Jon kept eyeing the radar monitor for any activity. A cycle gang had taken up residence somewhere along that section of the interstate a few weeks earlier. A dozen wrecks had been found stripped and burned, and some were still occupied by the owners. Police were sure that other victims of these Total Savages -- the name sprayed with neon paint onto several of the car shells -- still out there, waiting to be discovered.
The ten-wheeler was protected, sporting a turreted blast cannon for offense and flaming oil for defense, but Jon still felt nervous being on the road. No trucks had been hit yet-- possibly because a ten-wheeler, like Jon's, posed too big a target for the gang. After all, the thought of a group of cycles attacking a well-armed and armored truck boggled the mind -- they might as well attack a tank with a pack of red wagons. But Jon did not like taking unnecessary risks.
The only reason Jon agreed to this midnight excursion slept on a mattress in the back of the truck. Susan Thorpe was an avergae, down-to-earth-type girl with dark hair, and a fair complexion. Unfortunately, she also had a rare, incurable condition. It had no effect on her most of the time, but when the attacks occurred, she would be stricken with intense pain. Although Jon had known her only three months, he was very much in love with her and had been from the moment they had met. He wanted desperately to be able to help her.
Keeping an eye on the road signs proclaiming the distance to his destinatition, Jon's nerves danced rumbas even as the numbers dwindled. His brother, Dr. Stephen Lewis, worked at medical research facility. Stephen's field was genetic therapy. From a small scraping of cell tissue, he could print a set of human blueprints. Granted, scientists still did not know what it all meant, but they had isolated and identified many genes. As a result, diesases of genetic origin could be "cured" by simply replacing the "bad" genes.
Jon sat close to the wheel. His eyes opened wide, he scanned the road ahead constantly. His grip of the wheel turned his knuckles white. He remembered the intense look Stephen had given him on the visiphone just hours before when he had described Susan's problem.
"Bring her in ASAP," Stephen had said. "She'll get immediate attention." Holding his chin in his fist, he mulled over the possibilities. "Examing Susan and her DNA thoroughly may reveal some clue to the cause of her illness. That would put us in the ballpark in finding a cure. If the opportunity arose, one of her attacks could be observed... "
Jon had winced at that suggestion. His brother had taken notice. "Let's hope that won't happen or be necessary." After a quick look around the lab to see that no one was near, Stephen had explained, in a soft voice, that some or all of the afflicted gene pattern could be "modified." The possibility existed that even if the disease could not be eradicated from her cell structure, specific nucleic pairs in the gene map could be altered, programming her body to ignore the bad genetic code. The treatment was risky and very regulated.
"A computer program can branch around commands that will never get executed. The program won't even know the code is there. Likewise, her body can 'forget' that it's diseased." Stephen didn't add, and didn't have to, that major "reprograming" of genetic code was considered unethical by those few doctors that understood the process. Many of them believed the same thing about making clones of people that were not dead.
That was why Jon was traveling without any escort. Nobody could know what would happen.
The clouds filling the sky shrouded the light of the full moon immersing the road in total darkness. Jon was thankful; it reduced the chance of being spotted or ambushed. A voice in the back of his head kept telling him that it was almost midnight. A digital clock on the dashboard constantly reminded him of the time left before the 13th would be upon him.
Jon noticed a sign as it sped by. "Just another 20 miles," he said to himself, "and everything will be just fine." He tried to reassure himself, but the positive words could not stop the prickly hairs on the back of his neck from standing on end. He also was not sure that Susan would be fine. He crossed his fingers and hoped.
The sudden blips of the radar caught Jon by surprise. The shiver that ran through his body shook him so much that the truck nearly swerved off the highway. He caught himself immediately and told himself there was nothing to worry about. If the cycle gang was out there, they wouldn't dare attack.
The sound of gunfire caused Jon's heart to skip a beat.
He checked his mirrors and discovered that the cycles were moving very independently about a fixed set of headlights. Jon surmised that a group of cycles had found a victim somewhere up the road. According to the radar, there was a van-sized vehicle in the middle of the pack.
"Damn," he cursed. "What do I do?" He wasn't sure whether he should slow down and help or if he should mind his own business -- for his safety as well as Susan's.
As the blips approached the center of the screen, the decision quickly became moot. The van was trying to shake the cycles and was doing at least eighty. At that speed, Jon thought, they'll kill you with one shot to your tires. If you don't kill yourself first.
Knowing what the right thing to do was, Jon drifted into the right lane to give the van room to pass. It was to soon to spill the oil, so he swung the turret back, firing a warning shot into the air. The blast cannon briefly lit up the sky and thundered into the night. Jon smiled when the rear-view mirror showed that two bikers swerved momentarily from the repercussions. "Those shots are definitely earbreakers."
He grabbed the radio. "Let him through!" he growled. Blood pumped furiously; his pulse was pounding. His confidence had returned and delivered an easy victory. He felt great. Then, the black van pulled in front of him, totally unscathed.
"It's a setup!" Jon spat.
The half dozen cycles took their positions beside and behind the mid-size truck. The van cut right in front of Jon. When its brake lights lit, Jon's foot dropped down on the accelerator to bump the smaller vehicle out of his way.
Before he could, though, the illumination from the truck's headlights reflected off the van's licence plate. To his horror, Jon read the number: KIX-113. His right foot involuntarily jumped on the brakes with the force of a freight train. The truck jerked to a halt, and Jon's head slammed into the steering wheel.
The dim dashboard lights faded out replaced by visions of 13's swimmming in his mind's eye. Jon raised his hand up to his head to stop the world from spinning. On his third attempt, he managed to touch his face only to discover the ooze seeping from the flesh beneath his fingertips. He heard the door open beside him but could not lift his head to see who was there. "Susan, is that you? Are you okay?" The words rung out in his mind but were stuck in his throat and went unspoken.
Two hands grabbed Jon's arm and pulled him out, sending him tumbling to the ground. "That was a pretty good stop," echoed an unknown voice. "We thought you would put up more of a fight." Snake Bite, the leader of the cycle gang and also their van driver, ordered two of his cohorts to pick Jon up and hold him.
"Leave her alone," Jon managed to utter. His head throbbed, but his sight and speech were returning.
Snake grabbed Jon's chin, lifted it from his chest, and held it close to his own. Snake's face, half-illuminated from the cycle headlights, sported a rattlesnake tatoo under the left eye. The design covered two punture scars which were the origin of the gang leader's nickname. "Sure, we'll leave your truck alone. We might even let you live. We're not total savages, you know."
That drew a laugh from the six cyclists, each of whom wore a leather jacket with the name Total Savages emblazoned across the back. It was standard prattle to their victims.
"You see, pal, we're civilized guys, not like those other creeps who'll rip you off." Snake took a good look at their captured truck and its driver. "I can tell that a guy like you wouldn't be out on a night like this unless something real good is in that truck. That puts you in a great position to make a deal. Our company policy is if we like it, we put it in our van and take it."
Jon started to struggle. The thought of Susan in the hands of these beasts exploded furiously in his mind. His captors shook him a few times increasing the pain in his head.
"After that," Snake continued. "You and your truck are free to go on your merry way, and maybe you'll have the pleasure of doing business with us again." Jon's spine shivered from Snake's cold laughter.
Snake released Jon's chin and proceeded to the back of the truck. The others followed, dragging Jon. The back of the truck was locked securely, rigged with small explosives. Technically illegal, but usually effective in detering thieves. When pushed forward to open the locks, Jon considered setting off the anti-personnel devices, which would kill him and most, if not all, of his assailants. He nixed that thought when he realized that Susan would be left alone, helpless to the next group of bandits.
Pain shook his hands so much that he twice nearly detonated the explosives accidentally. When the last lock clicked, one of the goons pushed Jon aside with an elbow to the ribs and knocked him to the ground with a pistol butt to the back of the head. Razor, who wore a razor blade dangling from his left lobe, stood over Jon with the pistol pointed at Jon's head. "Don't get up."
Snake took immense pleasure, as he usually did, in throwing the latch. "Let's see what we got." The trailer door opened with a squeak and a squeal--a squeak from the rusty hinges and a squeal from inside the darkness. Snake quickly grabbed a flashlight and shone it into the truck. The high-intensity beam revealed a mattress and a pair of shapely legs.
"Leave her alone, you filthy animals!" Jon yelled, repeating his earlier demand. "She's a sick woman." A boot to the head was the only response.
Snake moved the light so that it lit Susan's pale, terrified face briefly before she covered it with her arms. She shivered from the rush of cold night air. Everyone saw the chains that bound her wrists together and to the side of the truck.
Snake dropped the flashlight in disgust and pulled out his gun. He walked over to where Jon was sprawled out on the highway and gave him a swift kick in his side. Jon's body was almost unaffected by the new pain surging through his body.
"You got a babe chained up like that, and you call us animals?" He turned to two of his buddies. "Ace, Shark, cut her out of there." The two of them climbed into the truck as Snake turned his attention back to the prone figure on the ground in front of him. "I ought to kill you right here in the street. No matter what they say about us, we don't rough up ladies."
A freightened scream pierced the night, followed by a single gunshot that echoed within the truck. Jon tried to stand, but Razor kicked his knee, knocking him back to the road. There was nothing Jon could do but lie on his back in anguish, staring into the sky. The clouds rolled along, allowing the moonlight to shine down onto the highway.
Shark jumped out of the cargo area, and Ace carefully lowered the sickly Susan out of the darkness into Shark's arms. Her complexion was pale and flaky, her hair stringy and unkept. "Put her in the van," Snake ordered. "In the front seat." He turned back to Jon. "What's this disease she got? You make her sick?"
Jon watched the gun as it came closer to the bridge of his nose. A man's scream interrupted the execution. Looking to the van, Snake saw Susan convulsing from head to toe, while Shark watched in horror. With a terrifying howl, Susan raised her head from Shark's shoulder. When Shark saw her blood-filled eyes and her foaming mouth, his bladder burst, sending a stream of hot liquid down his legs. He dropped his arms to his sides, and Susan tumbled to the ground.
Her face grew paler, and her neck bulged. The sleeves of her blouse tore as muscles in her upper arm expanded beyond the fabric's stretching point. Her hands grew hairy, and her fingers bony. Her skin crawled back as her nails burst from her fingertips, growing longer and sharper. Her teeth transformed into fangs, and fur covered her body.
A petrified Shark watched the metamorphosis unbelieving. He stood still when Susan raised her hand -- paw? -- with a growl and ripped into his chest. He felt his muscles tear as easily as his clothing. His heart pounded frantically, pumping blood through the cavity in his torso. In the two years he had been a Total Savage, Shark had killed dozens mercilessly. He knew his turn had now come. He did not survive the second attack.
As the dead bandit dropped to the pavement, his friends opened fire on Susan, knocking her back against the van. The slugs had no other effect. Letting out a banshee wail, Susan pounced on Ace, burrowing her teeth into his neck.
The remaining thieves ran for their bikes and rode away, leaving behind Jon and Snake. Susan turned to the deserted gang leader and snarled. She could smell his fear.
Snake's body refused all commands to move. Jon used that moment to drag himself away from his motionless captor and toward his cab. He did not look at Susan but he knew what was about to happen. When he reached the door, he heard the growl, the shriek, and the shredding of human flesh by a hungry wolf.
Jon struggled for the door handle just out of his reach. The hair on his arms and neck rose with the next chilling howl. It was not yet midnight, but the spectre of Friday the 13th laughed at him. He jumped for the handle, briefly putting weight on his injured knee. Lightning coursed through his nerves. He fell back to the ground with a muffled scream as the door popped open.
Looking up, he caught Susan's gaze. She seemed hesitant to attack. Her malformed nose sniffed her prey's fear but sensed... something. She held her ground watching the prone figure of the friend who had tried to help her. For a moment, she was at peace.
The moment ended abruptly when the torment within Susan's mutated body lashed out at her again. She let out a cry heard throughout the surrounding countryside. Snarling and spitting, the wolf lunged for Jon.
A dashboard alarm sounded out a warning to Jon. Midnight had arrived. But the thoughts of Friday the 13th were far from his mind. Jon reached under the driver's seat and grabbed the knife that laid there. He knew what had to be done and was not afraid. He held it forward and braced himself.
Susan leaped and impaled herself, splattering both of them with her blood. Her spirit left her with a final yelp, and her lifeless body fell onto the highway next to Jon. Slowly, her face shed the rough, cracked skin reverting back to her softer, smoother features. Her swollen, mishapen muscles returned to normal size. Susan appeared the same as she had earlier -- with the exception of the tattered clothing and the bloody puncture in her chest.
Jon wiped off the sterling silver knife with a handkerchief, wrapped it, and stuck it inside his boot. Then he leaned over and kissed Susan one last time. "I'm sorry, Sue," he said. "I know you'll forgive me when Steve brings you back. When he does the memory transfer, I'll make sure he doesn't copy the last hour. Screw the medical ethics." Jon looked across the road at the results of the terror spree. "Some things," he sighed, "you should not have to remember."
Silently, Jon added that maybe Susan was better off this way in the event that no remedy could be found for her lycanthropy. She was at peace now, and there was no reason to force a painful existence upon her. Jon stared at the full moon above him that had caused the whole incident until it faded back beyond the clouds, and the highway was again shrouded in darkness.