The multiverse is filled with fascinating tales of mystery, science fiction, horror, fantasy, comedy, drama, and suspense. They are all brought together in "Ant Colony," an anthology of original stories that will make you think, make you laugh, make...
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Some of the events of this installment of "Ant Colony" are based on true events surrounding the life of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. The details of these events have been slightly altered to tell a new story and are in no way meant to reflect on Dr. King's real-life character.
One late night on a rural Alabama road in 1959, Martin Luther King, Jr. rode in the backseat of a 1958 Lincoln Continental that belonged to his dear friend, Andrew Young. It was quite the fancy car for a colored man – some white folks wouldn't think twice to assume he might have stolen it. But Andrew wasn't that kind of man. Outside the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, Andrew worked hard to earn his living, and he earned his place behind the wheel of his Lincoln.
Tagging along was A.D. King, Martin's brother, who rode shotgun.
Between BB King's "Sweet Little Angel" blaring on the radio and the uproarious laughter of Andrew and A.D. over the latter's terrible jokes, Martin could hardly concentrate on his speech for the next SCLC meeting. It didn't get any easier to focus with the headlights of the car behind them beaming around his field of vision.
Even Andrew was a bit distracted by it, as it flashed against the rearview mirror. "Damn!" he exclaimed. "These boys sho' got those lights on blast."
A.D. looked back and squinted, barely able to see the type of vehicle it was. He assumed it was a 1954 Ford pickup. It was practically tailing their Lincoln. "I think they're followin' us," A.D. presumed.
"Now why would they do that, A.D.?" Andrew questioned. "No one even knows we're out here."
Martin couldn't take the distractions any further. "Hey, would you boys please...?"
BAM! All of the sudden, the Ford pickup rammed the rear of their Lincoln, the impact jerking the bodies of Andrew and the King brothers.
"I told you they're followin' us!" A.D. panicked.
Martin turned and looked at the pickup, which was now close enough to distinguish its drivers – a group of men in white hoods. There were two sitting in the cab and two standing on the rear bed, throwing an assortment of bottles at the Lincoln. One of them smashed at the open window alongside A.D., spreading shards of glass and splashes of alcohol all over him. Other than being doused in bourbon and suffering a few cuts across his arm, A.D. wasn't in too bad of shape; but he did roll up his window to avoid any further harm.
Andrew did his best to shake the hoods off, but the pickup driver was resilient.
Martin wondered how these men could've possibly known where they would be that time of night. He figured someone had seen Andrew driving in his fancy car – a set of prying eyes that led to the Klan being tipped off.
"Eventually, these jokers are gonna run out of bottles!" A.D. said.
"Yeah, and then they'll resort to just runnin' us off this road!" Andrew griped.
