“The Ride”
It was an old run-down truck stop café, the kind that looked like something out of a horror film. But Tom and Angela went in anyway.
“Coffee, please,” Tom said, raising his hand as the waitress approached.
They had been on the road for thirty-seven hours, only stopping for gas, and this was the only place to eat for the next fifty miles.
The waitress smiled politely. “What can I get you folks?”
Tom ordered a ham and cheese sandwich with fries and a drink. Angela chose the fish patty with fries.
“My name’s Sharon,” the waitress said, slipping into the booth across from them. “Slow night tonight.”
Tom barely noticed her chatter, but Angela did. She wondered why Sharon had sat down uninvited, talking as though they were old friends.
When the meal was over, Sharon gathered the plates. “This one’s on me,” she said. “But I’ve got a favor to ask. My shift ends in five minutes, and I don’t have a ride. Could you take me down the road a bit? Just two miles.”
Angela’s answer was sharp. “We’re on a tight schedule. We’ll pay for our own food.”
They settled the bill and headed for the door. But when they reached the car, Sharon was already waiting outside. Tom blinked in confusion. How did she beat us here?
“Please,” Sharon pleaded softly. “It’s only a couple of miles. You won’t even need to leave the main road. Just drop me off.”
Angela felt trapped. She looked at Tom. He shrugged, and they let her climb in.
A few minutes later, they came upon an accident. Police flares lit the road, but no other cars were in sight. Officers waved them around the wreck.
Tom slowed, staring at the mangled vehicle. “One-car accident,” he muttered. “Looks just like ours.”
Angela’s breath caught as paramedics wheeled a gurney toward the ambulance. The sheet slipped, revealing a woman’s hand.
“Tom—look!” she said. “She’s wearing my bracelet!”
Tom frowned. Angela clutched her wrist, suddenly aware her bracelet was gone. She could have sworn she’d put it on before they left Virginia. Maybe she’d dropped it—in the bank. They had been in a hurry after all, especially after Tom shot the guard. He had to, she told herself again. The fool tried to play hero.
The wreck faded behind them. A sign loomed up ahead: LAST STOP TRUCK STOP. Smaller letters beneath read: Last stop for food and lodging for the next fifty miles.
Angela’s voice was trembling. “We passed that already. We stopped at Last Stop—how can—”
Tom glanced into the rearview mirror. Sharon was gone.
That’s when the light engulfed them—blinding, searing. Smoke cleared to reveal a vast room, brighter than anything they had ever seen. At the far end stood a door, burning with fire.
Etched above it, glowing in molten letters, were the words:
LAST STOP.