Late Night Drives Novels & Stories

The drive back to the mansion was silent, almost painfully so. The streets were empty, the city’s late-night hum reduced to a faint murmur behind the thick windows of his black sedan. Rain had begun to fall lightly, leaving the asphalt glistening under streetlights, and Colden’s expression remained unchanged as he navigated the slick roads.

“I didn’t bring mine.” I took one of the cars from the garage and drove out, skirting past the city limits and gliding into the open stretches of woodland and dusky fields. The stereo hummed a low jazz track, something from Dowen’s collection. He likes jazz, and I tapped the steering wheel absentmindedly, letting my thoughts drift. Then a shadow darted. A masked figure stepped onto the road like a phantom and hurled something metallic, spike strips. My eyes widened as the wicked steel teeth uncoiled across the road like a snake.

He said. I looked down. “You’re saying we break in?” “Yes,” he said. “Tonight,”he added. “Isn’t that dangerous?” I asked. “Yes,” he said. “Very. But we don’t have a choice,”He added. That night, we drove out of the city. The drive was long and quiet. There were no lights. Just trees, the sky, and the sound of our tires on the gravel. “Are you scared?” Carson asked as he drove.

The Following Night. 10PM. A Street Upstate New York, Off Campus Grounds. LILY. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel as the red Chevrolet Colorado rolled slowly through the quiet street, the dim streetlights casting long shadows across the road. Megan sat beside her, shifting slightly in her seat, her eyes flicking from the windshield to the empty sidewalks outside. The low hum of the engine was the only sound between them until Lily eased her foot off the pedal and pulled to a stop at the corner.

Then she leans across the seat, resting her forehead against mine. “Promise me,” she whispers, “that whatever’s on that drive, we face it together.” “I promise.” Thunder rolls across the horizon. In the distance, the city’s skyline flickers—buildings blinking in and out of light as if something is crawling through the grid. The signal has already spread farther than I thought. Lena slips the drive into her jacket. “Let’s finish this.” As we drive away, the radio hisses—static resolving into a faint, rhythmic pulse. Three short. One long.

He turns to me, his eyes glazed by sleep, by the nightmare I just lived with him, and holds my gaze for several seconds before placing his hand over mine. The driver–a man I don’t know or even recognize–doesn’t look at us. He stares ahead at the massive highway, at the sand on either side, and the distant mountains beginning to fade into view. This is the range that separates the desert of Tarsian from its mountainous region, and the border to the Roguelands and the Deadlands beyond. I keep gripping his shoulder even when his hand falls away. Georgia has her head in my lap, her fist tucked under her cheek. Luke and Declan snore in the third row behind us. We’ve been driving all night–for cou

Ivan’s hand is on my knee, a silent comfort. “Just keep driving,” he says, his voice low. “We’ll make it out of this, Lilah. I promise.” I nod, my hands gripping the wheel tightly. The road stretches out before us, the endless expanse of desert on either side. The sun sets behind us, the sky painted with hues of orange and pink. For the first time in a long time, there’s a flicker of hope. We drive all night, the miles stretching out before us. Ivan sleeps in the passenger seat, his hand on my knee, his expression peaceful. I drive, the fear and exhaustion slowly draining away, replaced by a strange sense of determination.

We had set out before dawn, the driver, two delegates and I, leaving Alice and the rest behind. The Southern territory was notorious for the bad, crooked roads, leading to it. With the intention of navigating through the whole mess of paths, and arriving on time, we'd met a rather well-kept and smooth road, void of potholes and the likes. “I had a lot of engagements.” “You should have sent word.” The button on my suit gave way as I unbuckled it, “I'm here now, aren't I?”

’ December 17, 2013 Late Night in the outskirts of Delhi The car stopped at an isolated spot. The car driver tried to wake up other persons. They were in a deep sleep, induced by the liquor they had consumed. They were unconcerned of the inhuman, cruel and horrible crime they had committed earlier that night.

"So yes. Better than Night One." "Much better," I agree. We eat the tiramisu. The candle burns. And outside the restaurant the Montana May evening holds its long light over everything — the farmhouse and the girls and the bolt mystery dish on the porch railing and Gerald doing his security rounds and all the ordinary specific accumulated life of us. Night Twenty-Two. The night that wasn't part of the arrangement. The one that was just real. We drive home through the May dark. Not talking much. Not needing to. The radio on low, the Montana highway doing its long straight thing through the dark, the headlights picking up the road ahead in that specific way of night driving that makes you feel