SUPERWORLD

Marco IV

Marco had never learned how to drive and now he was barreling down the dark highway without concern. One singular thought pushed past his inexperience and forced his foot into the gas pedal:

We won't get away from him again!

The Man in Black had found Marco twice and both times the young man had come within inches of his own death, he knew that their next encounter would be final, either The Man in Black would die, or Marco would.

Marco barely remembered loading Clayton into the passenger seat and Dallas into the back, only the faint impression of straining muscles against limp weight remained in his mind.

Marco was finally coming back to himself , the adrenaline that pressed him forward in a frenzy waning. He suddenly remembered his lack of ability in driving and the horror of his near death experiences pushed its way back into his mind, forcing him to pull over.

The roiling stew of emotions in his stomach rocketed out of his mouth and onto the center divide. Marco was shaking violently, and it had nothing to do with the artificial breeze of cool night air created by the sparse vehicles shooting past him.

He fell to his knees, clung to the center divide, and wailed. Not only was this the worst day of his life, it was so strange and unbelievable that his mind refused to register it up to this point, trying to protect him from the pain, but it had only delayed the inevitable and allowed for a powerful build up that now struck him full force, like a toddler on the beach being tackled by an unseen wave, knocked off their feet.

She's dead!

A broken wail, muffled by a passing semi truck, disturbed the still night.

Some time later, after the wailing had shredded his vocal cords. Marco's mind washed back up on the shores of reality when a tentative hand found its way to his shoulder. He looked back and up to see the hatted silhouette of Clayton standing over him.

"I can drive." The boy said.

Marco stumbled his way to the passenger's seat and buckled up. Clayton hopped in behind the wheel and started the dented SUV back up. Marco stole a look at the bedraggled child, his long sleeve button up dusted and stained, his face dirtied by the encounter with The Man in Black. Marco saw that Clay was tired, as tired as Marco, if not more.

"Thank you." Marco forced the words between his lips.

"For what?" Clay said, his glazed gaze still affixed on the infinite stretch of road before them.

"You saved me. I don't know how, but you did. He was going to kill me." Marco explained.

Clay nodded slightly.

"Don't mention it. I ain't too sure how I did it, neither. All's I remember is gettin' pissed, then everything went red." Clay replied.

"You went red." Marco emphasised.

Clay looked at Marco for a bit and said

"Like I told ya, don't mention it."

The interstate seemed to go on forever as they drove in silence. Going straight on, a black stretch toward eternity, the monotony only broken up by disappears signs advertising varying locations. A sign advertised 'Sheryl's Diner' at the next exit.

"You hungry?" Clay asked.

"I could eat. But I ain't got no money. How 'bout you?" Marco asked.

"No, but he does." Clay gestured to the backseat.

Marco shrugged, Clay took the next exit.

Sheryl's Diner was a quaint box of a building with a neon sign displaying the name in red and blue. They parked in front of the building, the lot populated only by three other cars. Clayton reached into the back seat and retrieved Dallas' wallet from the sleeping man's pocket.