#destroyer

Even with a paper map, it’s too dark to read the tiny lines and letters. You pull over to turn on the cabin light and pore over the unfamiliar roads and ways and points. It’s not any help when you lost yourself an hour ago. The signs out here don’t have the same reflective coating as the main highways and are often hidden behind overgrown leaves.

You sigh and squint closer, hoping that you miraculously find yourself in the print. You fold it up haphazardly and drop it in the passenger seat, next to the empty bottle of water and wrappers. It’s not like you want to get where you’re going. Family reunions aren’t always happy reconciliations.

All you can do is keep driving and hope for a beacon of life. You grip the wheel tight as you roll steady but cautiously down the dusty backroad. Your intent to avoid the chaos of busy highways has backfired. You were prepared for a few extra hours of driving but not for the intense void of the country night.

Ahead, you spot a dull glow. You can’t quite make it out until you’re nearly right beside it. You stop and blink at the lit sign of the bar. Only two of the bulbs on the moniker flicker and shadows flood the lot outside the grim windows.

You pull in. If there’s life inside, they have to at least know where you are. You run your hands over your head and exhale out your anxiety. You shut the engine off and grab the map. As you get out, you tuck your keys in your pocket. It’s only then, you notice the line of motorcycles propped up closer to the walls.

You sniff as your soles crunch over the gravel. As you near the door, it opens from the other side. A man stumbles out, barely missing you as you catch the door and sidestep him. He grumbles and struggles to catch a flame on his lighter as he clamps a cigarette between his lips.

You slide inside before he can notice you. Inside, the low drone of classic rock wafts in the air and the clack of pool balls bounce. Glasses clink and bottles thump onto the bar. You glance around at the leather vests and tattooed arms. Oh boy.

You clear your throat and unfold the map as you approach the bar, using the paper to calm yourself. You look at the bar tender on the other side, a grey handlebar drooping around his lips. You lay down the map.

“Hi, er…” you pause and resist the urge to glance around a second time. “I was hoping you could help me out with some direction… please.”

You try not to let your paranoia get the best of you. Besides, you’re not some Cali blond or college girl waltzing in. You’re a grown woman with time creased in her forehead and nestled above her jeans. Your faded denim and loose tea suggest soccer mom more than bombshell.

The bartender scowls and leans in. He curls his lip as he eyes the map. You shift uneasily.

“Goin’ north or south?”

“South,” you answer. “Just trying to find my way back to the highway.”

“Quite the detour,” he growls.

“Right. Well, I’d appreciate it if you could send me off in the right direction or even help me backtrack. I just need to know where I am.”

He lifts his head and his eyes flit side to side. His lips slant. “You’re in the wrong place, honey.”

A chill runs up your spine as you sense a presence behind you. You turn and face a man glaring you down. You swallow tightly. His head is shaved, he has a thick goatee, and deep blue eyes. He wears a faded leather vest over a sleeveless flannel with the top three buttons undone, exposing tattoos over his chest, neck, and arms.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He puts his hands on his hips. A rabble of men chuckle as they watch. “Looking for a hotel? I got somewhere you can sleep.”

You stiffen and feel along the hem of your shirt. Shit. You push two fingers into your pocket, feeling your keys. They’re sharp enough… you just need to move fast.

“Now, you don’t want to be reaching like that,” he warns as he steps closer.

“I’m just looking to go. I’m passing through. That’s it.” You say.

It’s then that you realise the stillness of the place. The music is gone and everyone sits, unmoving, intent on you and that man.

“If you want to leave, go ahead and see how far you get.” He crosses his arms, his shoulders bulging.

You stare at him. Your chest flutters and your fingers tingle coldly. Adrenaline flows through you as your heart hammers.

He smirks and leans in. “Trust me, I’m the nicest guy in the place so be happy it’s not these other bastards in your face.”

Your lip quivers. “Please… I just want to go.”

He snickers and steps closer. He uncrosses his arms and puts his hands on your sides. You latch onto his wrists and squirm.