Terror at a Chevron

Bill Givens stepped happily out the door of the Chevron, whistling to himself "Baby Got Back." It had been playing on his c.d. player before he pulled into the parking lot in his VW bug to buy an orange Sobe and a pack of Camel Wides. The VW bug was a classic 1967, fully restored and painted cherry red.

He looked to his car, and slowed his pace. His whistle trailed off into a gasp. He looked beyond his car, out near the gas pumps. He saw one of them, trench coat on, briefcase in hand. He knew what was in the briefcase. He feared what was in the briefcase. Their eyes locked.

Bill sped up, reaching for his keys with his free hand. The one in the trench coat walked towards him, keeping an even pace. So confident, so steady and sure, the trench coated one never lost his poise.

The keys were out, and Bill looked for the one that would unlike the bug. He dropped the keys.

"Damn it," he muttered, as he reached for them.

The keys were in his hand. He found the one to unlock the door, and put it into the key hole. He looked behind him. Mr. Trench coat was coming closer.

Bill turned the key, but it stuck. He turned it again. Then again. Sweat was coming down his eyes. His hands were shaking. Then, finally, it unlocked.

But he could hear the feet of Mr. Trench Coat shuffling behind him, kicking a rock. Bill heard the sound of a zipper. He looked behind him again and held his breath. Mr. Trench Coat, one of "them", was reaching inside his briefcase!

The door was unlocked, and Bill pulled on the handle. Nothing. It was jammed. He pulled again and again, but the door did not move. He had to get into the car. It was the only escape. He pleaded with the door, with God, to let him live to see another day.

There was a cough behind him.

Defeated, Bill turned around. He fought back the tears in his eyes.

"Good morning, my friend," said the Mr. Trench Coat. "Have you ever wondered if there was a better life than this one worth living for? I would like to leave you this tract..."