard the click of a lighter. Then the smell of a freshly lit cigarette reached him and he nearly convulsed. It was all he could do to keep control of the wheel.

  “I’m sorry,” he snapped, untruthfully, “but you’ll have to put that out. We don’t allow smoking in the car.”

  She looked at him for a long second, then lowered the window and flung the still-smouldering cigarette out into the night.

  Ben breathed a sigh of relief. Trying to explain away the smell of smoke in the upholstery would have been a nightmare.

  Who have you had in the car? A woman, was it?

  He was fast reaching the conclusion that the evening’s events merited a bit of judicious editing. Best not to mention his giving this Karen a lift at all when he got home.

  Just picked up some random girl by the roadside, did you? So what if you did nearly run her over? That suddenly makes you her personal chauffeur, does it?

  No, far simpler to say nothing. Not that there would be anything to tell. He was simply going to drop the girl off a little closer to London than he’d found her, and that would be that. He could go home with a clear conscience and no harm done.

  Buoyed by this resolve – and the promise of better driving conditions courtesy of the A1(M), which was now just a few minutes away – he switched the music back on. So what if she didn’t like it? He did.

  For all this bravado, Ben was intensely aware of her presence. She was attractive in a waifish sort of way, no denying that, but he suppressed the thought firmly. She couldn’t be more than half his age at most.

  As Stevie Nicks sang her way towards the end of “Rhiannon” the RDS kicked in, interrupting the music with a traffic update. Ben only heard the first item. “There are long delays on the A1(M) following an accident involving multiple vehicles. The southbound carriageway has been closed between junctions 35 and 36, and the tailback now stretches all the way to junction 38. A diversion has been put in place, via the A638, but that route, too, is heavily congested. Police are advising drivers to expect delays of up to three hours.”

  Ben stared at the radio in disbelief. Under normal circumstances he was, what, three hours from home? Allow an extra half hour for the fog and then three more for the delay... That would take him well into the early hours of the morning. “Shit!” He couldn’t face driving for that long, not after the pig of a day he’d just had to endure.

  Ben was still trying to work out what to do when Lady Luck smiled on him for a change. A sign emerged from the fog, announcing a motel this side of the A1, though it had probably been directly on the road at one point, before the upgrades – yet another business left stranded by the planners. Perfect; it ought to be reasonably cheap then. Evidently he was going to be staying the night after all.

  It was only when they drew up in the car park that he spared a thought for his passenger. He’d managed to avoid thinking about her until then.

  “Right,” he said, “I won’t be going any further tonight, what with the fog and the A1 being closed. You can go on if you like...”

  She gave a curt but vigorous shake of the head. “In this weather? I’m not crazy or anything. I wasn’t out there dodging traffic by choice when you tried to run me over. Next time I might not be so lucky.”

  He recognised her unsubtle attempt to play on his sense of guilt, but could hardly deny the accusation; and yes, he did feel a degree of responsibility, but not that much. On the other hand she was only a kid, despite the spiky attitude.

  “Have you got any money on you?”

  Another shake of the head.

  Of course she hadn’t. So what could he do? His employers would never stump up for two rooms... He considered simply turfing her out, or even suggesting that she sleep in the car, but that seemed unfair. Besides, he wouldn’t trust her in the car, not unless he confiscated her cigarettes first.

  “Okay, I’m going to get a room for both of us – separate beds, don’t worry; I promise nothing inappropriate will happen. Would you be all right with that?”

  She shrugged. “I suppose.”

  He wasn’t convinced this was a good idea, not remotely, but he was tired and he was angry and it seemed the easiest option. Unless he slept in the car, of course, but that was not going to happen; it would be his room, after all. She was the interloper here, not him.

  “First, though, I want to give my wife a quick ring, to explain what’s happened.” She didn’t move. He gestured towards the door. “If you don’t mind...”

  After a moment’s hesitation she sighed, unbuckled her seatbelt, opened the door and got out.

  Ben took a deep breath and braced himself for a difficult phone call.

  SHE LIT ANOTHER cigarette and leaned back against the car, smoking and wondering whether he really thought the thin barrier of the car’s window would stop her from hearing every word of the conversation – well, his side of it, at any rate. The wife sounded like an uptight and insecure bitch.

  “No, darling, of course I’m not staying away on purpose... Yes, yes, of course I want to get home... Really, it’s the weather... Yes, I’ll be back in the morning, early as I can, promise... Nowher
e nice, just a motel... Yes, the company will pay... Of course I’m sure... All right, then. Kiss Sophie good night for me... Yes, I wish I was there to do it in person too. I’ll call you tomorrow before I leave... Well, if it’s too early then I’ll call when I’m on the way. Okay? Love you.”

  She wondered if Wifey had said ‘love you too’ in return.

  Thank God he’d finished. It was getting cold standing around out here. Movement from inside the car indicated that he was about to get out, so she pushed herself upright and stepped away from the door. The cigarette was two thirds gone. She took one final drag and then dropped what remained, grinding it out with the sole of her shoe.

  THE CLERK AT the desk didn’t bat an eyelid when Ben asked for a twin room, but he felt sure the man would be smirking after they’d gone. The temptation to be defensive and say something like ‘she’s my daughter’ almost won out, but Ben resisted.

  The room was everything he had expected: small, sparse, functional, and cheaply furnished; but at least there were two beds, suitably separated by a cabinet-cum-table fixed to the wall. He undressed hurriedly while Karen took a shower, keeping his pants on and climbing into the right-hand of the two beds – the one nearest the door. He pulled the sheet up so that just his bare shoulders and head protruded and debated whether or not to turn the light out. He refrained on the basis that she might need it when she came out. This was the first time Ben had been in a bedroom alone with a woman other than his wife in... well, more years than he cared to remember. The sound of a shower stopping had never seemed more ominous, and his nervousness increased dramatically.

  Where to look? Should he feign sleep?

  The bathroom door opened and Karen emerged with a towel wrapped round her. God, she was beautiful. All his chivalrous intentions went out the window. He couldn’t look anywhere else. She came across to stand between the two beds, gazing down at him. She bit her lip, as if inwardly debating something, then reached up to untuck one corner of the towel, letting it slide down her body to the floor.