The Hitchhiker slams the cab door behind him and walks away from the truck.
“Weirdo,” Jeffery the trucker says to himself.
He pulls back onto the motorway.
The Hitchhiker walks into the service building.
Toilet first. Takes a leak. Washes his hands.
There’s a queue for KFC.
That’s fine. Didn’t fancy the Colonel’s secret blend of herbs and spices anyway.
Burger King? No queue.
Angus burger sounds too much like anus burger to me.
Nowhere else to go.
Anuses it is for me, then. Suppose I’ve eaten worse.
He walks to the counter, but a young blonde woman beats him.
She becomes the queue. She turns to him.
“Sorry, did you wanna go first?” she asks him.
She’s pretty. She’ll do.
“We can go together.”
They each order a burger and take a seat.
She has panda eyes but smooth skin. She eats her food suggestively.
“So what are you after?” she says.
“Am I after…?”
He stares at her awkwardly for a few moments. Then it dawns on him.
“You’re a prostitute.”
She pauses and looks up from her burger.
“I am correct, aren’t I?”
“That was kinda the point.”
“Right. I apologise.”
He rips into his anus burger. They eat in silence for a few moments. She breaks it.
“So can I offer you anything?”
He tosses the last of the bread bun (soaked in mayonnaise and ketchup) into his mouth and swallows.
“No thank you. But-”
She stands in a hurry. He grabs her arm.
“I have something I can offer you.”
She looks into his eyes.
“I think you may be a bit confused as to what I’m offering.”
She rolls her eyes and sits back down.
“I’m going to touch your face now. Is that okay? Can I touch you?”
She grimaces in confusion.
“Please trust me.”
She looks him up and down for a few moments. She gives in.
He lifts his hand. Points out his index finger. Places it to her temple.
He closes his eyes and concentrates. She gapes at the wall.
In her mind she can see images, fragments of events, all too vague and fractured to describe. Later, she will recall the experience as ‘knowing’.
Now she knows.
He removes his finger and the room comes back to her.
“If you come with me now, that is what you will receive.”
She’s not sure what she saw, but she knows. She knows she needs to go with this man.
So she does.
They stand. He takes her hand and she smiles. He leads her out of the service station and into the smoking area. There are three people there using the shelter.
They all leave as The Hitchhiker and the girl approach. They aren’t sure why. They just know.
Now the area is empty.
The Hitchhiker reaches into his jacket pocket and removes a small pendant. It looks like the Christian cross, but with a loop at the top.
This is an ankh. The Egyptian symbol for eternal life.
His is small and wooden. And very old.
He places his finger and thumb into the loop and holds it to the back of the girl’s head. She looks at him with pleading eyes.
Show me again, they beg.
Gently, he pushes the stalk of the ankh into her skull. It slides in like the knife in butter. She smiles and closes her eyes.
Her feet are stuck to the floor. Her body vibrates. She winces; not in pain but pleasure. Sudden, sharp pleasure.
He smiles back at her. The deed is done. He roughly pulls the ankh from her head and places it back in his pocket.
He holds her body.
“Are you here?” he queries.
There is a long pause.
“Yes”, she finally answers.
“No. But soon. It will be soon. Give it time.”
He nods reluctantly and forces a smile.
“I’ve missed you”, he tells her.
“And I you.”
She offers out her hand to him. He takes it. They walk away from the smoking shelter, toward the car park. They spot a bus, ready to leave.
“It’s time to take a coach trip.”
Tag Archives: Hitchhiking
Steve shovels the last bit of pie into his mouth. He throws his cutlery to the plate rudely.
A young man sits on a chair nearby.
“You a trucker?”
The young man looks up.
“No”, he says. Almost a whisper.
“What ya doin’ ‘ere then?”
He wipes his dirty fingers on his yellow hi-vis jacket.
“I need a lift to Newcastle.”
“Ha, a hitchhiker? Can’t get a train?”
“Ah. You don’t have anyone who can help you out?”
“What are you going to Newcastle for?”
He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Wipes that off on the jacket again.
“Well, I’m headed that way.”
The young man looks up in hope.
“Alright.” He stands. “I’m leaving now though.”
They leave the building, walking right by the shower stall that Steve’s real body is lying crumpled and dead in.
The Hitchhiker pulls himself up into Steve’s cab. He slams the door.
“Careful with that.”
They sit in silence. Steve pulls onto the M1.
“So you’re a student?” He asks. “What are you studying?”
The Hitchhiker doesn’t respond. He looks out of the window nervously.
It’s now 2am. The motorway is dead. Steve looks out ahead at the empty road.
“No one about.”
As he says that, two vans pull up either side of the lorry.
Two SWAT vans.
The vans pull ahead of them. Then two more appear. Steve looks in his mirrors. There are two more behind them.
Six SWAT vehicles encircle the lorry. They move closer.
“What’s going on?” Steve asks pointlessly.
The Hitchhiker barely bats an eyelid.
Three police cars appear in the right hand lane. A megaphone protrudes from a window.
“Attention! To the driver of the HGV in the middle lane – please stop the vehicle. We have you surrounded.”
Steve squeaks pathetically in fear. He hits the brake.
The Hitchhiker grabs him by the throat.
“Keep driving if you want to live.”
“You know it would not be possible to kill me, brother”, Steve replies. But not in Steve’s voice. The voice is harmonised, feminine.
The Hitchhiker thrusts Steve’s body against the wall of the cab. He holds him there and closes his eyes.
The lorry begins to float. Just lightly, three or four feet from the ground.
The SWAT vans are prepared. Men and women poke up from the midst of the vehicles with harpoon-like weapons. They shoot cables into the HGV’s cab.
The Hitchhiker screeches in frustration. He blows open the top of the cab with his mind.
A helicopter comes towards them. It opens fire, shooting at The Hitchhiker and ‘Steve’.
Hitchhiker’s eyes turn red. In front of him, from nowhere, a ball of red light appears. It grows. It becomes a giant ball of flame, forever floating a few feet from his face.
He shoots it forward.
It flies toward the helicopter but misses, landing on the other side of the motorway on top of a civilian car. The vehicle explodes.
Ten flaming tendrils like red and orange ropes escape from Hitchhiker’s sleeves. They whip around the cab like knives. They cut the ropes shot from the harpoons and drop the cab onto the road.
It continues to drive.
The SWAT vans and police cars slowly pull away.
Hitchhiker smiles. Until he spots the roadblock several hundred yards ahead. His smile fades.
A tank is heading towards them, now.
He pulls ‘Steve’ over his head and out of the cab onto the road as the vehicle grinds to a halt.
‘Steve’ screams out in pain as he lands.
“I may not be able to kill you, but I can hurt this body you inhabit”, he screams to ‘Steve’.
Hitchhiker opens the ruined cab door and steps outside. The tank trundles slowly towards them. He faces it. He walks forward, toward it.
He flies back into the cab with great force, crippling the rest of the metal frame.
“We got him”, says a voice from a SWAT van.
After a moment of silence, the cab starts to groan.
Hitchhiker pulls himself out of the wreckage. Unscathed. He stands in front of the vehicle again. Holding the unexploded shell. He throws it back toward the tank.
It enters the barrel it was fired from. The tank explodes.
He walks over to ‘Steve’ lying crippled on the ground.
“I’m assuming you followed me here to stop me. Give up. Go home. It’s not going to work. I’ll get what I want and I’ll see you back at home.”
He picks up the broken body and throws him one last time into the cab of the HGV. He turns and walks away from the wreck, up the motorway.
He approaches the roadblock. Flicking his hand, it explodes. The police and SWAT vehicles go with it.
The road is lonely once again but for the burning heaps.
Hitchhiker looks ahead to a sign:
NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE: 215 MILES.
He walks up the motorway alone.