Undisclosed by Jon Mills Page B

eyes through what used to be the windscreen, as if a train with a large light on the front had come to a halt before them. A car? Maybe it was a car they hit. No, there were no cars on the road.
    “Dad …” he groaned, attempting to turn his head.
    No reply.
    “Dad, answer me.” He craned his neck as much as he could to one side, hoping to see his father, but the driver’s seat was empty. He continued to slip in and out of consciousness, and each time he could have sworn he heard people talking.
    This time when he came to, he heard his father’s voice and at least one other person.
    “Did you really think we wouldn’t know?” an unfamiliar gruff voice said.
    “Don’t take my boy; he’s got nothing to do with this.” Scott groaned.
    Who was his dad speaking to? How long Travis had been in this position? Travis was unsure of everything—except the intense pain coursing its way through him.
    “What do you want us to do?”
    “Take him back.”
    “And the boy?”
    “Make it quick.”
    He could hear the sound of glass crunching beneath feet, feet that were now moving in his direction. Outside the vehicle, Travis could make out someone walking towards the truck. Heavy boots scuffed the road, and the silhouette of legs and feet cut into the blinding light . Maybe a paramedic , he thought as he wiped blood from his eyes with the back of his hand, trying to get a clearer look. Something didn’t feel right; he couldn’t see any flashing lights, hear any radios or what he usually heard when the law or EMTs showed up.
    Travis reached for the seat buckle latch. He pushed the button but nothing happened; the entire thing was crumpled. The figure was getting closer. He watched as broken parts of the truck seemed to scatter around the truck, parting in front of the figure like leaves blown by the wind.
    What the hell? he thought, as his vision faded in and out. He fumbled around his jean pockets, hoping to find his keys; he knew if he could get them, he could use the penknife attached to the ring and cut his way out.
    Damn it. It was impossible; he couldn’t get his fingers into the pocket. By now he could clearly make out what the figure was wearing—black leather boots and tight jeans, with a gun strapped to his leg. Whoever it was, he was clearly no paramedic. Possibly the driver of the other car? That had to be it, they hit another car, he imagined.
    The figure had now come to a standstill directly in front of the vehicle; ever so quickly they dropped to one knee, one hand on the floor, the other resting on their knee as if positioning at a starting line. As the face came into view, Travis couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The face was entirely human but the eyes were completely ink black, not a speck of white in them, other than the occasional reflection of light from the headlights bouncing off them.
    “Hmm … now, what to do with you?” The figure stared at him with his dark, penetrating eyes and then straightened up and walked around to the passenger side. Travis heard a loud crack and then watched in terror as the door ripped clean off the car, sailed through the air and came to rest a few yards away. Travis began to struggle, panicked and frantic, and yet completely unable to get free.
    The figure was but a few steps from the open door when he suddenly let out a high, howling cry and stumbled backwards. Something had hit him, and he turned on his heels and bolted.
    Travis passed out again, and as his eyes opened for a third time, he felt the firm, sandy ground beneath him. Arched over him was someone. He couldn’t make out who it was. His vision was still blurry and there was little to no light to allow for a clear image, but he could feel hair brushing against his face and a distinct sweet scent. As his hearing became clearer, the wailing of emergency sirens in the distance got louder.
    Within the noise, he heard a gruff male voice snap, “All right, he’s safe—now let’s go.”
    “You think he