She remembers their awful faces, despite their tricks and glamours. Two years ago, they left a witness in the mangled wreck of her family car, her husband dead, her son taken. But to anyone unlucky enough to meet them in the lonely hours of the night, they're just a blurry memory. They roam America, littering the highways with smashed cars and bled-out bodies, a gruesome reflection of the unsettled sixties. Be grateful his brake lights never flashed. You just saw the founder of the Suicide Motor Club. Remember that car that passed you near midnight on Route 66, doing 105 with its lights off? You wondered where it was going so quickly on that dark, dusty stretch of road, motor roaring, the driver glancing out the window as he blew by.ĭid his greedy eyes shine silver like a coyote's? Did he make you feel like prey? "Rising horror star"* Christopher Buehlman, author of The Lesser Dead, returns with a chilling and thrilling tale of dark evil lurking on the lonely, open road.īram Stoker, quoting the ballad "Lenore," said, "The dead travel fast." A Crash Course in the History of Black Science Fiction.200 Significant SF Books by Women, 1984-2001.
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