The Alfa

The sun had long since faded. In the evening darkness, the pale glow of the signboard behind flickered with blue neon. The cheap dinner from the roadside café was still warm. A paper bag with food lay lonely on the empty back seat. It had been raining all day. Clouds covered the tops of the pine trees, slowly pouring mercury from their open wombs. There was fog over the wet ribbon of road, drawn on black tire tracks. The damp mist clung to thorny firs, gnarled bushes, and rusty supports, obscuring their silhouettes with a milky veil. An immovable, thick shroud enveloped the forest. Mist drifted inexorably down the highway, swallowing up the incongruous barrier of wooden fence posts that separated the roadside from the edge of the forest. Headlight beams flickered in convulsions of short circuit, making the puddles shimmer with gasoline aurora under yellow flashes. Endless small droplets drummed against the frozen, mangled carcass, smashing against the scarlet metal with muffled thumps. Ornate streams slid down the punctured windshield, silvery beads falling onto the torpedo through a web of cracks. Stifling, bitter smoke insistently seeped in, mingling with the tart, ferrous viscosity that lingered in the cabin. The broken windows scattered under the protectors into hundreds of fragments, deathly shining with reflections on the cold asphalt. The force of the impact crumpled the red sidepiece, fusing the pillars and doors into an ugly pattern. A terrible irony. The neon light of the diner still shone through the car's rear window. Once they'd left the safety of the parking lot amidst the sea of damp fog, disaster had caught up with them. The truck slammed full speed into the left side of the truck. No one noticed the headlight light, as if it had materialized in the air in front of them, bringing death. In the passenger seat, a golden-haired man sat lifelessly in a crimson mess of fragments of bone and cloth. His head was resting on the frame, a black nylon belt tugging at his motionless chest. But his pulse beat softly, shuddering beneath the milky skin. An unknown force forced Eric awake. It was as if his consciousness, submerged in darkness, knew something important enough to wake him in the name of self-preservation. He opened his eyes with difficulty. A savage, nausea-inducing pain pierced his body. The shock was stronger. King, exerting himself, turned his head. His wife was not there. A deflated pillow dangled by the steering wheel in a bloody wisp. A plastic stench filled the cabin. The wiring was smoldering beneath the mangled hood. His airbag hadn't deployed. Maybe it was lucky. Where's Rachel? He shifted his gaze to the cracked windshield, trying to see who was ahead of him. Called a stranger for help. The mute human shadow in the headlight was staring at him with empty, fishlike eyes that chilled his soul. Eric was numb with horror under the piercing gaze. His chest cramped and his temples throbbed with a drumbeat. The black figure moved silently toward the car. King's breath caught, and he seemed to pass out for a moment. On the glass-strewn seat sat his wife, staring intently with inhuman eyes into the distance on the highway. She was black, viscous, swirling. The skin beneath her clothes moved in waves, her eyes glowed white in the failing dark maelstroms of her eye sockets. Eric almost believed he was seeing Death. Suddenly, the blue-red lights shimmered in the haze. A police siren wailed on the road, but King did not hear anything in the pulsing silence. He only heard a high-pitched squeak in his ears. Rachel, his beloved Rachel, lay face down on the steering wheel. He did not remember anything else, only the darkness.