Can they drive?
The red Chevrolet Camaro gleamed in the light of the sinking sun. Colton would have cried if his tear ducts still worked. He shambled toward the driver’s door.
He fumbled with the door handle. The door quietly popped open. Colton fell into the driver’s seat, smearing blood and mire across the previously pristine red leather.
The keys sat snugly in the ignition, staring at him.
Turn them? So hungry.
His hand clumsily bumped against the keys.
Must turn the…..eat!
His fingers loosely grasped the keys and turned. The car’s V8 roared to life. He felt the small vibration of the engine through the seat. He reached up and rested a bloody hand on the steering wheel.
He glanced down at the pedals below. Left or right? He felt as though his stomach was ready to burst from his body. So hungry.
He laid one foot on the left peddle. Nothing. He slid his foot over to the right pedal. The engine revved in response. His eyes turned to the gear shifter.