PIT-STOP: Ten people trapped in the Pit-Stop Grill, a roadside oasis on Route 66, but also the last stop on the road to HELL...

The bus driver continued toward the Pit-Stop, strolling leisurely, taking wide strides on spindly legs as if he had all the time in the world. He wore a plain black uniform with a matching bus driver�s cap. His lanky frame passed the gas pumps.

Scott huddled next to Dustin. �We could take him. If we all charged him at once, we could take him.�

Dustin�s eyes were glued to the approaching driver. As Scott finished talking he saw the white-faced man crack a smile, as if he had heard Scott�s question. Because he did. Dustin thought. Dear Lord, he hears everything we say. Maybe even everything we think.

�I think that would be a bad idea,� Dustin finally said.

�I�m open to any good ideas,� Scott replied, a trace of anger in his voice.

�I�m working on it.�

�Work faster.�

Footsteps echoed through the door. Click, click, click. A silhouette paused in the threshold then the driver stepped silently inside.

�He has a nametag,� Laura whispered.

Dustin saw it�a small white circle on his right breast pocket with one word sewn in red. His heart sank another notch. �So that�s Ramsey.�

The bus driver paused once more to look with crimson eyes at the crowd at the far end of the diner, eight people pressed together. Then he walked to the counter and took a seat on the first bar stool.

�Holly,� he said in a voice soft as velvet. He could have been in bed whispering to a lover. �Where are you, Holly?�

She stepped from the back room, shivering all over. �I�m here.� She tried to make eye contact with him but couldn�t find the courage to do it.

Ramsey placed delicate white hands on the counter. �You know what sounds good, Holly? Iced tea. I swear it�s been an eternity since I�ve had a nice glass of iced tea. Would you bring me some? A hemina�s worth should suffice.�

A hemina�s worth? Dustin had never heard the word and would guess no one else in their group had either. He had a distinct feeling they were looking at a being who had traversed all cultures and nations, all eras of history too. He frowned. How old was this guy?

Holly nodded curtly. �Right away.�

She disappeared into the back room and Dustin heard pots clanking as Holly rushed to fill the order. Meanwhile, the bus driver remained motionless on the stool, his eyes pointed at the cook�s window. A hint of a smile curled his pasty lips. Holly reappeared with a pitcher of honey-colored liquid and a clean glass. She placed the glass in front of him. It rattled against the counter as her hands shook and she poured the tea, using all her focus to keep from sloshing even a drop.

�Thank you, Holly,� he said, bringing the cup to his lips. His glittering red eyes never left the waitress as he took several long gulps, his throat clicking with each swallow. He set the empty glass on the counter and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

�Holly,� he said with a voice infuriatingly calm. �Please show your customers what happens when they refuse to get on the bus.�

Even through the nerves stretching Holly�s face, her expression dropped. She didn�t move at first. Then, with noticeable strain, her hand lifted to her blouse. She unbuttoned the top button, then the next one. She stopped.

�Ramsey, please,� she whispered. �Please don�t make me.�

He replied like a parent softly disciplining a child. �Holly, show the people what happens when you don�t get on the bus.�

She closed her eyes as a line of mascara ran down her cheek. She unclasped the next button and pulled open her blouse.

�Oh, crap,� Bill said. He was the only one who spoke. Cassie let out a small whimper. Everyone else could barely breathe as they stared at the cavity where Holly�s chest should have been. The skin was gone. Instead there were mold-covered ribs and even darker things lurking beneath. Decrepit organs like fist-sized raisins writhed and pumped under the bones. Holly closed her blouse as quickly as she opened it.

�Thank you, Holly,� Ramsey said. �You may go now.�

The waitress lowered her head and stepped into the backroom with her hand over her mouth trying to stifle the sobs. Ramsey the bus driver revolved slowly on the bar stool, turning toward them.

�Now,� he said with a sigh. �Get on the bus or suffer the same wrath.�

�No,� Scott answered, his voice cracking. �Don�t listen to him. He can�t get us all. We have to stick together.�

Ramsey puckered his lips. �Such a valiant path. And yet, it�s never succeeded.�

Scott didn�t move, though Dustin could see a slight tremble in his legs. Then he realized he was trembling, too. They all were, as if an electric current passed through the group.

�You�re going down!� Bill cried, throwing his baseball cap aside. He ran at the driver, yelling a wordless battle cry, his fists raised and ready as he stampeded toward the albino perched on the bar stool. Ramsey never got up. He lifted one ghostly finger and touched Bill�s fist as it dived toward him.

Bill fell over howling in pain.

He landed on his side then rolled onto his back, shrieking like a banshee. A large circle of red appeared on the drunk driver�s chest. The stain deepened, making trenches of crimson in his shirt as a �Y� shape bled into the center of the circle, resembling a peace sign or a�

�A steering wheel?� Dustin said.

�Very good, Mr. Calloway,� Ramsey said, nodding respectfully. �Bill�s car didn�t have an airbag, and I�m afraid he was too drunk to remember his seatbelt. He died instantly, impaled on his own steering wheel. Such a shame, as you can see.�

Bill screamed. Janine buried her face in Dustin�s shirt. He couldn�t blame her. Bill Myers� chest was collapsing in front of them. Bones crinkled and snapped like popcorn popping. And yet Bill kept screaming. His lungs should have been punctured. His esophagus had to be tattered ribbons.

Scott was thinking the same thing. �How is he still yelling? Why isn�t he dead yet?�

�He can�t die,� Dustin said. �He�s already dead.�

Ramsey leaned over Bill without getting off his barstool. �Would you like to get on the bus now?�

�Yes!� Bill cried and the moment he said it the blood disappeared from his shirt and his chest re-inflated. His screaming snapped off like a switch. He looked down at his body through tear-filled eyes.

�I would hurry if I were you,� Ramsey said.

Bill didn�t need further convincing. He leapt to his feet and ran outside, racing for the bus. It welcomed him into its black stomach with cryptic silence.

The bus driver rose from the barstool and stretched. His spine cracked and sounded like twigs snapping. He yawned, revealing shimmering, blood-caked teeth, and turned to the others.

�Who�s next?�