This is a reprint of my story that was published at WOW! Women on Writing in December of 2014. It also appears in Suppose: Drabbles, Flash Fiction, and Short Stories.

Why is Dianne cruising the highway and looking for hitchhikers?

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How many will I find tonight? Dianne wonders.

She cruises Highway 16 until she finds one among all the backpackers with their thumbs held out. The amber display on her watch shows 8:55 p.m., and the indicator flashes a tiny number one. She stops and rolls down the window. Just a little. “How far are you heading?”

The muscular hitchhiker smiles at her with even, white teeth framed by perfect lips. “Jasper National Park. There is a hostel in that community.”

Dianne’s breath comes in small bursts as she looks into his eyes. She unlocks the doors. “Hop in. I’m going to Prince George, and I could use some company.”

With a grunt, he hefts his pack into the van and climbs in. “Nice vehicle, ma’am.”

Her smile masks her nervousness as she scrutinizes him. To say he was handsome or sexy would be an insult. “All the other minivans I took for test drives didn’t fit me. I’m just shy of five feet, and this one has an eight-way power seat adjuster.”

She offers her hand. “Dianne.”

There’s that sexy, overconfident smile again with the too-even teeth … and those eyes with the blue that’s too blue.

Perfection incarnate.

He takes her hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. John is my name.”

She checks him out as she drives, trying not to be too obvious: just a quick, targeted glance his way now and then in the deepening dusk. She listens to his voice and inhales his scent.

Yes.

Dianne passes him a bottle of water from the side pocket of her door.

He gulps.

His head starts to droop and roll with every movement of the steering wheel. She waits until he slips into unconsciousness.

Then she drives down a secluded road, pulls onto the gravel shoulder, and raises one of his eyelids. She nods, presses the power button to lower the windows, and she listens. It’s dark now. All she can hear is the sound of her own racing heartbeat, a distant coyote howl, and leaves rustling in the wind. She gazes at the stars for a long moment, wondering how many planets out there sustain humanoid life, and she tries to ignore the voices in her head.

C’mon, you know you like it, the element of danger, the rush you feel afterward.

No, I don’t like it.

But you have to do it.

Hurry then, before somebody comes along.

She closes the windows, drags her prey into the back of the van, and removes his clothing, piece by piece, throwing everything into a tote box. She admires his body as she runs her fingers over his perfect torso.

Such a shame.

She takes a syringe from the small kit hidden beneath a blanket and administers an injection. She feels for the pulse in his neck several times … and waits. When the pulse disappears, she rolls his corpse under a tarp, next to the other body.

Dianne examines the display on her watch, now green instead of amber. The indicator flashes a tiny number two.

It’ll be midnight soon, and no more in the vicinity. That’s two tonight. How many aliens will I find tomorrow?

—

You’ll find more short fiction like this in Suppose: Drabbles, Flash Fiction, and Short Stories.

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