Burliegh County, North Dakota

The dash lights flickered, a convulsive twinkle of electric green and orange light, illuminating Valorie's face as she sighed and thumped the dashboard with well manicured fingertips. The lights faded out to black. A throbbing hum drifted beneath the dash, so nearly inaudible that she thought she may have imagined it. Suddenly the lights resumed their arrhythmic flickering. The weird light show had begun just a few miles ago and Valorie was already deeply annoyed with it. She took a deep, calming breath during the change-up and resumed singing along to Halestorm, cranking up the volume to drown out the unnerving hum, the sounds of the road, and her own anxious thoughts of breaking down in the middle of nowhere. She had already begun to regret taking this unfamiliar shortcut back home when it got dark. Though it had looked peaceful enough in the late afternoon, nightfall had come rapidly, the horizon had faded away, the once innocuous landscape stretched into an eternal dark highway fit for a B horror film. Her heart twitched with each violent spasm of green light, an omen of car trouble, a deeply ingrained fear trigger for a woman alone on a forgotten road. She lost herself in the daydream concert of a lifetime, onstage alongside Lzzy, belting out hit after hit, standing back to back with the gorgeous star in perfect pitch.

The stereo glitched, skipping the song like a scratched CD although it was streaming via Bluetooth. For a terrifying moment Lzzy wailed backwards. The song slowed, sped up, skipped. The dash lights danced along to the turbulent rhythm. Valorie's breath caught in her throat.

"What the hell…" she gasped.

The whole car shook violently. The engine died. She coasted to rough stop, the headlights dimming too rapidly to see where she was going. A chill rolled through as she sat there, the darkness stifling, the silence a buzz in her ears.

"Shit," she muttered, turning the key almost frantically. The engine was unresponsive, lying dead in its compartment. Valorie shoved a trembling hand into her purse, searching for her phone. The screen lit up a reassuring blue when her hand bumped into it. She scrolled through quickly, pressed the telephone icon beside her husband's contact picture.

Dialing… the screen read. When the call failed she tried again.

Dialing… Searching for service…

She tapped on the phone's flashlight and rummaged through her glove box for her motor club card. She typed the number quickly. She had only ever used her motor club once before, when she had locked her keys in the car at the grocery store, and she knew they would ask for her location. The darkness pressed lewdly against the car windows, obscuring her view of anything outside, any landmark or street sign. Maybe they could track her phone's GPS? She looked back to the screen.

Dialing…

Valorie set the phone down on the passenger seat and tried to start the car again. Not even the weakest whir from the starter pierced the suffocating silence. She grabbed the phone again and typed 911.

Searching for service…

Valorie's heart pounded in her chest. She felt like she was being watched from outside in the moonless night. She had taken the shortcut to avoid the heavy Friday night traffic on Hwy 83 out of Bismark where she had gone to interview for a very promising position that offered a lot more than she was making now, enough the justify the move they were so desperate for, and it had gone so well she was sure she had nailed it. The warmth of her excitement turned to ice water in her gut as she sat shivering in her broken down car in the middle of nowhere, wishing she had been just a little more patient and stayed on the main highway.

A bright light flashed in her rearview mirror. Valorie glanced up with a start. A vehicle was approaching from behind. She felt an uneasy brew of relief and fear churn in her gut. She tried calling 911 again.

Dialing…

"Damn it." She gripped her phone tight in her hand and watched through the back window as the vehicle came up on her, growing larger as it got closer. Red and yellow lights flashed on, rotating hypnotically, followed by the growing rumble of a large diesel engine. Valorie exhaled sharply, suddenly aware she had been holding her breath. It was just a tow truck. Her call to either the motor club or emergency services must have gotten through.

Valorie took a deep breath and gathered herself. The truck pulled ahead of her, shifted roughly, backed up in line with her car. The tow truck showered her in the blinding white light of the work halogens. She squinted against the light, still clutching her phone and motor club card tight in her hands. She watched with wary eyes as the driver exited the truck and approached her.

"Evening," he said with a nod of his head, addressing her through the rolled up window. She had half expected him to look like a horny, gnarled, hooked-handed maniac out of some highway murderer urban legend. The driver, Billy according to the name embroidered on the pocket of his work shirt, looked no more menacing than a middle aged dad at a neighborhood barbeque. He had the body of a man who might have been a jock in high school, and probably still enjoyed a weekend basketball game with his buddies, but had been softened and rounded by domestic life and beer. His face was harder to see in the semi-dark, obscured as it was by a two day old beard and the tell tale black grime of a man who worked on cars for a living. Valorie thought that with a shower, shave, and off-duty clothes he was likely pretty cute.

Valorie got out of the car and handed him her motor club card. He tucked it into his shirt pocket without a glance before turning to start hooking up her car.

"You can wait in the truck," he called over his shoulder. "The heat's on."

"Okay," Valorie replied, stepping cautiously to the passenger side of the tow truck. She opened the door and climbed up. The cab was illuminated blue from the dash and radio lights. The heater fan was blowing, yet it felt chillier inside than it had outside. The radio belched a steady stream of static, the volume down low. Valorie carefully pushed a scattering of papers across the bench and buckled up, feeling uneasy, jumping at the sudden, violent sounds of her car being loaded onto the tow hook. There was a dancing hula girl on the truck dash. Valorie hadn't seen one in years and didn't think anyone still made those silly things anymore. The hula girl trembled, seeming to shake her head no no no, as the truck shook and vibrated.

Valorie tried calling her husband again.

Searching for service…

Valorie jumped again when Billy wrenched the driver side door open. It groaned in protest as though it had not been used in decades, resentful at having been disturbed from its oxidizing slumber.

"Where to?" Billy asked, staring unblinking at Valorie.

"Uh, Baldwin," she stammered. There was something about his eyes that made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up. One was shadowed, a dark hollow in his face, and the other looked too pale, even milky in the faded blue light of the dash. She thought maybe he had a cataract. Maybe it was just the low light. She found herself staring at his stubbed chin to avoid making contact with his eyes.

Billy put the truck in gear and drove without another word. Valorie quietly, desperately, attempted to call her husband again. Her phone showed no service bars and no data connection. The screen flickered, skewing and inverting, distorting the wallpaper photo of husband and their two golden retrievers into a hellish landscape of wrong colors and twisted features. The phone died in her hand. She pushed the power button frantically, willing it to turn on so she could call for help.

It seemed like they had been driving forever. They had to be getting close to Baldwin, yet there were no road signs, no lights from houses or businesses even in the distance, and not another car in sight. Despite the heater fan blowing the temperature inside the cab of the tow truck was dropping. The windows began icing up from the inside. Valorie watched her own breath escaping her in rapid puffs of fog.

Valorie let out an audible gasp as Billy suddenly took an unexpected left turn onto a dusty road. She dropped her phone to grip the door handle, the truck slamming it's way over the road, driving much too fast for the deep ruts and potholes, the car in tow shifting uncontrollably from side to side, rocking the truck harder. Valorie's blood ran cold. Billy was staring at her with his cold, dead eyes, having no need to watch the road he had travelled countless times. He slammed on the brakes, skidding to a violent stop. Valorie was thrown forward, the loose lap belt only partially retraining her, her face hitting the glove box with a solid thud.

She sat back up, hand to her bloodied mouth. Billy appeared to flicker, just like her dash lights had, two versions of the man rapidly flashing between planes of existence, one still looked like the grubby living man, one long dead. Val let out a blood curdling scream as Billy reached for her, inhumanly fast, with icy, withered hands.