No answer.

"Oh c'mon, Larry!" She now banged on the door with enthusiasm. "It's starting to rain!"

Nothing.

Either Larry was up at the restaurant having a cup of coffee, or he just wasn't in the mood.

"God dammit!" she yelled and tried to kick the door. Being too close to do it with any force, she settled for banging her knee against it instead. That didn't satisfy very much either. "Screw you, Larry! I would have done you for free if you had let me in!"

This wasn't getting her any closer to shelter, and Libby could now hear the rain falling in the corn field behind the big rigs. She was about to get wet. Grumbling in frustration, the woman turned to get off the truck and stopped...

Somebody now stood on the ground in the darkness directly behind her.

And he stank.

"Sweet Jesus, Larry!" She wrinkled her nose and tried not to gag. "What the hell have you been rolling in? Look, I'm sorry for losing my temper but don't start giving me shit about kicking your truck till we're inside. Okay?"

The figure didn't answer.

"Okay?" she repeated, then thought better of it. "Hey, don't paw at me. You know, on second thought just forget it. You smell awful and I would rather get wet than be stuck inside with y..."

That's when fate chose to have another flash of lightning illuminate the area, and the face of the figure in front of her.

It wasn't Larry.

The skeletal face grinning up at her parted its jaws in wolfish anticipation, and Libby's mind screamed while her body struggled to catch up and join in. She never got the chance.

Just as she inhaled to shriek the thing struck.

It drove a powerful open palm into her bare midsection, pancaking her pudgy belly against her back and pinning her to the side of the truck. Libby's air exploded out of her before she could make a sound. Bile rose in her throat and she doubled over in nauseous pain. Even worse, her head came to rest on the bony shoulder of her assailant, causing its stench to envelope her head like a fog.

Then the immobilizing pain in her gut blossomed into molten anguish as the monster closed its hand, driving spike-like fingers through the skin and muscle of her abdomen and hooking them into her viscera. It hurt...it hurt really bad...and Libby gagged from both the pain and the horrific smell while fighting to draw in breath to cry out. Then, just as she thought it couldn't possibly hurt her any worse, it yanked back just as hard and she could feel skin and muscle rip free in a white hot explosion of tearing agony.

She had been torn open!

No longer pinned to the truck, the wounded prostitute rolled off the shoulder of her attacker and fell to the asphalt below. She managed to twist as she fell, landing on her back and shoulder. Loose pebbles drove into her back and side, and the asphalt grated a good slice of skin off her bare shoulder as well. The stricken woman writhed on the pavement, battling to maintain consciousness.

Instinct told her she needed to get a handle on things fast.

Looking up from the ground, Libby could see the silhouette of the thing shoving the chunk it ripped out of her into its jaws. It was eating her! Yet she had no time to try and wrap her head around that right now. She gripped her gut in agony, feeling wet insides trying to slither out of what felt like an enormous hole. The woman realized she had to get help fast or she was going to die.

The problem was the monster stood between her and the way out between the trucks.

Regardless, it was move now or die.

Using one hand to hold her intestines in her body, she pulled her knees under her in an effort to start climbing to her feet. She didn't know how she intended to get around the creature, as the trucks were rather close together and it could probably reach to either side just by taking a step or two. The idea of going out the back way occurred to her, since it would be going away from the monstrosity anyway. But it would also mean going all the way down the length of the trailer and coming back up the other side...and Libby didn't know how many steps she had left in her before she dropped. Then she realized there was a better way.

Keeping a tight grip on her ravaged stomach, she rolled underneath the cab of Larry's rig. Behind her, she could hear the thing shuffling back and forth. She had no idea if it was looking for her or had lost interest and still focused on chewing the piece of her it had. She thought about crawling, then figured out it would be easier just to keep rolling.

That would allow her to protect her stomach with both hands, and probably get to the other side faster. Besides, she didn't want to come out from under the front of the truck because her attacker would be able to see her before she could get to her feet and get moving. No, it would be better to keep rolling and come out the other side of the truck...or maybe even the next truck over.

Still, she was bleeding badly and time was running out.

Clutching her middle, Libby started to roll away from the dead thing and towards the other side. She didn't know if it understood where she had gone, but tried to move quietly just in case it lost track of her. The effort nearly made her pass out from pain. Every turn onto her stomach hurt like the fires of hell itself, and the act of rolling must have involved abdominal muscles because every effort brought screaming anguish to her midsection.

The woman choked back a whimper with each move. She was a self contained universe of misery. It took a supreme act of will just to keep going through the motions required to keep her moving. She didn't even realize she had rolled out from under the truck...

...until she struck the thicket of legs standing on the other side.

This time Libby managed to scream as she was hauled to her feet by viselike grips and pushed up against the side of cab. Teeth sank into her arms and shoulder, and several more withered hands plunged like gnarled spears into the gaping hole in her stomach. Now her whole body became a mindless blossom of agony. The pain before had been nothing compared to this. She could feel their claw like fingers close around the vitals inside her before twisting and tearing them free.

Yet despite the hopelessness, the all encompassing pain, and the knowledge she couldn't hope to survive the damage now done to her, Libby still writhed in ever more feeble attempts to jerk free. She still didn't want to die.

Not now.

Not like this.

Above her, the sky erupted with a harsh cacophony as a thousand crows started calling at once. Lightning flared again, and Libby got one last look at the world. She couldn't see the faces of her assailants, as they were all pressed up against her arms, body, and legs while eating her alive...but that meant she had a clear view over them.

Libby's last vision on earth was of even more of the skull-faced horrors pouring out of the cornfield before the darkness closed back around her forever.

Chapter Three: Nightfall.

Nightfall - Holly.

"You see, Holly?" Gerald gestured out the window of the Textro's diner after a flash of lightning. "It's going to rain. Those idiots at the game are going to get soaked while we can enjoy the weather from in here."

"I suppose," Holly sighed and picked up the menu. She really didn't feel like going into this. Disagreeing with him would only make him get defensive and loud, and his nasal voice carried enough as it was.

"You suppose?" The plump redhead waved his hand in exasperation. "Come on, Holly. I know this is your home state and you feel obligated to defend its honor and all, but at least you're a city girl...this is knuckle dragger territory."

Holly kept her face blank and started perusing the menu. As a suburbanite from South Houston, she did qualify as a city girl. But she had still looked forward to spending a long weekend home from the University of Texas in Austin, getting together with her old high school friends and cheering on her Bulldogs against the hated Pirates.

But it wasn't to be.

At the last minute, Gerald had showed an uncharacteristic interest in her origins and insisted on accompanying her on this get together. She had initially been taken aback. The little dilettante seldom liked travelling outside his circle of coffee shop friends, or wandering far from an internet connection. Then a flare of hope had occurred along with the idea of him finally starting to take a healthier interest in her as a person.

Just maybe her long suffering patience was beginning to get through the wealthy little nerd's shell of narcissism and awful social skills.

She should have known better.

Gerald had demanded they take his BMW as opposed to her old Toyota Scion. That should have been her first clue of trouble brewing.

Usually he preferred her to drive, especially if they were going to unfamiliar territory for him, but this time insisted he needed to road test "the beamer" since it was fresh back from an overhaul and detailing. But once underway he had fussed about the dust and dirt from driving the three hours over rural highways he assured her only the most desperate of Neanderthals would ever dream of living along. Then he insisted on stopping at a carwash before meeting her friends.

By that time she had already begun to smell the disaster coming.

Sure enough, what she had hoped would be an occasion to show off her boyfriend on his best behavior had turned into a debacle.

He had strutted around in his little suede beret and didn't miss a chance to flaunt his car, expensive cell phone, and pretty much act a general ass...and all the while probably thinking they were impressed. Then, when they had caravanned to Masonfield to watch the football game, he had checked the weather on the radio and rebelled at the thought he might get caught out on some "grubby, three mule school's bleachers in the middle of a typhoon."

So now her friends were likely huddled under tarps and having a great time at the game, while she sat here listening to Gerald congratulate himself on how smart he was.

She couldn't decide if the fact it never occurred to him to consult with her on this decision was more irritating or depressing. She had grown used to it in Austin, and honestly didn't care since most of the different things Gerald did there had about equal appeal to her. But this was supposed to have been her weekend...

Her weekend.

But he was connected, and his father was a lot more connected, and when your major is theater one of the first things you learned was who you knew mattered. And she honestly liked his father. Connor Plimpton was thoughtful, generous, and treated her nicely. He even once said she deserved a medal for her patience with his self-absorbed son. Holly liked to think that one day, with patience and understanding, she would be able to bring out some of Connor's qualities in Gerald. She knew they had to be in there somewhere.

It would just take time to reach him.

Until then, she would console herself with the decent roles she was getting via Connor's influence in the theater department. Not leading roles, of course, but still enough stage time to build a list of credits for her resume. It was still up to her to master the roles given and do them credit. Holly took care never to forget that and worked hard to take advantage of her opportunities. This helped negate any residual guilt she felt over the advantages she had received, and it gave her a greater sense of control over her own situation...

...and next time she decided to come visit her old friends, she would just leave Gerald an email after she left.

He would panic, and suspect she was seeing somebody else, but that was old territory for her. She knew how to let those little tempests blow over. For now, her only wish was to get him back to Austin, to the crowd who knew him, before he caused her any more grief or embarrassment.

Which was impossible, naturally.

"Hey Senora!" Gerald waved his little beret at the tall Hispanic waitress as she walked by. "Uno momento, por favor."

Holly fought the urge to slide under the table as the young woman stopped and fixed them both with a blank stare. Oh yes, she definitely intended to get out of here as soon as possible. She would just order a drink and start texting goodbyes to her friends at the game. She would see them next time. Getting back to Austin couldn't come soon enough.

"Yes, sir?" The waitress pulled out her ordering pad and walked back to their table. She spoke with a controlled courtesy that made Holly wince.

If Gerald noticed the tone, he gave no indication.

"Ah yes, my good woman," he expanded and held up the menu, "I was just perusing your selection of culinary choices and I noticed a certain running theme in the collection. So I was wondering...do you perchance have anything on this menu that isn't fried, or even worse, deep fried?"

The waitress blinked as if confused by the question. Then she regarded Gerald with an expression one would favor on a slow child.

"No sir. This is a truck stop. Everything here is fried. Even the coffee is fried...sometimes."

Gerald, perhaps sensing the sarcasm despite his usual lack of social cues, started to look unamused.

"Oh really. Perhaps a salad?"

"A salad? You want a salad?"

"Please." His voice didn't have a hint of "please" in it.

The waitress tapped her finger on her pencil for a few seconds, then favored him with a bright smile.

"Okay, here's what we will do. We'll order you a hamburger, and leave off the meat and bun. Instant salad!"

"Are you serious?"

"It's a solution," the girl stated primly, putting pencil to her order pad. "Do you want regular or curly fries with your 'salad', sir?"

Holly could sense this would be heading south fast.

Gerald didn't have the sense to know when to quit, and she was already picking up on the vibe this waitress had a problem with him. Any second now Gerald would go into a huff and demand to see her boss...and if he employed his usual grace and social skills in that encounter then it would probably result in the two of them getting tossed out and the waitress getting a bonus for having to put up with such an obnoxious idiot.

"We'll just both have a slice of that silk pie in the display," Holly interrupted, "and a couple of cokes."

She forced herself not to bite her lip as two pair of eyes settled on her. Gerald glared in obvious dismay at her interruption, and she knew she would be hearing about this later. He hated it when she smoothed things over for him, and almost always took it as some kind of affront to his competence as a man.

On the other hand, the look of pity the waitress favored on her almost made Holly cringe.

"Yes, ma'am. Coming right up." The tall girl snapped the order pad shut and walked smartly away from the table.

Holly sighed in relief, and ignored the wounded glower now focused on her from across the table. She would have a little peace while he pouted, then it would be time to patch things up. The best approach would probably be to insist such a squabble would have been beneath him. An appeal to his ego usually had the best rate of success.

Until then, she could start texting apologies to her friends.

Nightfall - Deke.

"Hey, Harley? Is your dad's boat still parked behind your house?"

Deke addressed his companion while casting a calculating eye across the restaurant where Stacey Collins poured coffee for a white haired trucker at the bar. She laughed at something the customer said and flashed a smile that seemed to illuminate the entire bar area. His nerves were on high, but oddly enough the pressure now had an almost calming effect as he realized he was committed to taking action.

"Sure." Harley stirred sugar into his coffee and looked at him with interest. "Whatcha got in mind?"

"An alternative to watching Jeopardy with my mom. Let's find out if the sucker still floats. How does Sunday work for you?"

"Not bad!" Harley mused, "If you go down in flames tonight, at least we still got something to do."

"Thanks for that enthusiastic vote of confidence."

"You're welcome, but make it Wednesday."

"Why Wednesday?"

"Because," Harley gave a mild look over his coffee at Deke, "Stacey works on Sunday, and her next day off isn't till Wednesday."

"Oh, well I guess that makes se..." He stopped and narrowed his eyes at his bigger friend. "Now how the hell do you know that? How long have you been planning this, anyway?"

"Son, if you're going to get out of the webbed-foot bracket and start playing in the bigger leagues, you have to do the simple homework like this. Women expect you to have your shit together."

"Molly Harper doesn't have webbed feet! Sheesh, did she kick your dog or something?"