Harris ambled along the road, carefully studying the tracks left behind by his car. The kid was clearly not a proficient driver – the tracks were all over the place. He couldn't believe he was even in this mess, sauntering about in the dark on a lifeless field.
As he expected, the tire tracks veered off course from the road and into the desert. His anger turned into concern, and Harris trudged down carefully. He spotted a rising cloud of smoke at a little distance and knew it had to be his car. As he neared, a figure was discernible in the dust. However, it looked nothing like the boy.
"Hey, who is that?" He called out.
The man turned around and relief flooded his face. He threw himself on Harris's shoulders, crying his thanks.
"You've saved me. I thought I was a goner." He moaned in his gruff voice. Harris could barely see him. The man was in such hysteria that he repeatedly moved his face.
"Don't worry I-" Harris suddenly noticed the car. It was a jeep, not his smaller, more luxurious one. He took a step back, now cautious. "I thought you were stranded..."
"No, I came here when I saw the smoke to help whoever fell. But I lost my way, and my car's broken down." The man explained, still whimpering. "The car you're looking for is that way, I'll accompany you. We'll bring back the poor soul with us to safety."
"Right," said Harris, not entirely convinced. This was uncanny to come across a random person with the same motive as him. But the condition the man was in – he looked completely downcast – didn't give an indication that he could be harmful. "How about we keep a distance so we can track him better?"
"All right, just don't go too far."
He kept an eye on the man while calling out for the boy himself. It hit him that he had no clue what the kid's name was. The man, meanwhile, didn't have any strength in him to raise his voice and was being left behind.
Finally, he saw his car. It didn't seem to be in any precarious condition.
"I've found him." He called back.
"Good. I'll get some supplies from my jeep, you stay with him."
"Hey, what're you doing here?" He heard the boy's voice, who was casually leaning against the car door without a care in the world.
"I came looking for you. Are you hurt?" Harris asked surveying him. "What happened to the car?
"I don't know, it just started messing up by itself. I've driven before. But something happened and I fell here. The engine's burned up somehow." The boy informed him. "Might want to get that fixed."
"So are you returning it to me now?" He asked sourly.
"Oh," the boy looked down in shame. "I just got angry, you kept asking me questions. Why'd you come for me?"
"To make sure you were okay."
"Right... thanks." The boy was even more ashamed now.
"Come on, let's get out of here," said Harris. "There's someone else."
"There's someone else." The boy said at the same time as him.
"What?" They both repeated.
"The old man from the diner, remember? He said he's gone to look for help. I'm waiting here for him."
"The old man... it was him!" Harris realized. The man he'd just come across was the one who had asked for a ride. But he had a car of his own, and he'd told Harris he arrived only when he'd seen the smoke from a distance. Yet, according to the boy, they'd been in Harris's car the whole time. "Didn't he drive his own car?" He asked to be certain.
"No, we were in this car together. Why do you think he had his own?"
"Because I was just with him by his car," said Harris, terror dawning over him. "And he told me was getting 'supplies' from his car for us."
"What supplies do you think he's getting...?"
"...You heard the news about that serial killer on the loose?"
"Ya..." The boy gulped. That terror overcoming him now too.
A light creaking could be heard from the pathway Harris had just treaded, very familiar with the sound of a chain being dragged across the ground.
"Oh, God!" The boy literally jumped onto Harris, who grabbed him just to have something to hold onto. "We're gonna die!"
"Don't worry, maybe he's-" Harris never finished his sentence as another, more menacing sound, rang in his ears right next to him. It was a coyote, which growled and exposed its fangs, the drool dripping from the sides of the mouth.
"AH!"
He screamed like he had never before and – with the boy in tow, who also screamed – ran for his life. Harris zoomed past the figure of the man – who did in fact have a chain in one hand while his other gripped a large machete. The snarling of the coyote was still in the air. He went for the first refuge he saw – the jeep – threw the boy inside, who turned the key. Mercifully, the car whirred to life in a second, and they were hauling out of there the next instant.
"No! Don't leave me here!" The yelps of the serial killer echoed behind them. The boy, who helmed the wheel, glanced at Harris.
"Don't you dare stop!" He shouted, the two of them had still not ceased yelling.
Eventually, Harris found his breath again. The kid still had his foot jammed hard into the accelerator.
"That's okay, you can go slow now... What is your name?!" He found it ridiculous that they'd just escaped the jaws of death yet were still unfamiliar with one another.
"Huey," said the boy, extending his hand. "Nice to have met you... That was a close call."
"Harris." He introduced himself formally shaking the kid's hand. "Well, Huey, I know one thing for sure, you sure can drive."