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Carnage House

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Blood on the Blacktop

by Chris McAuley

THE LOW RUMBLE of the truck’s engine was the only sound in the dead of night. Jake “Red” Larkin’s hands gripped the wheel with a white-knuckle ferocity. His bloodshot eyes stared out into the endless stretch of highway, but his mind was elsewhere—flashing back to the image that was now seared into his brain: his wife, Lily, tangled in the sheets with that smooth-talking drifter she’d brought into their home. His sanctuary.

Lily had always loved adventure, but Jake had naively believed she’d committed to an adventure that was a life with him. Thirty years of hauling freight coast to coast, building a life out of grit and diesel fumes. He worked so hard, dreaming of the day they’d retire to a little cabin up north. But dreams die hard. And for Lily, apparently, they died in someone else’s arms.

That was a week ago. Since then, Jake hadn’t slept, barely ate. Instead, he drank gallons of cheap coffee and lived off the madness that coursed through his veins. His face was a mask of exhaustion and fury, a craggy landscape of stubble and deep lines etched by sleepless nights. Every mile on the road fueled the rage that simmered in his gut. But tonight, his odyssey of vengeance was reaching its climax.

He’d followed them. Watched as they left town in that flashy Camaro, headed west for God knows what. The bastard probably promised her some romantic getaway, maybe some bullshit about starting fresh. And Lily—goddamn Lily—had bought it. Jake had played it cool, trailing them in his eighteen-wheeler, keeping a distance, waiting for the perfect spot where no one would hear them scream.

The engine growled louder as he accelerated, the speedometer creeping up to eighty, then ninety. He spotted the Camaro ahead, pulling off the highway into a desolate rest stop. Perfect.

Jake slowed his truck, switching off the headlights as he coasted in behind them. The rest stop was abandoned—just an old picnic table, a lone streetlight flickering above, and the vast emptiness of the surrounding desert. They had no idea what was coming.

He killed the engine and stepped down from the cab, feeling the hot desert wind whip against his face. His breath was shallow, like a bull before the charge. He reached into the side compartment of the truck and pulled out his tools—a crowbar, a length of thick chain, and his favorite hunting knife, the blade freshly sharpened to a gleaming edge. Tonight, these were his instruments of justice.

He approached the Camaro with a calm, measured stride, his boots crunching on the gravel. He could see them inside, illuminated by the soft glow of the dashboard. The drifter was whispering sweet nothings in her ear, his hand sliding up her thigh. Lily laughed—a sound Jake once adored, but now it only fueled his rage.

He struck fast. The crowbar smashed into the passenger side window, shattering it into a cascade of jagged shards. Lily screamed. The drifter scrambled to reach for something—maybe a gun, but Jake was quicker. He yanked the door open and grabbed the bastard by the hair, dragging him out of the car.

“Jake! What the hell are you doing?” Lily’s voice cracked, trembling with a mix of fear and disbelief.

The drifter tried to resist, but Jake was a bear of a man, hardened by years on the road. He slammed the guy’s face against the hood, once, twice, until teeth clattered onto metal. Blood poured from his nose, and his eyes were wide with terror.

“Jake, please!” Lily sobbed. “This isn’t you!”

Jake turned, his face contorted in a grotesque grin. “No, Lily, this is me. The real me.”

He swung the crowbar into the drifter’s ribs with a sickening crunch, feeling the bone give way. The man howled in agony, collapsing to his knees. Jake didn’t stop. He kept swinging, every blow echoing like a drumbeat of fury, sending splashes of blood across the hood and windshield. The drifter’s cries grew weaker, fading to a gurgling whimper as his jaw hung slack, a broken mess of teeth and flesh.

Jake turned his gaze to Lily. She was fumbling to open the driver’s side door, her face streaked with tears. “Please, Jake. Let’s just go. We can fix this—”

“Fix this?” he bellowed. “You broke everything!”

He yanked her out of the car by her hair and dragged her toward the truck, her nails clawing at his hands. She kicked and screamed, but it only made him tighten his grip. He flung her against the truck’s grill, pinning her there with his forearm against her throat.

“I gave you everything, Lily. My life, my soul, my goddamn heart. And this—” He gestured to the bloodied heap of her lover, who was barely twitching on the ground. “—this is how you repay me?”

Lily’s eyes darted to the chain in his hand, and her breath quickened. “Jake, please—”

The chain wrapped around her neck in a flash. He pulled tight, feeling the resistance as she choked and gasped for air. He watched her eyes bulge, watched the panic set in. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against her ear. “Feel that, Lily? That’s what betrayal feels like.”

With a sudden yank, he released her, letting her collapse to the ground, coughing and gasping. He turned his attention back to the drifter. He wasn’t done yet.

He grabbed the hunting knife and approached the bleeding, broken man. The drifter’s eyes fluttered open, glazed and unfocused. “P-please…”

Jake knelt beside him, his voice calm and almost tender. “You know what the worst part is, friend? It’s not that you took my wife. It’s that you didn’t respect me. Not one bit.”

With a swift motion, he plunged the knife into the man’s stomach, twisting it as he pulled it upward, feeling the warm gush of blood pour over his hands. The drifter convulsed, a final breath escaping his lips before his body went limp.

Jake stood up, drenched in blood, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. He looked down at his handiwork—the broken bodies, the blood pooling on the blacktop, glistening under the moonlight.

He turned back to Lily, who was trying to crawl away, her breath ragged and shallow. He grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her back, her nails clawing at the ground. She was pleading, sobbing, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Jake… I’m sorry…”

He stopped, crouched down beside her, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something almost human in his eyes. “You were my world, Lily. And now you’ll be part of it…forever.”

He grabbed the chain and looped it around her neck again, this time fastening it to the truck’s undercarriage. He walked back to the cab, his boots squelching in the blood-soaked dirt. He climbed in, fired up the engine, and took one last look at Lily through the rearview mirror.

The truck roared to life, and Jake hit the gas. The tires spun, kicking up gravel and blood, and he drove off into the dark, dragging Lily’s lifeless body behind. The chain rattled and clanked against the asphalt, a twisted symphony of metal and flesh.

The highway stretched out before him, endless and empty, and Jake smiled—a cold, vacant smile that reflected in the cracked windshield. There was no going back now. Only the road ahead and the blood on the blacktop.


About the Story:
Blood on the Blacktop is a chilling descent into the mind of a man unraveling under the weight of betrayal. When long-haul trucker Jake Larkin discovers his wife’s infidelity, the road becomes his hunting ground and vengeance his only destination. As he stalks the desert highways in his eighteen-wheeler, the story careens toward a brutal and unrelenting climax. Gritty, violent, and searing with raw emotion, this tale explores the darkest corners of love, rage, and the human psyche.