William gazed in despair at his car's fuel gauge. The needle hovered over the red letter E. The vehicle had ground to a stop on the dry pavement of the desert highway just a few minutes ago, not quite halfway to his destination, the engine sputtering like the cough of a young child. Groaning, he lifted himself from the driver's seat, before exiting the car and moving around to the trunk. He popped open the trunk, where he found a plastic gasoline container, the same shade of orange as the sun which hovered at the horizon, ripples moving through the decaying, dry air around it like waves in water. His GPS had lost its signal miles back, but the faded map he'd unearthed from the glove box claimed there was a town nearby, and so, holding the fluorescent gas can, he began to walk through this corpse of a landscape.

There were no trees. No shade. No living creatures. The only animal William had seen since he left the car was the hollowed-out remains of a rabbit by the side of the scarred gray road, its ribs poking upward like a broken birdcage. The fat orb of the sun now floated halfway below the horizon, its color slowly darkening until it became a rotten tangerine. William had started to drag his feet, shuffling through the sand and gravel. The heat pierced through him. His hair was plastered against his scalp, drenched with sweat. He was almost crawling by the time he saw it. The shimmering neon signs called to him in the constantly dimming glow of the sinking sun. His feet stopped dragging, and he ran toward it. As the town grew closer, he saw that its appearance was that of sometime in the 1950s. The buildings looked more like a film set than reality. Glancing around, he found the gas station and approached it, not knowing what waited inside.

As he moved past the rows of pumps, William smiled slightly. He had filled the orange jug, and his troubles were almost over. Wondering whether or not he might be able to get a ride back to his car, he pushed open the door, causing the bell attached to the frame to jingle quietly. Flies buzzed around the flickering fluorescent tube on the ceiling. There didn't seem to be anyone there. He stepped up to the counter, and noticed something hot and damp smeared over its surface. Hot, damp, and dark red. Cautiously, he looked over the counter, and screamed. Long, deep cuts covered the body of the man lying on the floor, his moist, blue eyes peering, sightless, up at the ceiling as swarms of gnats congregated around his mouth, skittering in and out between his dry lips. Blood still seeped from the bright red gash across his throat. William stared the corpse, not knowing what to do. From somewhere else in the building came a rasping breath, and the clinking of bottles.

William froze. There was a scraping noise, followed by footsteps, growing closer.

"Who's there?" He called. "There's a man here." William swallowed, his throat like paper. "I think he's dead. Can you help me? Please help me."
He was answered by a series of tiny clicks, as the razor-like blade of a utility knife slid from its plastic handle. The man emerged from between the shelves of candy, a half full bottle of vodka in one hand, a six-inch blade in the other, still dripping red. He wasn't there to help. Long, filthy blond hair dangled in his face. His tombstone-gray eyes landed on William. He took a swig from the bottle, placed it back in the pocket of his jacket, and smiled.

"You shouldn'ta come here. I think I'll slash you up like I did to him. Give you a nice red smile from ear to ear." He let another deadly inch of blade slip from the handle and walked toward William, laughing and waving the weapon in front of him. William ran out of the gas station. The man ran after him. "You ain't gettin' far!" He roared.

The sun had set, and the streets were dark as William ran down the sidewalk, away from the gas station. The neon signs provided an odd sort of illumination, splashing color onto the pavement like paint. The perfect houses had taken on an eerie appearance in the moonlight, now that their residents were safely locked away inside, unaware of the sort of place the world could become once the lights were gone. The man's drunk, uncontrollable cackle came after him, echoing through the bricks and street lamps. William screamed into the dark, hoping that someone might hear.

"Please help me! He's after me! He's got a knife!" The image of the gas station clerk came into his mind.

Give you a nice red smile from ear to ear.

He ran. Footsteps pounded behind him. There was a phone booth on the next block. William could see the light shining from inside the glass case. If he reached it, he would be able to call the police, to end this. If he reached it. If.

The man's feet slapped against the sidewalk in their battered sandals. He had lowered the blade to his side and slowed to a walk, bathing in the mixed moonlight and neon. He removed the bottle from his pocket and drank again. He needed to find the guy with the gas can, the gas can he'd dropped in the parking lot. Needed to teach him a lesson, about minding his own business. The gas can guy had gotten scared when he saw the knife, that was why he'd run off. He shouldn't have worried about the knife. The person holding it was much more dangerous.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are." He called, his voice rising and trembling with anger and intoxication. "I wanna talk to you, gas can man. Wanna give you a lesson." He turned the corner, and heard William's screams of terror, begging for help. He stopped screaming, and turned toward a telephone booth. The man broke into a run behind him.

William wrenched open the glass door and stepped inside, slamming it shut behind him. He fumbled through his pockets for change. There was none. He pulled his wallet from inside his suit jacket and began removing the contents. He emptied several bills, credit cards, and his driver's license onto the phone booth floor, but couldn't find a single coin. Jamming his hand into the pocket again, he heard something jingle. The fingers searched like spider's legs, and finally wrapped around two quarters. He held them up, smiled, and prepared to put them into the coin slot, when there was noise from behind him. It was a soft thump, like a deflated ball hitting concrete. He whirled around and saw the man's face pressed against the glass of the booth, nose turned upward like that of a pig, breath fogging the glass, crazed eyes peering in at him.

He was smiling.

"You ain't callin' nobody!" The man shrieked, pounding on the glass. He was blocking the door. William was trapped, like a fish in a bowl. The knife flashed out. "I'm gonna teach you a lesson. Gonna slice your lil' face up real nice." William grasped the phone's handset by the cord and threw the door open.

The man outside burst in, the blade flickering through the air, and for a second, William felt that he was inside a huge food processor. He swung the handset at the bridge of the man's nose, hard. Blood shot out in a rapid jet, drizzling down to his attacker's chin. He shouted and held his nose. As he bent over, William's foot came up into his chest. The man crumpled. William's eyes flashed around the floor, trying to find the knife. His opponent had was lying on top of it, protecting it like a child guarding a favorite toy. The man chuckled, vodka-scented breath filling the chamber. If William tried to retrieve the box cutter, he'd almost certainly lose a few fingers. If he turned and used the phone, he'd end up with the blade between his shoulder blades. He jumped over the still-breathing body and ran. The man got up, laughing.

William ran back toward the gas station. There would be a telephone there. There had to be. If there wasn't... If he couldn't call for help...

Give you a nice red smile from ear to ear.

He kept moving. The lights of the pumps shone in front of him, his orange gas can lying on its side beneath them, where he'd left it that evening. It seemed like it was days ago. He walked across the parking lot, toward the doors.

"I said, I was gonna teach ya'll a lesson." The voice was high, quivering like a cat getting ready to pounce. He stood behind William in the harsh, white lights, the lower half of his face smeared with scarlet, stringy ropes of hair falling in his face, eyes twitching. The blade was gone. He shambled toward William, reaching into his jacket. William jumped at him, attempting to push him to the ground before he could draw whatever new weapon he was grasping for. The man was stronger, and William was shoved to the concrete. He sat up, watching as a cigarette lighter and a liquor bottle emerged from the folds of cloth. The cap of the bottle came off, and William was splashed with a foul-smelling fluid. The lid of the lighter flicked backward, and an orange flame sparked to life.

"Y'know alcohol..." The man said. "Alcohol burns." William glanced down at his suit, drenched with vodka, as the man prepared to throw the lighter. His had shot out to his side, and grabbed something bright orange, full of liquid, before hurling it at the figure that stood over him. Gasoline sloshed in the container, almost all of it emptying as the projectile hit. It found the flame of the lighter instantly, and fire engulfed the figure. High, whining wails erupted into the night as the burning man staggered toward William, screaming even as flame filled its mouth. It reached toward him, and he stepped back, watching with morbid fascination as the thing that used to be a murderer crumpled to the asphalt. He took the hose of the pump nearest to him and doused the man-thing once more, just to be certain it had no plans of following him.

Once it had stopped screaming, he picked up the gas can, refilled it, and walked back to his vehicle, whistling cheerfully. As the sirens replaced the wails for mercy, and the last embers died in the blackened husk of a human that lay in the parking lot, he filled his fuel tank. William got back into his car, deciding to abandon the meeting he'd been headed to, in hopes of finding another human animal do deliver judgement to. Another creature to hunt. The car sped along the empty desert highway, as prey became predator.