It’s the Guys from “Supernatural”
The highway stretched into the distance; the cold jagged peaks in the horizon never neared.
Karla and Rachel sat in congenial silence while Bruno Mars played on the stereo. It was a long drive and half of it was already behind them. The full moon rose in the shimmering sky as the sun set at their back.
“Huh,” Rachel breathed, “seems like we’re going backwards.”
“What do you mean?”
“Yeah, we’re driving towards the darkness as we leave the light behind us. Like moving away from life, towards death.”
Karla sniggered, “Don’t be such a Debbie Downer.”
The long drive was only the start of a long goodbye and yes, Karla was aware they drove towards death. The ultimate destination of Grandpa’s long life.
Karla glanced in the rearview mirror. A black classic car was tailgating them, pushing them to speed up.
“Look, it’s the guys from Supernatural,” Karla said as the car changed into the fast lane.
The sisters watched it overtake them.
It was a Chevy Impala, but an earlier model and a convertible, unlike the one featured in the show. The top was down and two impatient women laughed and whooped into Karla’s side mirror. The driver wore a baby-blue headscarf wrapped around her hair, which billowed behind her; one gloved hand on the wheel, the other draped over the door. The passenger had a ponytail tied with a pink ribbon and curled into a single ringlet; she wore red Lolita heart-shaped sunglasses. The Impala’s bat-wing fins zipped by and the cat-eye taillights squinted at them as the car heaved and revved, then sped into the horizon.
“Grandpa would have loved that,” Rachel grinned, “it was a 50s model, right?”
“Yep, he would know the exact year and the whole shebang, too. He talks a blue streak about cars.”
The drive continued; blue shadows fell over the landscape.
Karla and Rachel would stop at a motel. As Rachel read out the upcoming exits, Karla glanced in the rearview mirror.
“Huh,” she said, “the guys from Supernatural behind us again.”
The sisters fell silent as the eager black car overtook them. The two female passengers zoomed past with reckless abandon.
“Gosh, Karly, that was the same car!”
“I know, right! But how? At what point did we pass them?”
“Maybe they stopped for a bite somewhere?”
Karla doubted but kept quiet; she didn’t recall any rest stops…
The road stretched ahead; they would soon near their stopover. As they approached their exit a car pulled up behind them. It drew close and honked.
“I think it’s the same car again,” Karla frowned at the rearview mirror.
Rachel glanced back, “No way…”
“Ooh, that’s our exit,” she exclaimed as they passed a road sign.
Karla slowed down and signaled. The black car followed close in rude impatience. They took the offramp; the Impala pushing them to go faster. Karla resisted because she knew not how dangerous the junction into the state highway would be. The Chevy sped up as they rounded a curve and overtook them. Both women glared at the sisters as they passed; the pony-tailed passenger—her heart-shaped sunglasses now atop her head—stuck her tongue out at them.
The black car squeezed in front of Karla’s Honda and merged onto the state highway. Karla screamed and slammed on the brakes when it disappeared under the nose of a semi-trailer truck with a horrible crunch and a flash of metal. Karla’s own car skidded with screeching brakes; Rachel shrieked. Karla maneuvered onto the shoulder; they came to a trembling stop. The truck zoomed past, not stopping for the black wreck in the grassland.
Rachel jumped out and ran towards the wreckage as Karla’s shaking fingers fumbled for her phone. She was about to dial 911 when Rachel’s perplexed expression in the beams of the headlight stopped her. She ran out to meet her sister.
“There’s no one here,” Rachel choked, “there’s no one!”
Karla stared. Rachel was right, there was no one. The metal remains were rusty and overgrown with grass and devoid of humans.
A cloud covered the moon and darkened the landscape. Rachel felt for Karla’s hand; the car-wreck disappeared! Nothing remained on the arid grass by the highway. As the moon shone again, something glinted in the grass at Rachel’s feet. She picked it up. It was a rusty 1950s Chevrolet hood emblem encrusted in the bent rims of heart-shaped sunglasses.