And Miles To Go Before She Sleeps
by Sarah Hina
“You itching for a ride, darlin’?”
His was the only shadow to darken the sleepy rest stop. The chrome of his wheel reflected a crescent moon.
She noted the steel-tipped boots. Roughneck gloves. Skirting his headlamp’s glare, she cracked her knuckles behind her back.
“That depends,” she said.
His engine purred.
She licked her teeth.
“On what kind of horsepower you’re packing.”
Headlights skated by.
“Enough for you, Princess.” Smirking, he hooked a thumb around a Texas-sized belt buckle. “What kind of price we talking?”
She eyed the dark carcasses of two cars, considering.
“For a hundred, you’ll forget your name,” she said. “For two, you’ll forget the bike.”
“Better make it two, then,” he laughed.
The engine cut.
“There’s a spot up here,” she called. “Beyond the—”
Insects scattered. The couple arrived at a rough patch of grass above a steep ravine.
The moon winked between her knees.
He left his boots on.
And when her spiked teeth smiled into his flesh, the tips pointed six feet under.
She absorbed a last, ecstatic shudder, and wiped her chin.
Slipping on his gloves, she pushed the body downhill. It landed with a whump next to Mustang and Hummer. The crickets cheered.
Gliding down to the parking lot, she reviewed her collection.
Tough choice, but—
She needed steel between these thighs.
The engine roared.
Straddling the beast, she leaned west. Chasing night.
There was blood on this breeze.
And she was still hungry.