Chapter 8: The Road to Nowhere

The bus rumbled down the highway, its headlights cutting through the dark stretch of road. Levi sat near the back, legs stretched out over the seat in front of him, head resting against the cold window. His fingers drummed absentmindedly against his knee, his mind wandering as the landscape blurred past.

He had no real destination. No plan.

Derry was behind him. That was all that mattered.

For the first time in a long time, Levi was free.

But freedom didn't mean peace.

It just meant he was back in the world.

And the world? The world was just another battlefield.

The Gas Station

The bus pulled into a dusty rest stop off the highway. The driver muttered something about a fifteen-minute break before stepping out for a smoke. Levi didn't care. He grabbed his bag and stepped off, the cool night air biting at his skin.

The gas station was the kind of place that reeked of piss, cheap beer, and regret. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering like they were on their last leg. A few truckers loitered by their rigs, sipping coffee from styrofoam cups, eyes weary from too many miles on the road.

Levi stepped inside.

A bored-looking cashier sat behind the counter, flipping through a magazine. Some old song crackled through the radio, filling the silence with static-filled nostalgia.

Levi grabbed a pack of smokes, a lighter, and a bottle of water.

As he approached the counter, the door swung open behind him.

Three men walked in.

Rough-looking. Dirty jeans, worn-out boots, leather jackets with patches that screamed trouble. The kind of guys who lived on the road—and left bodies behind on it.

Levi didn't acknowledge them.

Didn't need to.

He could already tell they were looking for a fight.

Bad Choices

One of them, a lanky guy with a busted nose and a mean grin, leaned against the counter next to Levi.

"Hey," he drawled, his breath stinking of whiskey. "You look like you got money."

Levi raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

The second guy, shorter but built like a bulldog, stepped in closer. "Ain't polite to ignore people, kid."

Levi sighed, tossing a few bills on the counter. "Take your hand out of your pocket before you embarrass yourself."

The first guy stiffened. The second one scowled.

The third, the one who hadn't spoken yet, just watched. Smartest of the three.

The cashier looked up from his magazine, eyes darting between them. He knew what was coming.

"Hey, man," he muttered, "just take your stuff and go."

Levi grabbed his water bottle. "Was planning on it."

Busted Nose stepped in front of him. "Not so fast."

Levi exhaled slowly. They never learn.

The second guy reached for something under his jacket.

Levi moved first.

His hand shot out, grabbing the man's wrist before he could draw his knife. A sharp twist, a crunch of bone, and the guy howled, dropping to his knees.

Busted Nose lunged—Levi side-stepped, bringing his elbow down hard on the back of his skull. He crumpled to the floor like a sack of bricks.

The third guy reached for his gun—Levi was faster.

In one fluid motion, he grabbed the fallen knife off the floor and drove it into the man's thigh. The guy screamed, collapsing against a rack of snacks.

Silence.

Only the sound of the radio and the heavy breathing of three broken men.

Levi crouched, yanking the knife free. The guy groaned, curling into himself.

"Bad choice," Levi murmured.

He wiped the blade on the guy's jacket, stood up, and walked to the door.

The cashier stared at him, eyes wide.

Levi gave him a nod and stepped outside.

Back on the Road

The bus rolled out of the station ten minutes later.

Levi sat in his seat, rolling the lighter between his fingers, staring out at the endless highway.

No destination. No home.

Just the road ahead.

And he liked it that way.