Book 1 - Puppets

XI - Odd Encounters

The road crawls by in the dark, and the green exit signs float by. Russia's eyes catch on the painted stripes glinting up from under the edge of the headlights. He squints, trying to stay focused.

'I need more sleep.'

The trees pass in a dark blur.

Texas mumbles something from the backseat and Massachusetts shushes him. Canada hums the tune playing softly on the radio. The car smells like cheap fries and cardboard.

Suddenly, the hair on the back of Russia's neck stands up.

'Uh oh.'

He takes a glance at everyone else in the car and sees that they had stiffened as well. Louisiana glares out her window, her eyes focused on something outside. Russia tries his best to keep his eyes trained on the road. His mind seems to have other intentions, as his eyes glide back to strange black figures.

The shadows around the high beams form shapes that move alongside the car. Russia glances into the mirror. In the reflection he sees Texas holding his gun with a tight grip, glaring outside. Massachusetts raises his hands to chest level and his eyes flash green.

Russia's eyes swivel back to the road. It twists and swerves around the mountain rocks

"Something's watchin' us," Texas mutters into the quiet of the car, shattering it.

"It doesn't have the same signature as the thing that was attacking us at the house," Massachusetts notes, a bit of hesitation in his tone.

"It still ain't good," Louisiana says with a frown, her gaze distant.

"Just keep going," Canada suggests, and Russia isn't about to disagree.

The car begins to slow.

'What?'

The engine sputters, and the headlights flicker.

'No. No, no.'

Russia begins hitting the dashboard, and the dials all sink to zero. The car slows to a crawl, even with Russia pressing the gas pedal to the floor. The engine roars. The lights on the dashboard flicker. The engine chokes.

'What the fuck is happening?!'

Russia clutches the wheel tightly and holds his breath as the car slowed to a stop.

"What in the hell is going on?!" Texas shouts, sounding irritated and frantic.

"I don't know," Russia replies through clenched teeth.

Russia glances up into the rearview mirror and catches a glimpse of something towering over the trees, only illuminated by the fading taillights.

Russia's eyes begin to water. His knuckles turn white. His chest is tight, and static fills his ears. He thinks he can hear someone talking to him, but he can't make out what is being said.

Someone grabs him.

Russia's head whips around and he finds a wide-eyed Louisiana staring back.

"Lock the doors!" she barks.

Russia slams his hand down on the button as soon as the words register.

'What do I do? What can I do?'

Russia presses the break and clutch into the floor and yanks the key out of the ignition. He shoves it back, wrenching it forward.

The engine gives only a sputter at his efforts.

His eyes burn, and his lip quivers. He contorts his mouth into a snarl.

'Looking angered is safer than terrified.'