---

 

This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book... “Waterlogged” Down in the Dirt, v144 (the April 2017 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

Order this writing in the book Study in Black the Down in the Dirt July-Dec. 2016 collection book		get the 418 page Jan.-April 2017 Down in the Dirt issue anthology 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Order this writing in the book On a Rainy Day (the 2017 poetry, longer prose & art collection anthology)		get the 298 page poem, longer prose & art collection anthology as a 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Four-Wheel Death

Matt Ferra

    The streets were dark, the only source of light coming from the streetlights above. Charles sprinted across the asphalt, panting. His heartbeat echoed in his ears like a rapid soundtrack. He held Becky’s hand as he ran, as she was having a hard time keeping up. In his other hand, Charles held a pistol, the clip already half empty.
    Charles turned his head back for a second. The Cadillac was still pursuing them, its headlights piercing the darkness. The steering wheel turned even though there was no one driving the car. The grill of the car was caked with blood from previous victims, dented from multiple fatal, head-on collisions.
    The two continued to run, and Charles squeezed Becky’s hand tighter as he looked away from the car and at the road in front of him.
    Suddenly, Becky tripped, letting go of Charles’ hand. She felt onto the ground, scraping her hands and knees. The Cadillac swiftly approached her. Becky screamed, throwing her hands in front of her face as the car’s headlights illuminated her terrified form.
    Bang! The Cadillac’s left headlight exploded in a shower of glass and sparks. The killer vehicle swerved blindly and veered off track from its target.
    Becky looked back to see Charles standing with his pistol raised, the barrel smoking.
    “Come on,” he said as he grabbed Becky’s hand again.
    The two ran down the street farther until they found a dumpster. They leapt behind it, making sure that the Cadillac was far enough away so that it couldn’t see them.
    As they hid behind the dumpster, the car rumbled down the street with its one headlight. It swerved like a drunk driver.
    “We can’t keep running like this,” Becky said. “There’s got to be a way we can end this for good.”
    Charles put his hand in his pocket. “There is.”
    He pulled out a small, remote-like object with a single red button on it. Becky gasped, her eyes wide.
    “The professor’s detonator,” she said.
    “I can use this to blow up that thing for good,” Charles said.
    “But you need to be a foot away from the car to use the detonator,” Becky said. “Being that close to the explosion will kill you.”
    Charles’ face took on a grave expression. “I know.”
    Tears streamed down Becky’s face like rivers. “No. Charles, no. I can’t let you.”
    “Somebody has to,” Charles said, grabbing the sides of Becky’s face. “I won’t let that thing kill anyone else.”
    He pulled Becky in for a long kiss, then broke it as he walked out from behind the dumpster. The Cadillac noticed him, and revved its engine as its single headlight shone on him.
    Charles continued to calmly step forward, the detonator at the ready in his hand.
    The Cadillac raced forward, getting closer and closer to Charles every second.
    Right before the car could crash into Charles, the man clicked the button.
    Becky covered her ears as the street erupted with the sound of thunder, a great fireball pluming from where the car once stood. Charles’ charred remains flopped lifelessly across the pavement.
    Becky got up and approached the smoldering wreckage of the Cadillac, which barely resembled an automobile at this point. She wiped the tears from her eyes as she viewed the metal corpse of her enemy.
    “It’s finally over,” she breathed.
    As Becky stood in the crisp night air, the screen faded to black and the credits began to roll. The lights in the theater flicked on as the audience began to exit.
    “Well that freaking sucked,” Allen said to Barry as they exited the theater.
    “Well what did you expect from a movie called Four-Wheel Death?” Barry asked.
    “I don’t know,” Allen said. “Substance, maybe? Logic? Like, why would a scientist build a detonator for a sentient car that could only be activated one foot away from the car?”
    Barry sipped on his half-empty Diet Coke. “Why would a scientist build a sentient car that had the possibility of turning evil in the first place?”
    “And there was probably a more effective way of killing that thing,” Allen said. “Like, they could’ve made it leak gas, have it make a trail of gas, and then lit the trail on fire. The car would’ve blown up and Charles wouldn’t have had to die.”
    “And are the car’s headlights its eyes?” Barry asked. “How does that even work?”
    Allen groaned. “Why do all modern horror movies have to suck so much?”
    Barry shrugged. “It’s a lost art, I suppose.”
    The two friends walked through the night as Allen sighed in disappointment and rubbed his forehead. Barry quietly sipped on his soda.
    “But we’re still gonna see Night of the Living Dump next month, right?” Barry asked.
    “Oh yeah, totally,” Allen said, a smile appearing on his face. “A horror movie about evil, sentient garbage? How could that possibly fail?”
    As the two friends high-fived, the sound of a car engine echoed through the street. A Cadillac burst from a nearby alleyway. Its steering wheel turned even though there was no one driving the car. The car whipped around and turned its attention towards Barry and Allen.
    The two froze in fear, eyes wide. Barry let his soda fall from his hand and crash to the ground.
    “Do you think it heard what we said about it?” Allen asked his friend.
    As if to answer, the Cadillac revved its engine and raced towards the two friends, who sprinted down the street as fast as two slightly out-of-shape nerds could.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...