ROADSIDE

The vehicle was still a good mile and a half away and closing. Still too far to judge the exact size, especially in the middle of the night. At the current distance, the only available knowledge was the slow rising volume of a faint echo and one beam of light, gradually getting brighter.



A lone man watched as the vehicle approached. Cloaked in black, he rested comfortably on a tree stump, hidden behind the roadside shrubbery. This is certainly not his first time. He knows what is coming.



One light. At first thought, a motorcycle. However, the echo suggested something larger. The light seemed closer to the center of the road. If the passenger headlight was out, this may play into his favor, make him harder to see.



Less than a mile away now. Time to get ready, enter the right frame of mind.



Tire spikes? Sharpened, and locked within the spring mechanism box. No other cars on the road.



0.8 miles, and closing.



Spring mechanism box? Concealed and secured in place, actively connected to the trigger wire. The moonlight reveals the shell of an aging station wagon. The passenger headlamp out.



0.5 miles, and closing.



Trigger wire? Safely run along the width of the road, twenty feet before the mechanism box. Wire is live.



0.25 miles and closing.



Truck? ..Nestled safely in the tree line.



Mask? ..Check.



Gloves? ..Check.



Flashlight? Knife? Pistol? Suppressor? ..Check. Here it comes.



The wagon passes over the trigger wire, disengaging the spring mechanism. A line of home-made tire spikes are shot into the road, in time to make contact with three of the tires.



All three tires are instantly torn apart. The driver cannot maintain control of the wagon and fishtails with enough for momentum to force the vehicle to roll, ejecting the driver through a window. Several rolls were necessary, before the wagon could come to a final halt, resting upside.



Smooth and effective.



Upside down was a plus. Most of whatever valuables were in the car would fall to the ground and make for easy pickings.



The cloaked figure calmly made his way to the damaged vehicle. A series of groans could be heard, as he drew closer. He could see two silhouettes in the moonlight, but suspected at least one more, as well as the driver.



A glance towards either direction of the road had revealed no other motorists. Not uncommon on this particular road, given the hour. Not even a home could be found, for at least a mile. A fact that inspired and fueled the plan, every time.



The driver, a younger woman, was motionless on the edge of the road. She was face down and her legs had were clearly crippled from the crash. No reason to rush things with her.





He approached the passenger side first, crouching to one knee. A middle-aged male could be seen unconscious and dangling from above. One arm swung free, while the other was rested on the latch of his seatbelt.



A suppressed .22 caliber Ruger was now pointed at his head. A single bullet was fired into his temple.



Two boys lay motionless in the back seat. The elder, a teen, hung halfway out of a broken window. Upon closer inspection, his head had been completely crushed and his right arm was ripped off. The raw end stuck out from under the car.



“Nasty business” the man said to himself. “Squashed in the roll.” With a shrug of his shoulders, he was back to work.



The younger boy, six or seven years of age, lay on his back. A gash and several bruises could be seen covering a portion of his face. Resting on top of him was an old heavy toolbox, which was flung open in the crash. A chunk of bloody skin clung to one of the corners, the origin of the boys' open wound.



Crawling inside was a hassle, with all the broken glass. The boy awoke, but could not move. The two of them briefly stared each other in the eye.



“What happened?’ the boy asked.



“Your car crashed, son.”, his reply.



“Who are you?”



“I am Edward Murr. I am here to help. Lay still.”



Edward used his hand to cover the boy’s mouth, and pulled out his knife.



Murr searched the wagon and bodies for anything of value. Not much was found on the boys, but a wallet and purse provided almost six hundred dollars in cash, along with several credit cards. Coupled with a few electronic devices and some loose tools, tonight was a small easy score, but a successful one.



Edward loaded the booty into his truck, and collected his equipment from the road. Once the everything was gathered, it would be time to leave. But, as Edward loaded his mechanism box and trigger wire, he couldn’t help but think there was something missing. But then, the sound of shoes dragging against the street, quickly sparked his memory.



“Oh right! The driver.”



She had made it back to the car. Horrified and confused, she could only cry with no sound. Gazing upward, she saw Edward towering above her. He was holding a card in his hand.



“Dena Stople?” Edward asked, viewing the driver’s license found in Dena’s purse.



Dena paused, but gave a reluctant and frightened “...Yes.”



Edward’s cold reply, “Here you go”, sent a momentary chill down Dena’s spine. But before she had a chance to respond, the pistol was drawn and three bullets were promptly fired directly into her face.

END