Chapter 1

Survival is the psyche’s sole responsibility in times of danger. When life becomes threatened, emotion supercedes logic; the ability to maintain and exploit rational judgment to resolve the conflict is dwarfed by the overpowering emotional responses, ranging from extreme hostility to extreme fear. Under these conditions, human beings are most often controlled by either the id or the superego. In either instance, rationality is abandoned and instinct reigns.

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Taylor glanced down at the carnage of snack food. Fragments of everything from Twinkies to motor oil to cheap domestic beer were splattered along the walls and floor of the convenience store, all blasted by shotgun fire. As Taylor quickly examined the scene of destruction, an innocent smile made its way across his face. He pulled out his pocket camera and quickly took a snapshot. A picture of such madness would easily enthrall even the most ardent critic of surreal art, for it was corporate America that lay before him, shattered and scattered all over the floor. The art students back at school would love it.

Reality quickly settled the lipstick-covered smile on Taylor’s face as more blasts roared from the across the store. Taylor was in no danger, however. Due to his injuries and subsequent loss of blood, the storeowner’s vision was impaired, rendering his aim practically futile. His bullets repeatedly struck the broken shelves on the other side of the store, far from where Taylor stood. While laughing at the wounded man’s marksmanship, Taylor wiped the sweat from his brow, smearing the caked makeup.

Across the aisle, Elijah stroked the long black hair that fell down his low-cut dress onto his fake breasts. Wearing the face of a killer, he looked over to Taylor, nodded, then moved swiftly toward the wounded store owner, exercising no caution. Knowing he must act quickly, Taylor took a deep breath, pumped the twelve gauge, and began firing. As he turned the corner, he was greeted by more shotgun blasts, only this time the bullets rattled the wall directly behind him. Taylor charged and returned fire.

In an instant, the gunfire ceased. When the haze of smoke settled, he saw the owner lying on the floor behind the counter.

“Did you make your mark?” Taylor asked.

Elijah merely nodded. He had often remarked that he was a reincarnation of the great chief Crazy Horse -- an Indian born a hundred years too late. Judging by his warlike instincts, Taylor agreed.

“Good, then let’s go.”

Elijah causally walked over to the microwave, turned the dial, and hit the start button. Before they raided the convenience store, they planned to use the microwave as a signal. They decided that when Elijah placed the burrito inside the oven and turned the knob, they would remove their sawed-off shotguns from their duffle bags and begin the attack. Taylor estimated that the shootout would be over very quickly, but he had been wrong. When his first shot missed, the storeowner pulled his weapon and returned fire. By the time it was all over, the burrito sat cold in the microwave.

“Do you really think we have time to wait on the burrito?” he asked.

“Just as well,” Elijah replied. “I can’t stand a cold burrito.”

While Elijah waited, he grabbed some packets of salt and pepper and placed them in his pockets. Moments like these stretched Taylor’s patience. The law would arrive any time, yet they were waiting on Elijah to heat a burrito. All that stood between them and a life behind bars was bean dip, cayenne peppers, and hamburger meat wrapped in a flour tortilla. That was Elijah, though. He never failed to surprise.

The bell to the microwave timer rang, so Elijah grabbed the burrito and made his way toward the front of the convenience store. As he walked past the cash register, he pulled two dollars out of his pocket and threw the money on the counter.

Taylor stood outside the store and quickly scanned the surrounding area for activity. Even though the job took much longer than anticipated, the small town showed no signs of life. The convenience store was located on the outskirts of the town, but that really didn’t matter. It could have stood directly on Main Street and still no one would have noticed. Like every other Sunday night, the small town was lifeless.

Taylor and Elijah exited the store and casually walked to the car, where Keith anxiously waited in the passenger’s seat. As soon as Taylor jumped in, he was greeted with hostility.

“Where in the bloody hell have you been!” Keith screamed.

After Elijah crawled into the back seat, Taylor slammed the car into drive, then sped out of the parking lot.

Elijah sprinkled some salt on his burrito. “My dinner got cold,” he replied, before taking a huge bite.

“Don’t tell me that we’ve been waiting on a burrito! The burrito was only to be used as a signal, not to fatten that rock gut of yours!” Keith shouted in his native British dialect.

“I was hungry,” Elijah said with a smile.

“You could have gotten us all killed! Don’t you remember the plan? We were to be in and out with no hesitations,” Keith fumed. “Once again, you’ve acted like a jackass and risked everyone’s lives.”

“Whatever you say, Limey,” said Elijah.

“Piss off,” Keith retorted with fire in his eyes.

“Everybody calm down,” Taylor mediated. “We got out alive. That’s the important thing.” He expelled a deep breath and looked up to the ceiling of the old Plymouth. “We were lucky today, though. Very lucky.”

Elijah rolled his eyes. “I thought it went pretty smooth.”
“I’m afraid he knew we were coming,” Taylor said.

“Why’s that?” asked Elijah.

“‘Cause he had his piece nearby. Business owners in small towns usually don’t stock weapons. No need for it.”

“Perhaps we should rethink our plan then,” Keith said. “Maybe they’re onto us.”

“No way!” Elijah shouted. “We’re not stopping until we’re finished.”

“Maybe they know,” Keith surmised. “Maybe our luck’s runnin’ thin.”

Taylor reached into a duffel bag to retrieve a small pocket mirror. “Here,” he said, handing the mirror to Keith.

“What do you want me to do with this?” Keith asked.

“Your afro’s uneven,” Taylor laughed.

“Bloody hell!” Keith bellowed. “You two are acting like children. Have you no idea what we’re up against here?”

“Absolutely,” Taylor stated as his smile dissipated. “I understand the danger of our quest, but remember, we know what we’re doing. As long as our minds stay clear, they’re no match.”

Keith was silent. “No hope,” he finally said. “That’s all you two wankers leave me with. No hope and no confidence.”

“Just trust me,” Taylor said.

“That’s becoming increasingly difficult,” Keith replied and removed his afro wig. Wiping away the brown makeup that covered his face and arms, he added, “And this makeup is absurd. Do you really think that anyone’s going to buy into our costumes?”

“It’s worked so far,” Taylor replied.

“Correct, but if we are spotted, it’s doubtful that we’ll fool anyone.”

“You never know,” Elijah said.

“Come on now, I don’t resemble a proprietor of prostitutes any more than you two look like cheap white whores. These hideous costumes don’t conceal our identities at all. The police will know to look for two Caucasian males and an Indian barbarian, all in their early twenties.”

“Forget about it,” Taylor replied. “I think you make a fine pimp.”

“I think so, too, sweet daddy,” Elijah laughed.

“We’ve got a long drive,” Taylor replied as he smashed the gas pedal. “You guys might as well get some sleep.”

Chapter 2

Refusing to be veiled by the passing dark clouds, the full moon dimly illuminated the sky as the Plymouth sped down the interstate. With the others fast asleep, Taylor drove with his head out the window to combat the weariness settling in his bones.

“Keith, it’s your turn to drive,” Taylor mumbled. “I’m getting sleepy.”

“Afraid I’m not really up to it at the moment,” Keith said with his eyes still closed. “Perhaps the pinhead could be of use.”

“I know pre-schoolers who drive better than him.”

“Give the radio a go. Perhaps it’ll help to keep you awake.”

“We’re out in the boonies, remember? I doubt there’s any music playing at this hour.”

“Suit yourself.”

Desperate, Taylor turned on the radio and switched the frequency to AM. Surfing for a station, he stopped on a news report in progress:

“Another town in the western part of the state has felt the wrath of the recent string of bizarre murders. Around eight o’clock this evening, a convenience store in Little Chief was robbed, leaving one man seriously injured or dead. It is believed that it could be related to the spree of murderous assaults that have occurred throughout the western part of the state for the last month. A witness reportedly saw a man dressed in women’s clothing in the vicinity. Police aren’t certain if the assault was committed by the original perpetrators, or if this was a copy-cat crime.”

“We’re becoming famous,” Elijah said suppressing a yawn.

“Try infamous,” snapped Keith.

Taylor smiled and turned off the radio. In the distance, he spotted a man alongside the road.

“Look, a hitchhiker!”

“Absolutely not!” Keith declared. “You guys promised!”

“Come on, pick him up,” said Elijah.

“I don’t know. It’s awful late,” Taylor replied.

“I’ll be nice, I promise. Let’s hear his story, just like in the old days,” Elijah reassured. “Besides, there’s no cars out at this hour. The poor bastard will never get a ride and it’s supposed to rain tonight.”

To Keith’s dismay, after a few moments of contemplation, Taylor pulled the car to the shoulder of the interstate. “Under one condition: get in the back and be quiet. We’ve had enough excitement today,” Taylor said.

“I’ll agree, but only so I can get back to sleep,” Keith said. “If you ask me, it’s barbaric the way you fools ridicule these poor hitchhikers.”

Keith jumped over the seat. As soon as Taylor pulled the car over, he and Elijah slid down to hide themselves from view.

The hitchhiker opened the passenger door, threw in his duffle bag and climbed inside. He was a middle-aged man with filthy long hair, ragged clothes, and an awful stench.

As Taylor sped back onto the road, he extended his arm to shake the hitchhiker’s hand.

“The name’s Taylor.”

The hitchhiker ignored Taylor’s welcoming gesture, so Taylor withdrew his arm. “What’s your name?”

“Satchel Evans,” he replied with a cold stare. “My friends call me Satch.”

“All right Satchel. Where are you headed?” he asked.

“Nashville. I hear there’s lots of work out there.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your occupation?”

“I ain’t got no occupation. I just work hard.”

Taylor laughed. “Work hard doing what?”

“I’m a roofer,” the hitchhiker said. “Where are you going?”

“To a reservation,” Taylor replied.

“An Injun reservation?” the hitchhiker asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah.”

“You live there?”

“Sometimes. When I’m not going to college.”

“I’ve heard stories ‘bout them Injuns,” the hitchhiker remarked. “Ever shoot one of ‘em?”

Still crouched in the backseat, Elijah’s face grew red.

“Actually, I’ve never shot anybody,” Taylor responded curtly.

“Yeah, them Injuns is hard to hit, I bet, what with their cacklin’ and runnin’ around,” the hitchhiker laughed. “Ever had you a squaw?”

Uncertainty swirled in Taylor’s mind. His first instinct was to silence the hitchhiker’s foolish babble, but after giving it some thought he decided that another altercation on the road this close to home would be foolish. Besides, he’d seen enough violence for one night.

“Have you ever been in a situation when you feel that perhaps you’ve said something that could possibly offend the other members of your listening party?” Taylor politely asked.

The hitchhiker sat in silence with a baffled look on his face.

“After all it’s only your opinion, and you shouldn’t try to forcefully impose it on anyone else,” Taylor continued.

The hitchhiker remained silent for a moment, then sternly voiced, “You’re talking that college-boy bullshit, ain’t ya?”

“I’m just making an observation. It’s merely an objective statement and I don’t mean for it to be offensive.”

The hitchhiker pulled a large knife from his coat and thrust it toward Taylor’s neck. “Object this, smart ass!”

“I see that you came prepared,” Taylor said in a calm voice.

“Damn right I did. Now, pull this sum-bitch over!”

“I don’t think I can do that.”

Shocked by Taylor’s lack of fear, he increased the magnitude of the threat. “I think you will, boy!” he said, pressing the knife firmly against Taylor’s throat.

To the hitchhiker’s dismay, Taylor increased the speed of the vehicle.

“I ask you to stop for a moment and analyze the situation that you have created,” Taylor said in a calm voice. “Upon my harmless invitation, you have exploited my generosity and are threatening me with violence. Now we shall have a duel.”

“Damn right we will!” the hitchhiker said with a crazed look in his eye.

“Next I ask you to review your options under these circumstances,” Taylor methodically said. “You have a butcher knife. I am seemingly unarmed, but if you would cast aside your blurred vision and embrace the reality of this moment, analyzing the two roles we play in this confrontation, you will find that your weaponry is useless.”

“That’s all bullshit,” said the hitchhiker. “You’s trying to trick me.”

“Oh yeah? You do believe in the laws of physics, don’t you?”

“Physics ain’t got a goddamn thing to do with me and you right now!” the hitchhiker screamed.

Taylor knew his guinea pig was weakening, about to break.

“Oh, but I’m afraid it does,” Taylor said with growing confidence. “The moment you make your initial lunge toward me, and judging by that dreary look in your eye, I suspect it will be quite soon, I will increase the speed of this automobile beyond our already quickened pace. Even after your knife penetrates my neck, I will still maintain my conscious thought, that being more speed. You probably won’t be persuaded at that moment, so I will steer toward the nearest solid object in the road,” Taylor said and pointed. “Like the railing on that bridge there, in the distance.”

The hitchhiker eased his grip on the handle of the knife as the words sank in.

Taylor continued, “As soon as I configure the bridge into my conscious realm of thought, no matter what you do, I will steer this vehicle over the edge, and we shall both meet our grizzly demise.”

The hitchhiker sat speechless while the sweat beaded on his face. Taylor pegged the arrow on the RPM gauge near the red line.

“Not convinced? Or is that sawdust brain of yours baffled by all these variables?”

In a motionless trance, the hitchhiker stared at the rapidly approaching bridge.

“Put the knife on the dash,” Taylor demanded.

The hitchhiker was dumbfounded, but didn’t retract the knife, so Taylor increased the speed of the car until the cab shook.

“All right, damnit!” the hitchhiker shouted and threw the knife on the dash.

“Well well, we have a semi-educated man after all,” Taylor said as he grabbed the knife.

After the car passed the bridge, Taylor took his foot off the gas pedal and pulled to the side of the road.

“Get the hell out.”

Still shaking, the hitchhiker jumped out of the car before it completely stopped. The car returned to the interstate and resumed speed.

Elijah and Keith were quick to crawl over to the front seat.

“Now you two see how logical reasoning can solve problems,” Taylor said confidently.

“No thanks to me holding down Elijah back there,” Keith barked.

“I was nice,” Elijah proclaimed. “I didn’t hurt him, did I?”

“It’s a bloody miracle.”

While yawning, Taylor wiped his tired eyes. “You guys shut up.”

Wearing a wicked smile, Elijah slapped Taylor on the knee. “How far are we from home?”

“A couple of hours,” Taylor said.

“Are you still sleepy?”

“Even more so.”

“Then why don’t you and the girl crawl in the back and get some sleep?” Elijah said.

Keith was angered by Elijah’s comment, but was too tired to respond.

“Will you drive carefully?” Taylor asked.

“You have my word,” said Elijah.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Taylor exited the interstate and drove to a nearby roadside convenience store. As the vehicle stopped, he and Keith stepped into the backseat and Elijah jumped in behind the wheel.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Taylor muttered while lowering his head against the corner of the backseat.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Elijah replied as he drove away. A quick glance in the rear-view mirror confirmed that Keith and Taylor’s eyes were already closed. A maniacal grin swelled as he slowly turned the vehicle around and drove toward the onramp of the westbound interstate, the direction from which they came.

Elijah floored the gas and sped into the night. Rain coated the windshield, a preview of the violent storm looming ahead. The highway was completely barren as lightening cracked the western sky. In the moment of its radiant light, Elijah spotted the objective of his quest. He quickly steered across the flat median, traveling west on the eastbound lane.

The hitchhiker was dumbfounded when he saw the approaching car. As if he knew what had come for him, he turned around and tried to seek refuge, but the Plymouth’s furious speed left little time for evasive action. Elijah stuck his head out the window and howled as the car engulfed the wandering man.

“Remember Wounded Knee!”

A bolt of lightening struck nearby and the sound of thunder loudly rolled through the air. Elijah thrust his fist out the window of the Plymouth, then threw the hitchhiker’s bag onto the pavement.

The car slowed and quickly turned around, resuming the journey east.

“What the hell’s going on?” Taylor muttered groggily.

“Oh, nothing. I hit a badger in the road. Go back to sleep.”

Taylor wiped the sleep from his eyes and inspected the surroundings. His senses dulled from sleep, he failed to notice anything abnormal, so he resumed his nap.

While the vehicle continued eastward, the falling rain washed the blood from the front bumper.