Starless night. A highway that seemed endless. And to make matters worse, not a single patrol car in sight. Sweat poured down his face. He repeatedly wiped his eyes frantically. The terror gripping him seemed to thicken the air in the car, making it difficult for him to breathe. He rolled down the window slightly, afraid it might scratch at the top. And he listened.
The muted hum of the engine, the loud pounding of his own heart, and... a scraping noise on the roof.
He decided he wouldn't stop until he reached a populated area or a gas station—anywhere with lighting.
Suddenly, the engine let out a hopeless whimper. And it died. The fuel gauge needle slowly dropped to zero.
A sinister laughter shattered the silence of the night.
Scraching
© Copyright: Вадим Вербицкий, 2024
Свидетельство о публикации №224030101681
Свидетельство о публикации №224030101681
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