Overheated
Katie Perkins drove down the long, straight road through the middle of nowhere, one hand on the steering wheel, the other hanging out the window. The July sun beat down on her, and after days of driving her left arm tanned about three times darker than the right arm hidden inside her old, beat up Chevy.
Taking the last sip of the soda she bought at the gas station half an hour back, her thoughts turned once more to the hot guy pumping gas into his blue pick-up truck with mud on the tires. That cowboy had been pure walking sex appeal, whether he knew it or not. A twinge of lust flowed through her and she giggled to herself.
Wow, I really need to get laid, she mused. She squirmed in her seat, trying to get her mind off the hot guy and back onto the road.
She hummed along to the tune stuck on repeat in her head—the radio crapped out on her about twenty miles back. A lone sign for a diner broke up the monotony of the road, but Katie didn’t dare stop and risk not being able to get the old beast started again. The engine had turned over about three times before it started up when she had to stop for gas, and she still had over fifty miles to go till Houston.
The only breeze came from the motion of the car. She drove through a stinky white fog for a full thirty seconds before realizing the fog was smoke, and the smoke came from under her hood. Shit.
Pulling over, she turned the key and stopped the engine. The car sputtered, hiccupping another spurt of white smoke before dying. Katie pounded the steering wheel in frustration and pulled out her cell phone.
Oh great, that’s dead too. Probably should’ve charged the thing at the motel last night. She tossed the useless cell back into her purse and sighed.
The long highway looked completely deserted. Now what? She stepped out of the Chevy, squinting in the bright sun, and popped the hood. Not like she knew anything about fixing cars, but she’d seen people on the side of the road do that before. Maybe it would help cool off the car or something so she could get driving again.
Another puff of carcinogenic-smelling car smoke assaulted her nostrils. Screw this. Grabbing her purse and water bottle from the front seat, she walked back along the road toward the sign for the diner. Beads of perspiration immediately formed on her upper lip. How far back was that diner? A mile? Two miles? What took a mere moment in the car could seem like forever walking in this heat.
A blue pick-up truck appeared over the horizon, traveling toward her, the only car she’d seen for miles. Holy shit, is that the hot cowboy’s truck? It wasn’t an impossibility —anyone driving along this lonely stretch of road would stop at the same gas station, just like she did.
If it’s really him, and he’s not weird I’m so going to jump his bones.
She laughed at herself. What had gotten into her? She stuck her thumb out, tapping her foot to the beat of the song running through her head as she waited for the pick-up truck to reach her.
This is how all horror movies start, she thought. Well, she hitched as a kid all the time before she got her driver’s license, although admittedly in her hometown, where she knew everybody.
The truck finally reached her, pulling to an easy stop. It’s him! The hot guy from the gas station leaned over the passenger seat and threw the door open for her.
“You alright?” he asked.
Katie peered at him, trying to determine if he looked like a serial killer. No, a serial killer would probably work a little harder to look clean cut. This guy had a day’s worth of stubble on his well-defined jaw, a deep tan from the hot Texas sun, and close-cropped brown hair prematurely streaked with silver on the sides. A worn T-shirt clung to his muscular torso, his broad shoulders threatening to rip the shirt at the seams.
“Thanks for stopping,” she said, stepping into the truck.
“Sure,” he said, sounding confused—as if he wondered what else he
Katie Perkins drove down the long, straight road through the middle of nowhere, one hand on the steering wheel, the other hanging out the window. The July sun beat down on her, and after days of driving her left arm tanned about three times darker than the right arm hidden inside her old, beat up Chevy.
Taking the last sip of the soda she bought at the gas station half an hour back, her thoughts turned once more to the hot guy pumping gas into his blue pick-up truck with mud on the tires. That cowboy had been pure walking sex appeal, whether he knew it or not. A twinge of lust flowed through her and she giggled to herself.
Wow, I really need to get laid, she mused. She squirmed in her seat, trying to get her mind off the hot guy and back onto the road.
She hummed along to the tune stuck on repeat in her head—the radio crapped out on her about twenty miles back. A lone sign for a diner broke up the monotony of the road, but Katie didn’t dare stop and risk not being able to get the old beast started again. The engine had turned over about three times before it started up when she had to stop for gas, and she still had over fifty miles to go till Houston.
The only breeze came from the motion of the car. She drove through a stinky white fog for a full thirty seconds before realizing the fog was smoke, and the smoke came from under her hood. Shit.
Pulling over, she turned the key and stopped the engine. The car sputtered, hiccupping another spurt of white smoke before dying. Katie pounded the steering wheel in frustration and pulled out her cell phone.
Oh great, that’s dead too. Probably should’ve charged the thing at the motel last night. She tossed the useless cell back into her purse and sighed.
The long highway looked completely deserted. Now what? She stepped out of the Chevy, squinting in the bright sun, and popped the hood. Not like she knew anything about fixing cars, but she’d seen people on the side of the road do that before. Maybe it would help cool off the car or something so she could get driving again.
Another puff of carcinogenic-smelling car smoke assaulted her nostrils. Screw this. Grabbing her purse and water bottle from the front seat, she walked back along the road toward the sign for the diner. Beads of perspiration immediately formed on her upper lip. How far back was that diner? A mile? Two miles? What took a mere moment in the car could seem like forever walking in this heat.
A blue pick-up truck appeared over the horizon, traveling toward her, the only car she’d seen for miles. Holy shit, is that the hot cowboy’s truck? It wasn’t an impossibility —anyone driving along this lonely stretch of road would stop at the same gas station, just like she did.
If it’s really him, and he’s not weird I’m so going to jump his bones.
She laughed at herself. What had gotten into her? She stuck her thumb out, tapping her foot to the beat of the song running through her head as she waited for the pick-up truck to reach her.
This is how all horror movies start, she thought. Well, she hitched as a kid all the time before she got her driver’s license, although admittedly in her hometown, where she knew everybody.
The truck finally reached her, pulling to an easy stop. It’s him! The hot guy from the gas station leaned over the passenger seat and threw the door open for her.
“You alright?” he asked.
Katie peered at him, trying to determine if he looked like a serial killer. No, a serial killer would probably work a little harder to look clean cut. This guy had a day’s worth of stubble on his well-defined jaw, a deep tan from the hot Texas sun, and close-cropped brown hair prematurely streaked with silver on the sides. A worn T-shirt clung to his muscular torso, his broad shoulders threatening to rip the shirt at the seams.
“Thanks for stopping,” she said, stepping into the truck.
“Sure,” he said, sounding confused—as if he wondered what else he
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