Skirting the edge of the motel parking lot, she managed to make it to the road without anyone

noticing her. Though she could feel the heaviness of the bag on her back, it didn't cause her any

discomfort as she maneuvered through the darkness with greater ease than she ever had before.

Her money tucked safely in her boot, she strode on toward the main highway and away from the

hotel. The tiny town of Spooner lay ten miles down the road and she was glad to have it behind

her. She hadn't even seen it this trip, but she had no desire to see its dying downtown or the old

Sonic where she had worked diligently for years.

In the tall trees edging the road, she could hear the nocturnal animals making their rounds,

hunting or scavenging for food. A few times, the forest fell silent when she drew too close to it,

yet another confirmation that she was now a predator.

The low rumble of trucks sounded nearby and she picked up her pace. A few cars passed her,

but no one seemed to take notice of her striding along the edge of the trees. The intersection of

the highway was brightly lit and a truck roared by on its way to Louisiana. Shreveport wasn't that

far over the Texas border and for a moment she pondered trying to make it to New Orleans.

Wasn't that where the vampires were supposed to live? Rubbing her long nose, she took this into

careful consideration as she tried to remember the vampire novels she had read during her teens.

New Orleans and France, maybe.

But she wanted to see her Grandmama. That was one thing she was sure of now that she was

away from the motel. She wanted to see the only part of her family that seemed to give a damn

about her. She wanted to see her grandmother and her cousin, Sergio. She wanted to say goodbye

to them. And that meant heading to West Texas.

Adjusting her skirt just a little to make it shorter, she began to walk along the shoulder of the

highway. She hadn't hitchhiked in ages. She had gotten into so much trouble with her Dad when

he had found out she had run away as far as Nacogdoches. The lecture she had received her

thirteenth summer of life still rang in her ears. But times were different now. Yes, the world was

more dangerous, but she was too.

A few cars passed her without even slowing down. She could clearly see the passengers

glance at her, then quickly away. They pretended she wasn't there so they wouldn't have to worry

about a young woman stranded in the darkness. Nice.

Her boots scraped along the gravel shoulder as she hoisted her bag higher. Trying to look as

non-threatening as possible, she raised her hand and put out her thumb as another car rolled by.

This time the car slowed slightly, but the man in the expensive vehicle, which reeked of human

power, kept going. She could still feel his eyes on her when the car passed. She turned to flip him

off, hoping he'd catch her in the review mirror.

Another twenty minutes went by and she trudged along the highway wondering if anyone

gave a damn anymore about young women stranded in the middle of nowhere. Well, not actually

the middle of nowhere, since a town lay ten miles in both directions, but still it kind of made her

wonder.

It was a beat up truck spray-painted turquoise that finally pulled over. Its broken taillight still

worked and the bright bulb inside the plastic beckoned to her as the tires spit off gravel as it

stopped. Hurrying to the passenger door, she took in the garbage-strewn back of the truck and the

smell of cat piss. The truck was so old the warped door was a bitch to open. It seemed to want to

stay shut and it groaned as she yanked it hard.

Inside a woman stared out at her through the gloom occasionally illuminated by the headlights

of a passing car. She had tangled red hair tied back from a haggard face that looked both cruel

and desperate. A cigarette dangled from between the nicotine-stained fingers that gripped the

steering wheel as she beckoned to Amaliya with her other hand.

“Get in.”

Sliding in, Amaliya said, “Thanks.”

The woman nodded slightly. “No prob.” She fished a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of

her plaid shirt and offered her one.

“Thanks,” Amaliya said with relief and snagged one. She had tried to quit, but that seemed a

moot point now. Lighting up, she took a deep drag and sank back into the seat with its gnarled

springs and torn vinyl.

“Where you headed?”

“Dallas/Fort Worth, and then west from there,” Amaliya answered.

“Yeah?” The woman pulled back onto the highway. “I'm headed to Greenville.”

“That's some ways away,” Amaliya answered.

“Yeah, but its where my kids are.” The woman shrugged. “I'm going up there to get my kids

back from my idiot husband.”

“Ah,” Amaliya answered, and took another drag.

The stench of beer and anger filled the cab.

Weird, she could smell anger now. Or sense it.

“Yeah, he's a sonnabitch and I'm going to get my kids back and get them home to Corrigan.”

Amaliya nodded and tried to find a comfortable spot on the seat.

“I needed company, but no one would come with me. I'm glad you are here. What is your

name?”

She hesitated, then said, “Liya.”

“That's weird. It Mexican? Lots of Mexicans up here now. Not that I don't like Mexicans, just

lots of 'em here now.”

“It's Russian, I think. My Mom had a thing for names.”

“I'm Ruth.”

Amaliya nodded and wished the woman would shut up. It was now obvious that she was

drunk and should not be on the road at all. Plus she reeked of liquor and cat urine.

“We'll be in Greenville in five hours, I think.”

“I can't go to Greenville,” Amaliya said softly. “Just drop me off near Dallas.”

“If you are in my gawddamn truck, you're going to gawddamn Greenville!” The woman's

voice was shrill and demanding.

“Hey, aren't you supposed to wait a little while before you start to act crazy?” Amaliya

snapped back.

“Don't you dare speak to me like that in my fucking truck! You're in my truck and you will do

as I say!”

“You're out of your freaking mind.”

“You will do as I say or I will get you!”

The truck was now weaving all over the road.

Amaliya couldn't believe that not even five minutes had passed and now she had to deal with

a batshit crazy woman.

“You got in my gawddamn truck so you'll do as I say. I'm going to go shoot the sonnabitch

and get my kids.”

“Great! You're a homicidal crazy drunk.” Amaliya shook her head. “Just fucking great.”

How the hell had she ended up with the craziest woman in the area? It was good to see her

luck was holding up.

“Look, whore, you're the one pimping yourself out by the side of the road begging to get

fucked and killed. You're lucky I stopped and saved you from that!” Flecks of spittle hit the

windshield as the woman screeched at her.

Amaliya looked down at the woman's feet to see a shotgun tucked down on the floorboard.

With wry amusement, she saw the woman was wearing socks with plastic shoes.

“Oh, fuck this.”

Amaliya grabbed the wheel with one hand and punched the woman as hard as she could with

the other. There was a sickening sound as the woman's head snapped back and she collapsed

against the driver's door. Quickly sliding over toward the woman, Amaliya tried not to pay

attention to the stench and pushed her foot onto the accelerator.

“That went downhill fast,” she muttered. But then again, who was going to pick up someone

on a darkened road other than someone who was crazy?

With a little effort, Amaliya managed to keep the truck moving until she saw a turnoff. It was

a narrow country road and she almost had to sit on the smelly woman's lap to maneuver onto it.

The old truck sputtered along until she found a place to pull off under a canopy of trees. Shoving

the vehicle into park, she slid back down the seat to the passenger side and sat there staring out at

the night.

This had always been her luck. How she had not been beaten and raped when she had

hitchhiked as a kid was beyond her. She had hoped to get to Dallas tonight, but this was not a

good sign. Checking the clock, she saw it was nearly nine o'clock. It was four to five hours to

Dallas depending on traffic and construction. Once there she would have to find a place to stay

during the day.

Beside her, the awful woman was gurgling and snorting. Blood was trickling out of her nose

and something was off about her breathing.

Turning on the overhead light, Amaliya saw more blood than she expected and flinched. She

was stronger now and had to remember that. Despite the horrible smell emanating from the

woman, the blood filled her senses with a heady promise. Flipping the light back off, Amaliya

sat back in her seat and pondered the situation. She was a vampire, she needed to eat, and she

needed to get to Dallas.

“Ah, fuck.” She sighed and eyed the woman.

* * *

The woman was slowly dying beside her. Her shallow breathing was annoying and the

gurgling that occasionally came from her throat didn't sound good, but Amaliya was beyond

caring. From the sound of the woman's heart, she would be dead soon. The stench of her was

making Amaliya feel nauseous, but it was a relief to feel the woman's blood in her veins. Life

filled her and she relished it.

Shoving the door open, Amaliya pulled her bag out and looked back at the crazed woman. It

was better this way. The battered, stained and mutilated divorce decree that Amaliya had found

on the floor revealed precisely how warped the woman was. The kids and the ex-husband were

safer with her gone.

Slamming the passenger door shut, she walked back toward the highway. There was no way

in hell she was taking the old beat up truck. It stank too much and she didn't want to deal with

the crazy bitch's body.

As she trudged along, her bag swinging against her back, she sighed. It was freaking hard to

be a poor-ass Texan vampire. Nothing about it was easy or fun.

Reaching the highway, she didn't even try to hitch. If someone stopped, good, if not, she'd

keep walking until she got somewhere.

Though her mother had always wanted her to travel and experience life, she was sure this was

not what Mom had hoped for.

An ambulance siren echoed out of the distance and she turned to watch it barrel down the

road. With sad eyes, she wondered if it was Pete on the way to the big hospital in Nacogdoches.

Silently, she prayed he would be okay. Or maybe it was more of a wish. She wasn't sure she

could pray anymore.

She trudged along for almost twenty minutes before another small truck pulled over. The cab

was crammed full of Mexicans as was the truck bed. They all looked tired and sweaty from a

long day's work somewhere and two reached out to help her up into the back.

“Muchas gracias,” she said, hoping she didn't slaughter her Grandmother's language too bad.

They just smiled at her in response and then went back to staring into space as the truck sped

back onto the highway. They all looked terribly fatigued and dirty. She was glad she had fed off

the crazy woman and that their bloodstained knuckles held no attraction for her now. She was

sated and it was good.

Without her having to ask, the driver pulled into a truck stop that was brightly lit by huge

lights that pierced into the darkness. Again, the men helped her down, and one handed her bag

over. A few waved to her as the truck sped on and she raised a hand, feeling a hard lump in her

throat at their kindness.

The heat from the truck stop was overwhelming. Massive semi-trucks sat growling in long

rows. People were moving about, checking on their vehicles as others moved toward the huge

building that housed a restaurant and convenience store. Walking across the asphalt, she felt a

cold trickle flow down her back.

Whirling about, she looked into the darkness, fear blossoming inside of her.

He was here.

She knew it.

Felt it.

Walking backward, she stared out into the night and listened to the cars speeding down the

highway and the engines rumbling all around her. The whine of air brakes and the laughter of

men filled her ears, but still, she could hear the Professor's voice in her mind.

Still alive? Doing well? I'm impressed.

She turned around and fled to the building as fast as she could. Holding down her cowboy hat

as she ran, she could feel the big bag beating against her back. In her haste, she tripped and fell

smack into a puddle of oil and grimaced as it splattered her face. Terrified that she was being

pursued, she quickly rolled onto her hip and looked behind her.

There was no sign of her tormentor.

Scrambling quickly to her feet, she rushed past a few surprised-looking truckers, shoved open

the door to the building, and stumbled in.

A bored-looking girl, with her hair heavily gelled and pulled back into a very tight ponytail,

looked up from where she was reading a tabloid behind the counter. There were a few truckers

prowling the aisles, looking for snacks and other supplies. Through an arched doorway in the

wall, Amaliya could see into the restaurant. Business seemed to be better on that side.

“Showers are over there,” the girl said in a bored voice and popped her bubblegum. She

pointed across the heavily-stocked aisles to a large sign that read Restrooms and Showers.

Startled, Amaliya said, “Thanks,” and headed down an aisle, feeling embarrassed of her

appearance. Inside the truck stop, it felt so normal and mundane. The ominous presence she had

felt earlier was gone. She felt safe among the mortals.

Eh, she thought. I'm among mortals. Gawd, that's lame.

Her luck was definitely staying the course. She was covered in dirty oil and smelled like the

crazy woman she had fed on.

The shelves around her were stocked with all sorts of things she didn't usually see at

convenience stores. She hadn't realized so many products were personalized for the truckers on

the road. A few of the drivers glanced at her curiously, but mostly they just wandered the aisles

looking at DVDs, mini-TVs, resin statues of Indians and clothes.

Sighing, she entered the room labeled Showers that had a silhouette of a woman over it. The

only other occupant was a woman with curly black hair, blow drying her hair. As if by mutual

agreement, they ignored each other. Amaliya headed to the end of the room and sat her bag on a

bench. For the second time that night, she pulled out fresh clothes and her toiletries. She headed

behind the curtained off area for a quick shower.

A few minutes later, she sat on the bench next to her bag and tugged on her boots. This time

she was in black jeans and a black AC/DC t-shirt. The curly headed woman was now putting on

makeup.

“Hitching?”

Amaliya looked up, startled.

“Huh?”

“You don't look like a driver. Either your hitching or you're a girlfriend or wife. And you

don't look like either of those.” The woman's keen, dark eyes examined her.

Amaliya looked at the mirror behind the woman, suddenly afraid.

“I...yeah.” She didn't know what else to say. She was afraid the woman would notice her lack

of reflection and call down the entire truck stop on her.

“Where you headed?”

“Dallas.”

“Just came through there. I'm on my way to New Orleans. Going home or running away?”

“Bad boyfriend,” Amaliya lied. Well, sort of. Did your murdering vampire professor count as

a bad boyfriend?

“Hit you?”

“Worse.”

“If they are smart, they do it where it doesn't show,” the woman said.

“He's smart.” Amaliya sighed. She tried to keep at the edge of the bench and far away from

the mirror.

“I'll see if anyone will give you a ride. Go get something to eat in the restaurant. What's your

name?”

“Liya.”

“Nice to meet you Liya. I'm Tammy. I don't like a young woman just hanging out here. Most

of the guys are decent, but one or two...well...you know.”

“They're smart?”

Tammy smiled slowly. “Yeah. They're smart.” Shoving her blush into her makeup kit, she

turned her back to Amaliya and began fussing with her bag.

Hastily, Amaliya escaped from the room with the evil mirrors and made her way to the

restaurant. Her bag banged against her hip as she walked. A few men took note of her now that

she wasn't covered in oil.

“Sit wherever you want,” a forty-something waitress said to her when she passed into the

restaurant.

Unlike some of the big cities in Texas, there wasn't a smoking ban here. The smell of stale

cigarettes and fried eggs greeted her as she walked past the long counter lined with truck drivers.

Sliding into a corner booth, she sat, nervously hoping that no one would see that the window

beside her did not hold her reflection. Reaching out, she snagged the edge of a plaid curtain and

tugged it over to obscure that fact and hoped for the best.

The same waitress reached her table, cocked her hip, and looked down at her. “Watcha

getting?”

“Uh, coffee. Black,” she told the woman. Her name tag read “Rhonda.”

“That it? You're kinda a tiny thing. You need food.” Though her words should have sounded

concerned, they sounded more accusatory.

“I ate. On the road. A big burger from Dairy Queen,” Amaliya answered. Lying was coming

easier to her now.

“Um,” the woman murmured and walked away clearly not believing her.

Could she eat? Could she drink? She had no clue, but she was definitely not hungry.

Glancing out at the busy parking area, she watched several big trucks pull out as two more

rumbled up to the fuel tanks. It was a whole different world and it felt safe for now. If the

professor was still out there, she did not sense him. Maybe she had imagined his presence. But

then again, he had said he would be watching her.

Playing with a sugar packet, she wondered how Pete was. He had not looked as bad as the

crazy hag she was pretty sure she had killed. It somewhat bothered her that she felt no remorse

for taking the woman's life, yet at the same time she couldn't figure out why she should. Pete was

a sweetheart and she did feel bad about what happened between them. But the batshit crazy lady

just did not make her feel bad. She had been food; smelly, gross food, yes, but food. Beyond that,

she had been a homicidal maniac on her way to kill her ex-husband and steal her kids.

Amaliya had a feeling that her morals were slipping fast and that she wasn't thinking clearly.

But at the same time, it felt good to not really care. If she was going to have to feed, then she

shouldn't have to feel bad, right?

But, still, poor Pete.

And she didn't even want to think about all those people at that party.

The coffee cup was set down in front of her abruptly. It rattled around on the saucer before

Rhonda poured the hot dark liquid into it.

“Thanks,” Amaliya said with a small smile.

Rhonda just gave her a long look, then walked away clutching the coffee pot. Amaliya stuck

her tongue out at the woman's wide hips and watched Rhonda refill the coffee cups at a table full

of drivers. The waitress smiled at them and flirted a bit.

Amaliya made a face and began to tear open little blue packets of sweetener to pour them into

the coffee.

“My name is Rob,” a voice boomed behind her.

She turned and looked at a huge man. His shirt was stretched over his enormous stomach and

his face was jowly.

“I hear you are looking for a ride?”

“To Dallas, right.”

“Okay, I can give you a lift that far. Then I'm heading up to Wichita Falls.”

She smiled. “Do we need to go now?”

“Finish your coffee up and I'll meet you outside. Mine is the big blue truck right there.” Rob

pointed, his expression a mixture of pride and nerves.

“Okay, great! I'll be right out.”

Nodding, the big man lumbered down to the cashier, his white ticket clutched in his hand.

Looking down at her coffee, Amaliya considered it, then slowly picked up the cup. Gingerly,

she took a sip and let the hot fluid glide down her throat. It burned a little, but it seemed to settle

down inside of her without an issue. Taking another slow sip, she looked up to see Rob disappear

out the door, and she sighed with relief. She just needed to reach Dallas tonight, then Eastland

tomorrow. It was a short drive from Eastland to the small town of DeLeon where her

Grandmother lived. She could probably call her cousin Sergio for a ride.

Raising her hand, she motioned to Rhonda. The waitress sighed dramatically and headed over

to her. Obviously, Rhonda thought she was a hooker or something terrible from her expression

on her face and her irritation.

“I need the check.”

“Rob took care of it. Says he's giving you a ride,” the waitress said in such a way that the

word “ride” took on a whole new connotation.

“Yeah. To see my grandmother.” Amaliya stood up and glared at the woman. To her surprise,

the older woman stepped back, looking startled. “I hope he didn't tip you. You've been a total

bitch.”

Brushing past the woman, Amaliya headed out.

Stalking across the hot parking lot, she gave Rob a quick wave. She was used to people

treating her differently because of her tats and her piercings, but the woman could have given her

a freaking break.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said to the big man. She tossed her bag up into the cab.

“Need help?” Rob offered.

“Nah, I got it.”

She grabbed the handhold and lugged herself up into the seat. The special hydraulics in the

seat shifted under her and she settled into the surprisingly comfortable chair.

Looking solemn, Rob climbed in and slammed the door shut.

Finally, Amaliya thought. I'm out of here.

Now if only her luck would improve.

* * *

Tammy entered the restaurant and looked around for the pretty tattooed girl with the raven

hair. Hands on her generous hips, she looked over the tables and booths. There was no sign of

the young woman and she looked over the counter at Rhonda, who was busy checking out a

customer.

“You see a girl with pretty eyes and tattoos on one arm in here?”

“Yep,” Rhonda answered, and gave the tall man in the leather vest his change. Nodding as the

man handed her back a few ones, she looked toward Tammy. “She left with Rob.”

“You're kidding!”

“Nope.”

Tammy sighed and shook her head. “I told her to let me get her a ride. Jackson was going to

take her.” She gestured toward an older black man with a scrubby gray beard. “Shit. I can't

believe she got a ride with that asshole.”

Rhonda shrugged. “I have a feeling that kinda girl will do just fine with Rob.”

Looking a little disgusted with Rhonda's words, Tammy shook her head and headed out to tell

Jackson his passenger was gone. She was startled when a tall man with broad shoulders and very

pale blond hair bumped into her and jostled her a bit.

“Sorry, madam,” he said in a prim British accent.

Despite herself, Tammy blushed deeply. The man seemed very out of place with his fine

black silk shirt and gray silk trousers. He was holding a cola in one hand and a DVD in the other.

“S'ok. I'm fine.”

The man smiled at her warmly. “Have a good evening,” he said and moved on to check out.

Despite herself and her husband back home, Tammy couldn't help but check out his posterior

as he got in line. Feeling guilty in a good way, she moved on to talk to Jackson.