The Driver

His name was John. Very basic—common—and like most every other basic white man on the road, John was a good ‘ole fashioned truck driver. He’d been driving his big rig for fifteen years when things changed for him. It was April 12th, 1995. Just your typical Wednesday evening. As was the usual deal, John was at Betsy’s—a diner in Savannah, Georgia—celebrating his now 35th birthday. Well, the diner was. John never liked the attention, though he did like the free meal. Candy Mantel, the managing waitress and John’s closest ally, was behind the counter with a coffee mug, refilling the gentleman beside John’s cup.

“Now’n if’n you see anythin’ Gerald; y’all come’n get me, y’hear?”

The man grunted and shifted in his seat. “I done told ya already, Dee. Ain’t nothin’ worth seein’. Just them same ‘ole marsh-heads try’n’a come’n start up trouble. Ain’t nothin’ for it.”

“I thought I told you to call Arthur on them rats!” Candy put the coffee mug down angrily. “What good’s a sheriff if y’don’t call ‘im?”

“Oh, what’s the sheriff gonna do? They ain’t goin’ nowhere; ain’t no point’n stirrin’ the pot.”

“You mean those boys down by the Mill?”

Candy turned to see her youngest hire—17-year-old Ellie Parks—walking forward curiously.

“You know ‘em?” Candy raised a brow.

“Oh—my Papa’s always talkin’ about those boneheads. Him and that Gary Goodman are the closing shifts down there. Every night there’s somethin’ new bein’ tossed about on the roads’n exits’n such. They been findin’ empty soda pops and butts all over the property line. Sometimes, they’ll find food and candy wrappers by their cars—like someone been leanin’ against ‘em. Papa found a burger wrapper on his hood just last week!”

Candy tsked and shook her head. “How’re they bein’ raised?”

“I doubt they even are.” Gerald’s deep voice was cold, and he huffed. He took a long sip from his cup, leaving small droplets of coffee in his mustache. John had always had a strange admiration for Gerald’s mustache. It was bushy enough that you almost couldn’t see his lips, and yet, aside from the present droplets, he always kept it meticulously clean. For a pig farmer, he took a lot more care of himself than one may think.

“Your Daddy say anythin’ about callin’ them thugs in?” Candy watched as Ellie refilled John’s cup. He gave a thankful nod when she put the fresh brew in front of him.

“Mm.” Ellie shook her head. “Not t’me at least. Though I’m sure them big wigs at the Mill’ve had a word or two with the authorities. They’re big money—they can’t have no criminals runnin’ around their buildin’.”

“Hmph.” Gerald rolled his eyes, and took another sip of his cup.

“They bother you any, Gerald?” Ellie raised a brow. “Over at the farm?”

“Nah.” Gerald smirked. “Not since I shot one’a them suckers in the ass. They don’t like bullets none.”

“You shot one?!” Candy gasped.

“Not properly.” Gerald sighed. “Must’a grazed the sucker—yelpin’ as him and his friends scurried off.”

“Gerald, you’re gonna get yourself right arrested if’n ya do that again!” Ellie frowned. “Y’all can’t be off’n shootin’ each other!”

“Like I said, El.” Gerald sighed. “Just grazed ‘im.”

Candy shook her head and patted Ellie’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry none, child.” She turned to Gerald. “And don’t you go shootin’ none—not no more.”

“Hmph.” Gerald grunted as Candy and Ellie stepped away. Quickly they turned to assist new customers walking in. A group of four fishermen.

“Boys out fishin’ this late?” Candy’s voice echoed.

John took a sip from his cup and for a brief moment, there was silence.

“So—what’s it you’re lookin’ for?” Gerald didn’t look at John.

John paused and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small, folded slip of paper and passed it to Gerald casually. “Her.”

“Her?” Gerald raised a brow and took the paper quietly. He unfolded the slip quietly, revealing a crinkled image of a woman with long black hair. “Ah, hell.” Gerald folded the paper and passed it back to John in irritation. “I know Arthur didn’t send ya all the way out here for a monger.” Gerald watched as John put the picture back into his pocket. “We haven’t had one a them blood-suckin’ fucks down ‘ere in decades.”

“Arthur thinks there’s a hive down here.”

Gerald swallowed. “Pardon?”

“They’ve been dwindling up north.” John paused. “Last hive was in Philly.”

“The one in ’65?”

“Yup.” John sighed. “Since then; survivors—escapees—vanished. Dispersed across the country. Some made their way into Canada, others Mexico, but the majority remained, opting to move to the southern states where most mongers wouldn’t think to go.”

“You’d think they’d’ve been found by now—if that’s the case.”

“After an attack like that—they’ve adapted. Learned to blend in and keep a low profile.”

Gerald pinched the bridge of his nose. “Our winters don’t get cold enough for them; our summers are worse and worse. They’d die, John.”

“You don’t understand, Gerald. They adapt. They learn how to function. They do what needs to be done. That instinct is the only thing that they have in common with us—fight or flight. You’d do whatever it took, wouldn’t you?”

“John—”

“Say one shows up—you have two options: fight for your life, or run. You either fight to protect your family, and to rid this place of a risk, thus risking your own life, or, you run. Your family needs you; you can’t risk dying. So you run. You go home, and either barricade the house, or drive off.” John pause. “It’s a split second decision—you don’t have time the minute one of those things shows up.”

“You boys still doin’ good?”

John and Gerald looked up as Candy approached. “‘Bout time y’all’s cups goin’ dry.”

“Took you long enough.” Gerald quipped jokingly.

“Sorry, Ger—got a couple a fishermen from Shellman needin’ a meal.” Candy grabbed the nearby coffee pot and began pouring the coffee within into Gerald’s cup. “Been out for a while, they said.” Candy moved to John’s cup.

“What’s a couple a Bluff’s doin’ up here? Ain’t nothin’ up ‘ere for ‘em.”

Candy set the pot on the counter with a hand on her hip looking annoyed. “Ain’t no problem goin’ out and visitin’ other places, Gerald. Just cause you never leave this swamp, don’t mean everybody else does the same.”

“Ah, calm down Dee. Criminey.”

“Hmph.” Candy turned to John. “You doin’ okay there, Johnny? Sorry again ‘bout the cake.”

Gerald stood quietly. “I’ll be back.”

“Now don’t go mucking up my restrooms again, Gerald—I know it was you that made that sandy mess last time!”

“I ain’t done no such thing, Candy, and y’all know it!”

Candy rolled her eyes as Gerald rounded the corner. He passed by the fishermen on his way down the small hall towards the restrooms.

“I told him you were comin’ and he didn’t even flinch.” Candy sighed. “Didn’t smile none neither.”

“Oh, he’s fine Dee.” John shook his head. “He’s an old man like me. We’re grouchy.”

“Now don’t go sayin’ that to me, John Scott. Yer just now 35! That grumpy old fart’s twice that at least!”

John chuckled. “I suppose.”

“Anyways, dear,” Candy put the coffee pot back on its rest. “How’ve you been? Been on the road so long I’d almost forgotten what y’all looked like.”

“Oh, I’m fine Dee. Same as always.”

“I could never do your job, John.” Candy sighed. “Drivin’ all day? Mm. My ass would be yellin’ at me by hour two!”

“It’s not for everyone.” John took a sip of his coffee. “But someone’s gotta do it.”

“I s’pose. What’s got you drivin’ down here, then?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s in that big rig of yours?” Candy smiled. “Anythin’ fun?”

John smiled. “Supplies for Ma and Pa’s Groceries.”

“Ah shoot; that ain’t no fun. That place got not even three spots. What they makin’ to have a big ‘ole shipment like that?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” John chuckled. “I don’t ask questions. I just deliver.”

“Smart man.” Candy pointed at John with a smile. “Just take your share and run, John, run.”

“Always do.”

There was a small clatter, causing John and Candy to turn their attention towards the opposite end of the diner.

“I-I’m sorry, Dee!” Ellie trembled. “They just…fell outta nowhere’s!”

Candy looked to see that Ellie had dropped a tray of glasses. Most of them had survived the fall, but quite a few hadn’t.

“Ah, Heavens to Betsy—Leave it alone, El—I got it.” Candy gave a small nod to John and hurried off. “What on Earth happened?”

“I-I don’t know! I got winded!”

John turned to look at Ellie suspiciously. As he did, the sight of Gerald passing the table of fishermen took his attention off of her. Gerald looked pale as he sat down at his plate quickly.

“You alri—”

“Those ain’t fish hooks.” Gerald whispered.

“What?”

“One a them Bluff’s—got two pin pricks on his neck.”

John turned his attention to the fishermen carefully. He noticed that each one seemed to be looking strangely at Ellie and Candy.

“Fuck.” John looked at Gerald angrily. “So,” John took hold of the steak knife beside his plate and wiped it off slowly. “My shit’s in the truck.” John remained calm, trying not to draw attention to himself. “Knives ain’t gonna do shit, but they’re good obstacles.”

Gerald looked at John in fear. “N-Now, John—this—”

John stood slowly and moved about as if tidying his spot. He turned to Gerald casually. “They lookin’?”

Gerald nodded. “I can tell.”

“Good.” John was grim. “Just act normal.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Grabbing a couple bills from within, he placed them onto the counter and then returned his wallet to his pocket. “Well—gotta get on the road.”

“What?” Gerald noticed John’s voice was just slightly louder than before.

“I got that shipment for Ma and Pa’s.” He shook his head. “Keep wonderin’ what they’re makin’ over there to need a big ‘ole shipment like this.”

“Shoot!” Candy stood up. “You leavin’ already, John?”

“Need ta get there early if I’m gonna unload without customers comin’ in.” John yawned. “Everybody wants that parking spot.”

“Well darn.” Candy turned to Ellie who stood shakily. “Hey, now—you okay?”

Ellie wobbled a bit, placing a hand to her forehead. “I…I think I need a minute, Dee. I’m not feelin’ right.”

“Well, alright, let’s get you to—”

Suddenly, Ellie collapsed. Her face was flushed and she was breathing harshly.

“Ellie?!” Candy gasped. “Someone call 911!”

Gerald stood nervously, and rounded the counter to reach a small telephone near a set of receipt boxes. “I got it!”

“I’m a certified nurse, ma’am.” One of the fishermen stood quickly. “Let me take a look.”

John looked, and noticed the ‘pin pricks’ that Gerald had been talking about. His heart skipped a beat. He grabbed the knife, and slowly approached the table that held the other three fishermen.

“Sheriff! Yes! I’m at Betsy’s Diner on 29th and 3rd! One a the waitresses has collapsed!”

“Ma’am, I’m gonna need you to get a bucket of cold water and a clean rag for me.” The fisherman nodded at Candy.

“R-Right!” Candy stood quickly, and hurried into the kitchen. John made his move. He bolted for the fisherman above Ellie with lightning speed, grabbing both Gerald, and the other fishermen’s attentions. Before the man above Ellie could turn, John had the steak knife to his neck, ripping it across fiercely. Blood spurted from the neck then, and the fisherman hissed. His eyes turned black, and four sharp fangs revealed themselves. He grabbed his neck and snarled.

“You!” The fisherman gargled. He coughed blood. John could see the wound starting to close and gripped the knife tighter. “The Driver!”

The other three fishermen leapt from their seats. Their eyes were now black, and their own fangs were showing. Their fingernails grew into sharp claws, and their skin turned a rotting grey hue.

“The infamous Johnathon Scott: death’s delivery man.” One hissed with a grin.

John grinned. “On time, as always.”

The fisherman with the slit neck stood with a small stumble. The wound had closed. “We’ve caught you unawares it seems.” He chuckled as his fingers turned to claws, and skin began to change hue. “You’re using a knife—a normal one at that—to kill me?”

“I do apologize, monger—I only pack my weapons with me when there’s an actual threat lying around.”

The fisherman hissed, glowering at John menacingly. “Driver.”

John smiled. A small drop of sweat formed on the side of his face. “Monger.”

“Consider this your retirement!” The fisherman leapt into the air with a shriek, and lunged for John with his claws outstretched. Quickly, John slid the knife across the fisherman’s neck again, causing more blood to spill, and the creature to once again crumble and gargle.

“Your blood is mine!” One of the other fisherman snarled. He jumped towards John who pierced his throat. He yanked the knife, sending the fisherman to the floor. The other two jumped together, one of their claws digging into John’s side. John let out a cry and gritted his teeth.

“I’m going to rip you limb from limb, Driver!” One cackled.

“Or should we drain him alive first?” The one with his claws in John’s skin licked his lips. “I’m tired of fish and game, Algatras.”

“You fool!” The fisherman known as Algatras hissed. “You dare speak my name in front of him?”

“He is dead anyways!” The fisherman hissed. “He cannot use your name!”

John winced. “I’m not finished with you.”

“Oh, but you are, as we are with you.” Algatras smiled. “Tell me, Driver. Of all of our kind that you’ve slaughtered, was it mongers that you saw getting the better of you?”

John glared.

“A stoic man to the end, I see.” Algatras chuckled. “I’m going to take my time with you, Driver.” He turned to the fisherman closest to Ellie with a smile. “Take the girl. You two,” he looked at the other two fishermen. “Take the old lady in the kitchen and that hack at the phone.”

John squirmed. “Don’t touch them! They’ve done nothing to you!”

“You’re right.” Algatras’ face changed. “They haven’t. They’ve been very kind—hospitable. You don’t find kindness like this at the Bluff.” Algatras was sincere. “But unfortunately, needs must. We’re not going to make it on wildlife. There’s nothing for it. Never enough blood. Never enough meat.” Algatras sighed. “That young one—she’s prime. She would make a great monger, if we had the means.”

“You’re not from a hive.” John was shocked.

“A hive?!” Algatras hissed. “You and yours slaughtered my hive! Slaughtered my people!”

“Philadelphia.” John whispered.

“You weren’t there to see it—our blood spilled.” Algatras was shaking. “Our women! Our children! Dead!”

“Small price for your eating all of us.” John growled.

“Driver!” Algatras sliced into John’s other side with his free claws in rage. “You’ve spoken your last!”

There was a sudden ringing noise in John’s ears. It was so quick. In the silence that was white noise, John watched as Algatras fell forward, landing on top of him roughly. The other fishermen leapt into action, but were sent flying. John looked to his right to see Sheriff Adley in the doorway with his holy-tipped pistol. Beside him was Sheriff Arthur who walked slowly into the diner, looking stiff.

“Helluva scene you got here, Scott.” Adley knelt down and looked at John with a raised brow. “You look like shit.”

“I’m,” John winced. “Fine.” He paused. “Just get this fucker off of me.”

“Sir,” Arthur walked forward slowly. “Is—”

“John, this is Sheriff Arthur Constance. He’s Savannah’s brightest new sheriff, ain’t that right?” Adley turned to John. “He’s been trained to handle small hiccups—never thought he’d see a breather like this.” John looked around the diner. “We’re gonna have to get you into more classes, there, Arthur.” Adley sighed. “As for your question,” Adley pulled Algatras’ corpse off of John carefully. As the claws tore from John’s sides, blood spurted. “Yes, we do burn the bodies.” Adley dumped the body to the side, causing Arthur to stumble backward. “You’re gonna need to be patched up right quick there, Scott.”

“I’ve been through,” John sat up, holding his left side tightly. “Worse…” Blood seeped over his fingers.

“Not worse enough. Arthur, get the car, will you?” Adley looked at John and sighed. “You were real sloppy this time, Scott.”

Gerald rounded the corner of the counter nervously.

“Real fucking sloppy.”

John groaned, collapsing backward in irritated defeat. He closed his eyes, allowing the darkness to consume him as the quickly fading voices of a panicked Gerald and Candy calling for him echoed into the abyss.