*** This is a story I'm revising

Along the highway, air blew in through a tiny crack in the window, puffing - roaring in - a dry lick across Joe's cheek

Climbing up one hill- the car sputtered, lurching ever so slightly - the speedometer needle wavering, pulsating as the engine switches gears… the car

Easing up gently to the crest of the hill, almost lying motionless - to coast - before heading down the sloped backside - foot off the pedal, dipping down into the valley,

The horizon and stars with each of the constellations lay before him, all traveling past - more road, more road…. Only more road.

" Oh god! What complete and utter bullshit! I haven't heard so much B.S. in my entire life!!" Kiara throws up her hands.

"It's all true,.." Joe takes another big drag on the joint, his chest raising up, his cheeks red and swollen, he hands over

the joint to Kiara, laying down on the back seat, her head wedged in on the armrest.

"You can't make me believe that the whole United States Government, your government, willingly takes part in the south

American drug trade." Kiara sucks down the smoke, in short quick breaths, and lets it come out through her nostrils.

Curt, at the wheel, his hands in the proper 3 & 9 o'clock position, "You don't have to believe, in Cuba, where they make

cigars, tobacco leaves rolled together between the creamy virgin thighs of some young maiden; do you know, if you come into

America with a Cuban cigar, just one, Federal Customs agents will come out on your ass so fast you won't know what hit ya. They can

smell it, they're like bloodhounds. I seen it on Inside Edition."

"Well, I wouldn't know." Kiara takes another quick drag and stretches over her hand, passing it to Joe.

"That's not all, do you know they CIA is flying in cocaine direct from the Colombians. Its your tax money that is paying for

these flights, and the clincher, in army planes! Fucking army is shipping in the shit they are promised to fight against."

"Were you learn about that one... a comic book?" Kiara lightly smiles to herself. She meows like a kitten, stretches

out, her arms above her head, and her legs, bright red toes pointed on Joe's lap.

Joe moves forward, placing the joint in Curt's hand, and sits back, running his palm of his scalp.

"So tell me all about the aliens????" Kiara lifts up her head, looking into the rearview mirror, aching to see a reaction

on Curt's face.

"What?" Curt cocks his head back, the joint clenched between his teeth. He says nothing, adjusting the mirror, avoiding

Kiara's eyes. Sets his face forward and drives.

Lucy finally stirs, and cradles her head on her hand, against the car window, with her eyes closed.

The car is enclosed in a deep green fog of marijuana smoke.

Curt, not knowing want he's sucking on, smokes it like a cigar, leaning over and tapping it onto the ashtray. He notices what it

is, and takes a drag. He examines the smoke as he exhales slowly, watching it puff out and exhales into the car. Lucy turns her

head, facing Curt, as the last bit of breath is released and glares at him. Curt, quickly reaches back his hand over the back,

dangling the joint in the back seat for anyone to grab onto. Kiara quickly takes the joint, trying not too lose it, almost a

roach it's so small. She holds it in between her thumb and first finger, not even touching her lips, she sucks down another

lungfull.

"Damn, it's some good shit, " she breaths out, raises up her hand, and offers it to Lucy, "want a hit?".

Lucy just looks at it out the corner of her eye, but soon after she takes it, holding it like Marlane Deitrich would, like

a lady, she leans back her head, and sucks down on it, sucking in her cheeks. Curt turns and looks at her, stunned.

Lucy's eyes bulge, her face goes scarlet, she vomits the smoke out, and holds onto her throat, coughing. "Thank you," she

whispers in a harsh, raspy voice, handing back the joint to Kiara. Lucy settles back into her seat more comfortably, closing

her eyes, and trying to sleep.

Kiara stretches up, and waves with the joint between her fingers, "You had better keep your eyes on the road..."

Curt swerves the car to the left, and back way over to the right, a car horn is blasted. Sweat rolls down Curt's neck, as he

steadies the car. "I think we just passed a state trooper." Kiara offers with a smile, leans back resting on her arm. "State

Trooper??" Curt, checks the mirrors desperately, adjusting the rear view. Finally, he settles down, sometimes glancing behind

him, just in case.

Joe slides down in his seat, and rubs Kiara's leg.

The highway, a gray dust afternoon sky, it stretch out a red banner across the eastern sky. Joe was getting away from it all, at last he was free from the hassle and the anxiety that was his old life behind him. No one out here would be there to nag him, no money problems, he could take a small job once and while. It was set, this was his emancipation from the responsibilities of a former person, not even him anymore, he was different.

With the open windows, the air from the country road bathed over him. He ran his fingers over his scalp, wondering how long had he been out? The signs he past, neglected, thought over and forgotten. How far to the next gas station was it? The road sped past him at 100 mph, too fast for his thoughts to process. The hum from the car purred back to him, as he instantly clicked off the radio. It was troublesome, yakking away, there was no interest in that. Where was he?

It all began with his brother as he thought back, damn him and his scholarship. The pen got Curt out of the slums, the steel mills, the tedious work schedule, he had gotten out, but not Joe. No, but he could have, if he had really wanted it bad enough. A college football scout had offered to take Joe away and transplant him all the way across the country, to California; a bad knee put an end to that. Joe thought the military might be his only way out, he joined up right after high school, with his diploma in his hand he scratched a waving x on the dotted line. A career solider was what he was supposed to be, he re-enlisted twice, every time the date of his release, he quickly signed up for another four years. He was safe, the army was really like his family to him, they clothed and feed him, took care of him when he was sick and covered up his problems when he had them; just like his real family. Joe was home.

The open road, yeah this was for him. The evening air was more and more ragged, pure even, it became cleaner as the sky became darker. The semi's were off parked in some diner feeding their belly's, that was okay, it gave the road up for Joe. It was his now. The drivers were probably stuffing down food into their fat guts, taunting some young waitress, and continuing to smell as hideous as before. It was August, so there was still a lot of family station wagons, mini-vans being sent along at a hurried speed across the country, in a rush to get back Monday for work or school. Fine then.

The old country road, with the cat tails being whisked along. The sound of frogs, a pond must be out there somewhere, in the backwoods, hiding back there somewhere. The sky now had an amber colour as the headlights blared at him from the other side of the road. Joe could see swarms of insects flying overhead, a living cloud flying in formation. The amount of cars thinned out, many of them would be pulling off soon, trying to find some hotel or camping spot; but no, Joe had miles to go.

The night was at his back, catching up with him, soon it would over take him. He pressed the gas, giving it a bit more juice, the engine purred once more suckling the gas line.

He was alone once more, not like before, in the army, mail was a blessing, his only life line to the real world. There, he could fold up some letter from Mom, put it in his front pocket, and think about her the entire day long, and possibly tomorrow, there would be another. Today, with his wife, dead, his child, gone. Ghosts were the only thing he could imagine back home sleeping in their cold bed. There was nothing he could do, what message can ghosts bring? He was alone now, no not like before, now everyone was dead and gone. The messages stop getting through, he would read no more letters, there would be no phone calls, no more promises to keep, he was indeed alone now.

The Human torch was always Joe's favorite comic book character. God, didn't always wish when someone pissed him off, and when he got so angry and tense, he could just release it all, all his anger that has been bottled up, all the missed opportunities, the disappointments and frustrations, and shouting "Flame on!" and torching the son of bitches in his way. Yeah, that would be cool. But there was the other guys from the fantastic four, that elastic guy (Joe always wondered whether or not his dick could stretch, most likely even he kept it a secret), that thing rock guy (again, he wondered if it was hard all the time), forget about the invisible girl, she wasn't so amazing. Everyone turned invisible and ran away.

It was dark now, not a sight on the highway. The cars were gone, only the orange reflectors on the midian shown back to him like a line of ants along a white cloth. Funny to remember it, he thought, his mother dying. He was just a boy back then.

Fatigue. Yeah, he had to shake it off, cant drive when your asleep. It was like a cold ice pick at the base of his neck, he had to work out. He had to pull off somewhere soon and stretch his legs, the road was getting to him. He was seeing things again.

There was a small diner up ahead, a little trailer job. Mom and Pop operation, with probably some Mexican in back on the grill. Joe pulled in the gravel parking lot, shut off the ignition and got out. His feet nearly gave way under him, but with a few steps he soon regained his balance.

His hands chaffed against the inside hem of his jeans, they ached badly, they had never completely healed over since the car wreck. The were a mess of scar tissue all the way up to his elbows, which meant long shirts would be his style from then on.

He walked in and found the first seat at the counter vacant.

Everything is in white or powder blue, everything about the place was like in some big 50's diner nightmare dream. Flo, the waitress, her name tag read "Flo" looked like an angel, emaculate, little hat, off slanted to one side, not a hair out of place, spotless, she chomped on her gum, with pencil and pad poised ready to take Joe's order. There was a fat guy in the back, with a greasy white t-shirt, and failed making attempts in flipping pancakes in a big black frying pan. Joe sat down at the counter, along side an old guy.

"Are you going to eat that?" A voice, a nasally high pitched ween voice said, along with a wrinkled hand and finger pointed to a plate with a bit of old burnt toast, the dirty finger nail pointed at.

"No," Joe slid over the plate with the toast.

"Are you ready to order sir? Or do you need more time to decide?" Flo walked up, looking over Joe and the old guy.

"No, I think I'll have some coffee, and bacon and some eggs, two, overeasy, that'll be good for starters." Joe folded his hands on the table, like a good Christian child would say a prayer before his meal. Flo jotted down his order and nodded her head, "Coming right up, you just hold your horses." She ripped off the white slip and clipped it on a little spinning wheel for the cook.

"What are you do this far west?" The old guy asked Joe.

"Traveling to California, to see some of my family."

The old guy, leaned back, Joe could see he hadn't a nose on his face, but two empty sockets, and a bone separating the two. The guy puffed on a cigarette, and let the smoke blow on out his nostrils, they looked like little puckered mouths as they puff out. His white hair, frantic, and those eyes, blue like water, but sunk back in his head.

"Ahh.. California. How I do love that name. Has a sense of promise don't you think." He sucked down on his cigarette.

Joe ignored him and looked forward, but keeping the old man in his sight, he knew this guy from somewhere. "I wouldn't know, I haven't been there."

"Oh, but when you make it there, and I am sure you will. I know about these things, I'm in Insurance." He waved his cigarette like a baton.

Flo brought back the food in pair of mittens, gave a down right evil sneer at the old guy. "Be careful it sure is hot."

Joe reached up with his bare hands and settled down the plate infront of him, "Its alright, I can't feel a thing." And he goes right into eating some french fries.

"Fire?" The old man pointed to Joe's hands.

"Eh? Yeah, an explosion." Joe looked straight ahead, not wanting to look at him.

"Nasty business that is." The man looked forward, "But if you were at the wheel, then things were bound to happen."

"What did you say," Joe asked, looking directing at the noseless man.

"What? Me? I haven't said a word, why don't you just sit there and eat your FREN-N- CH FRI-ES-S." He sat there almost pouting.

This place was getting to him, Joe reached into his pocket and grabbed a wad of bills and threw down a ten. He got up and left the dinner.

"Aren't you gonna finish this?"

What was it he said? That old guy, must have been in the army together, lots of people in the army. What did he say? At the wheel? Joe thought back to the night when he was almost killed, his wife trapped in the passenger side, struggling to get out. His child strapped in the backseat, his hands. Oh god, how he dug his fists into the heap grabbing onto burning metal trying to open doors that would just not open. He had banged his fists, dug his nails into the car, but it was gone. He was thrown from the wreck, an explosion threw him across the road where only hours later he awoke in a county medical center. His hands badly burned, his wife in critical condition, and only later, he had found out his child was never found.

But that was only years ago, he tried to forget it all, it didn't matter to him anymore, or at least, that's what he told himself. Time heals all wounds, but how much time? And how many miles can you run?

The night was upon him again, it surrounded him like a dark blanket, smothering him, snuffing out any light. There were a pair of headlights approaching from behind him, he saw the twin lights move up from a crest of hills way back, a mile or more. On the highway now, there was more cars out, safety in numbers always felt good to him. The lights now were directly behind him, they could have been motorcycles, but then again choppers make a sound, but this thing made no sound.

A mini van was off up in front of him, and what he saw he could not believe. This light that was following him, was no light at all, but a fireball of some sort, burning with blue smoke. The orange flames flickered and licked the air as it approached the mini van. Another fireball comes along the left side of the car, really close this time, Joe can feel the heat from it, he can hear the flicking of the flames over the car's engine. Joe quickly rolls up his window, fearing he'd be singed.

The fireball moves up behind the mini van, the one with the family behind it. Joe watches the fire ball, because from the front of it, comes what would look like an arm, and it's fist opens and reaches out for the van. The whole back of the van is illuminated, the rear windows, the rubber insulation melt away, the plexi-glass windows actually sag, Joe can still see the reflection of the kids in the melting windows. The fireball grabs ontop the rotating tire, black smoke pours from it. The fireball expands, it grows larger and grabs hold of the other tire. Both tires are on fire, the fireball moves over the van, and underneath, almost like a giant mouth. Joe knows it's over when it finds the gas tank, and bits in.

The parents do nothing, Joe pounds on the window of his car, and tries to bring it down. He swerves, they fail to notice him. The back of the van explodes, the tires are gone, the back end crashes, and drags, sparks emit and shower over the road.

The fireball fully consumes the van, the parents, now are somehow desperately trying to get through the front windshield. Getting out. The kids have been burned alive, the fire tries to grab on to the parents, like hands grabbing onto clothes, to hair to flesh. The van finally stops, and drives off to a ditch on the side of the road, and Joe can see to figures almost pour out of the mess.

There was the other light, sitting on the highway, directly in front of him, stopped. The fireball almost seemed to change direction, and this time it had turned and was coming straight at Joe. He knew it wanted him.