Dustin pulled this rusted Ford Focus into Highway 70 toward Central City, and looked

at his GPS.

The address for his pizza delivery said that it was 25 miles ahead.

It was already 10 pm and he groaned deeply, knowing that he wouldn't be home until

nearly midnight after the drive-back.

His manager would be pissed if he took the insulated pizza bag and car top sign home

again.

He thought to himself that though, measly tips he receives for driving out into the middle

of nowhere, weren't worth putting miles on his aging car.

But he didn't have a lot of other job opportunities.

Dropping out of high school wasn't the best plan he had made, and getting his GED never

seemed to materialize.

Highway 70 was locally known as a bad stretch of road.

Trees crammed over the two lane blacktop, like curling fingers closing around the cars

that passed by.

He had never driven on it himself, but the other delivery drivers had mentioned it numerous

times.

Fat flakes of snow were falling as his headlights pierced the darkness ahead.

His car rumbled roughly over the cracking hallway, and he flipped through the radio stations

as he drove farther into the country, but the only sound that came back was static and

half-intelligible voices from a late-night talk radio show.

Frustrated, he punched the radio knob and drove on in silence, and when he looked back

...