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   Chapter 1 On A Hidden Highway

Dark Bandit Sun By Rian Torr Characters: 6458

Updated: 2018-10-22 12:02


"Blazing Hell, " Kyle Kane cursed under his breath.

He raced home late down 88, like lightning breaking.

Heather was right, he was horrible at this thing they had.

He knew he loved her even now, but he had forgotten how.

Then with his dad in ill health and his mom just on the mend—it seemed folly to relax. It took all his strength just to keep two white fists fast upon the wheel—with one hot heart beating under fire—and one wired mind climbing light-years higher.

But overshadowing it all--what had led him to drive out to Black Heron Lake in the first place that day, was a desperate bid to kill himself—to trek out far onto the frozen waves and pull trigger.

His meal-ticket at Superstate Security had been ripped up. His family depended on him—and he now was no longer a part of the work force.

Now all he had was an empty wallet and a resume--in New London no less, a city known for it's tough, daunting job market—and impossibly grim odds.

He started to cry as he drove, unable to bear it any longer. Just thinking these thoughts was pushing him over the edge—and he knew it—but it was too hard to keep them at bay. He was slipping.

He slowed over to the side of the road to compose.

He produced his notebook and began writing lyrics.

Shortly thereafter, lights began flashing in the mirror.

"Shit." He ripped the page out and stuffed it away.

Cruiser door opened behind. Officer stepped out.

Kyle began fumbling all around for paperwork.

The officer walked up slowly, hand stiff on gun.

Kyle rolled down his window, lighting up a smoke.

He was beginning to think his luck would never return.

The officer leaned in the window, chewing a toothpick.

Kyle had his license held up, but the man brushed it off.

"Just wanted to let you know, there's a killer out on foot."

"Excuse me what ...? Seriously ...? Like whereabouts?"

"I mean, we're on the hunt, " he said, pointing to the sky.

They could hear a chopper getting louder, passing over.

It's spotlight was scanning the woods all down both sides.

"That's all I need, " Kyle said, shaking his head. He had walked out on that lake of ice, pressed that barrel to his temple—and as God was his witness, his finger almost triggered—that muscle almost twitched—and nothing could have stopped him but that one thing.

Now here he was skirting death again, except not by his own hand this time. It was obvious how ironic it would be to quit suicide—only to die elsewise.

"Should I turn around? Which way was he going last ..."

The cop smirked. "She was spotted back in Darkhill—then again at Pinedale Inn—and around three different cottages just a ways back over by the tracks."

Kyle noticed across the man's shoulder moon was full.

It seemed sometimes to just about explain everything.

"We think it's female, anyway. Quite the hairy broad."

He showed Kyle an eye-witness sketch of a Sasquatch.

"What ... You're joking, right? What show am I on?"

The officer slowly, grimly shook his head side-to-side.

"I wouldn't be wasting your time just for kicks, kid."

"Well I'm driving straight home. Doors are locked."

"That is advisable. By the way, your ligh

t is out."

Kyle looked back. His brake light had been busted.

"Got lucky this time. Lady Big Foot takes it tonight."

The officer began walking away, quickly tipping his hat.

"Thank you Sir, " Kyle managed, suddenly now sweating.

He had just noticed his gun sticking out from under his bag.

He had set it on the passenger seat and forgotten all about it.

He watched the cop pull away, marvelling at the close call.

He started the truck and eased back out on to the road home.

He followed the cruiser for a time, until the next rise arrived.

The officer went over the hill, but by the time Kyle climbed it—the cop was gone.

The road stretched out into the valley—but there was no sign of the cruiser anywhere.

Kyle put on his high beams, as the sun had almost set, but the policeman had clearly turned off somewhere. He slowed down, looking in the rear-view, but there was no one behind him. He turned on the radio to distract himself and shifted the truck into fourth—when suddenly from out of the woods to his right, there was a high-pitched, feral wail—and he was shaken to the bone.

"What the fuck in Hell ..." he sharply hissed to himself. He gassed it and ripped along as fast as he could—almost reaching the next bend--when he suddenly spotted a hidden highway running right.

It was darkly shrouded. An old, vine-clung sign read: Highway 111.

It struck him that the cop might have turned down that way—and on a reckless whim, he followed an urge to turn down that way as well—if nothing else but to catch a glimpse of the Sasquatch himself. He had his camera charged and ready at all times for his website of the supernatural. He was always on the lookout for good footage—and this was opportunity knocking.

A few hundred yards down, however, the dark began to unnerve him.

He pulled over, intending to turn around and head back out again. There was still no sign of the officer—and he was beginning to think the cop had not come this way after all. The man had probably just floored it over the next rise on the highway and simply raced out of sight.

But now here Kyle was like an idiot caught down some random tangent.

As he drove back out, it occurred to him the scenery looked the same, like he had not turned around at all—but his conscious mind could not grasp it, so he kept on going.

But fifteen minutes later, with no sign of highway evident, he started to wonder what was up.

He kept driving another fifteen, but by now he was sure that he had not come this far down.

He pulled over and got out. Crickets chirped as mosquitos buzzed. The moon ballooned.

Looking back, he suddenly realized he could see the highway. He scratched his head, looked forward, then back again. He had only turned around once. He was not losing his mind, but then again, there was the highway behind him now, plain as day. So he got back in the truck and turned around again, driving on toward the highway. He kept smirking and rubbing his eyes in disbelief.

A heavy fog was rolling in now—and he plowed on into it—but by the time it began to thin out again, the highway was no longer in sight—and Kyle Kane's bad trip in limbo began to unfold.

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