Chapter 5 — Shadows on the Asphalt

The night had a way of exaggerating everything. Streetlights flickered like faulty beacons, casting long, uneven shadows that stretched and twisted across the wet asphalt. The highway felt endless, a black ribbon pulled taut between nowhere and somewhere, and we were suspended on it like unsteady ghosts.

Travis drove with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping idly against the gearshift. Occasionally, he hummed, but not a melody I recognized—more like a private rhythm that only he could hear.

“You ever notice how quiet the world gets right before it tries to kill you?” I asked, my voice cutting through the hum of the engine and the whispering wind.

He glanced at me, a grin tugging at his lips. “Quiet’s just the lullaby before chaos shows up fashionably late.”

I rolled my eyes. “Poetic. Also terrifying.”

“Terrifying’s my specialty,” he replied, then added softly, “Yours too, apparently.”

I let that hang. Silence felt safer than words sometimes. I traced the rain streaks sliding down the window with a finger, pretending I wasn’t scanning the shadows for movement, for heat signatures, for hunters.

We had just passed a rest stop—a grim little cluster of neon signs advertising gas, snacks, and the kind of overpriced coffee that tastes like burnt regrets. I’d insisted on stopping. Travis grumbled like a kid being forced into detention, but I won the debate. My instincts had gone over the terrain, counted exits, and smelled air currents. Rest stops were predictable. And predictable was survival.

Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed, making the linoleum floor look almost radioactive. I perched on a stool, arms folded, eyes flicking over the sparse patrons. A lone trucker slumped over a table, snoring lightly. A teenage girl fiddled with a phone, oblivious. Hunters could blend in here. They could hide behind fluorescent bulbs and highway fatigue.

I sipped my coffee, careful not to tilt the cup too much. Hot liquid could burn, but cold liquid could remind you of mortality in the wrong way.

Travis leaned against the counter, strumming lightly on his guitar, humming tunelessly. “I call this one ‘Rest Stop Rhapsody.’ You’re welcome.”

“Terrible,” I said. “Even for a rhapsody.”

He shot me a mock-offended look. “Terrible is subjective. This is art.”

I let it slide. Humor was a survival tool, and he wielded it like a weapon. Better to be entertained than bored.

As we prepared to leave, a shadow flickered outside the glass. My stomach tightened. Instinct, muscle memory, all the little warnings. I didn’t need to confirm it—I knew. Hunters.

Travis noticed too. “Already?” he murmured, voice low.

“Could be nothing,” I said, though I already knew. Nothing rarely moved that fast or with that much intent.

He followed me back to the car silently, guitar in hand. We slid into the seats, engine humming to life. The rain had eased again, leaving slick streets that reflected our headlights like shattered mirrors.

“Do you ever get tired of running?” he asked, glancing at me through the side mirror.

I almost laughed. Almost. “Tired? Sure. Stopping? Never. Not until the world forgets to hunt me—or until it catches me. Whichever comes first.”

He nodded, but there was a shadow behind his eyes, a recognition of a truth I didn’t want anyone to see. “Same,” he said quietly.

The highway stretched ahead, endless, but we weren’t alone. Movement flickered in the rearview, subtle—too precise to be coincidence. I leaned slightly, scanning without revealing it, muscles coiled.

“They’re clever,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.

Travis grinned. “Clever’s fine. Makes catching them more… fun.”

I shot him a glance. “Fun? I’m trying to survive.”

“Survival has its own fun,” he said, strumming a soft chord that reverberated through the car. “You just don’t realize it yet.”

I rolled my eyes, hiding a small smirk. Dangerous, charming, infuriating—all of it bundled into one blonde-haired hazard who somehow made my pulse fluctuate even when hunters were circling.

Hours passed, marked by rain-streaked windshields, the occasional neon town sign, and conversation that teetered between humor and the near-quiet of shared danger. Travis shared stories—mostly exaggerations about past “adventures” that made me laugh despite myself. I threw back sarcastic retorts, nudging him, teasing. Somehow, amidst the looming threat, we found rhythm.

Then the blur of headlights caught my attention. A truck—too purposeful, too close. Hunters.

I tensed. He noticed immediately.

“Hit the turn,” I said, pointing to a narrow exit just ahead.

He didn’t hesitate. Tires hissed over wet asphalt, and we swerved into a deserted industrial area. The buildings were skeletal, abandoned, but perfect for disappearing.

I leapt from the car the moment we stopped, knife in hand. Travis followed, guitar case slung over his back. My heart thudded—hunters didn’t wait politely. They came, teeth bared, calculations in their heads.

From the shadows, two figures stepped forward, guns low but ready. I smiled—a feral, unhinged smile. “Come to say hello?”

Travis strummed a chord that sounded like a warning. His grin matched mine, dangerous, chaotic.

One hunter lunged. I was faster. The fight was brutal, precise, and messy. Blood spattered, shadows danced against cracked walls. Travis handled another, using a mix of strength and improvisation that made me grit my teeth in impressed annoyance. Somehow, he was as lethal as he was charming.

When it was over, silence returned. Rain had started again, soft and relentless. The hunters were down, but not all of them.

I breathed heavily, looking at Travis. “You’re insane.”

He laughed, wiping blood from his hand. “You love it.”

“Maybe,” I admitted.

We sat on the wet concrete, bodies aching, clothes sticking, and for a moment, the world shrank to two people laughing in the rain amidst chaos. Dangerous, yes. But alive.

And I realized, in the dark, with hunters lingering just beyond sight, that maybe surviving wasn’t enough anymore. Maybe sharing the chaos with someone like him was worth the risk.

But the risk had teeth. And the teeth were still out there.