Chapter 6: (Allison)

The neon lights of the old gas station sign flickered to life, dusk slowly setting on the middle-of-nowhere stretch of highway. Few cars passed by, this road relegated to locals more than interstate travelers, predictably leaving it dilapidated and in desperate need of road work.

Of course, that was why hunters preferred these types of roads; few eyes and fewer cops. No sense in tempting fate, even if none of them had ever been officially linked to various unexplained disappearances and odd disturbances. Besides, traveling with a trunk full of custom hardware, silver bullets, and spiritual curios tended to raise more questions than anyone wanted to answer.

Sitting on the hood of the old Chevy Camaro her father used to drive, Allison took another bite of her gas station burger. Grease dripped from the foil wrapper, the overstuffed bun doing its best to keep its contents from spilling out.

Roadside cuisine was always hit-or-miss, either being some dried monstrosity left on the grill until it had shriveled into a brick of coal, or being some hidden gem made by the most ornery of chefs who’d had it with corporate kitchen culture and set up somewhere of their own. This burger definitely drifted toward the latter. Her dad had always said that they couldn’t go wrong at a grill where the chef looked like he just didn’t give a fuck anymore. Of course, that hadn’t always been true, but he’d certainly said it all the time.

He would have liked it here; dirt parking lot, lightly buzzing lights, wood frogs croaking, and a juicy burger with passable fries. He’d have cracked a beer and started reminiscing of all the crazy hunts he’d been on and the people he’d saved.

... They still got the occasional card from some of them. Some with families now, their kids never knowing why mom or dad had those scars or why they always double bolted the doors and sprinkled salt everywhere.