William, or to his friends, Billy, simply moaned.

But that was understandable giving his sudden introduction with the tanker truck and his Impala. Seeing that he was still able to moan had to be a good sign that he wasn't dead, but with the pounding ache in his head, part of him found the idea of living not so pleasant. Though he wasn't a med-student (To his parent's dismay), he'd seen his share of "ER" to assume the crash had given him a few broken ribs topped off nicely with a mild fracture. Needless to say, the idea of hospital time and that he'd probably caused the accident was enough to regret that he made it to consciousness.

My parents are going to kill me.

That brought on a new set of questions to his already injured mind. The first, of coarse, being how the hell did this happen. Billy assumed that it was his fault. Hell, his high-risk insurance literally screamed his conviction. Yet, had this been his fault? Last thing he remembered was driving back from "Dennys" around midnight with Chris—

Oh shit, Chris! He's completely forgotten about him.

Twisting his neck quickly to the side, a feat not easily accomplished at his present predicament, he found the face of his friend. A large bruise was forming on the side of his face, but he was wincing and breathing. Both very good signs. So he and his buddy had made it through the crash. Great, no vehicular homicide today… unless his Impala was able to do more damage to the tanker than he expected.

"Billy?"

His eyes shot back towards Chris, his friend apparently stirring awake. Chris' eyes slowly pulled themselves up, a smirk crossing those lips of his. "They hit us, I'm guessing?"

Billy could do nothing but nod, his eyes closing quickly soon afterwards as the wave of dizziness fell upon him. Once again, the question returned to his head. How'd this happen? He'd been cruising back from "Dennys" That much was a positive. He'd fumbled for a tape? Yeah… "Terry Williams Greatest Hits." Then he went through an intersection the same time a truck—

"It wasn't my fault," He said as he moaned once more, his weight pressing against the door, forcing it open. That's right, the truck was coming from the opposite direction and swerved into his lane! He tried to pull out of it's way but it nailed the back of his car still sending him spinning. Hell, perhaps it was looking up. No vehicular homicide and no points on his license.

"No shit, Sherlock" Chris mumbled as he followed his lead.

Falling from his seat into the grass where his car now rested, he paused for a moment to allow his vision to stop blurring. From the noises coming from the other side of the car, he could only guess Chris was in the process of throwing up his Grande Slam breakfast. Understandable. He must have seen his life flash before his eyes like he did earlier.

Pulling himself to his feet, a hand moving to his head as if it would be an effective way of steadying himself, he began his search for where the hell the son of a bitch that hit him was. At first, he couldn't find the truck. He sure the hell wasn't in the road anywhere near him, but after a few seconds, he spotted the back of the tanker planted into the entrance of one of the aimless stores in Ypsilanti, Michigan. Was it a Tanning Salon?

Does that really matter?

Right, he looked back towards Chris he had regained his composure, a bit of bile still resting at the corner of his lips. The guy looked okay, beaten up, but there was something called internal bleeding and, to his knowledge, wasn't pleasant at all.

"What do we do?" Chris asked as he made his way over to Billy, whose eyes were returning to downed truck. What the hell was he supposed to do? He was a frick'n Communication Major. He wasn't used to using complicated problem solving skills. Though, how complicated could this be?

The crash apparently had done a good number of his thought process. What he needed to do was call 911. Simple as that. Turning to face his friend once more, his eyes blurring for only a few second now, he slid his cell-phone from his pocket and tossed it to him. "Call the cops, I'm going to check out the dick who hit us."

"I hate using this cancer boxes," Chris shot back as he began dialing. That brought at least a hint of a smile to his lips as he moved towards the tanker, his head seeming to clear up with each step towards the vehicle. It was a small walk to the truck, and by the time he got there, he had already had what he was planning to say in mind. First he'd call the guy a dick sucker, followed by a quick retort about his failing manhood, finished off nicely with time to allow the man to apologize his ass off.

Climbing over what remained of the wall of the shop, his boots carrying him over the ruble and debris, he moved to the door of the truck. Using the mirror as a way to pull himself up, he peeked through the window only to find the trucker, head laid back against his seat, with a young woman's head bobbing back and forth over his lap.

Well, that explains that.

Judging by the clothing of the girl, she was a prostitute… and the guy just couldn't wait until he parked. Jesus! Even after hitting them and crashing into a shop, he was still having her finish. Billy was livid at this. He was almost killed by a blowjob! And it wasn't even happening to him! Slamming his fist against the window, his eyes shooting waves of hate towards the too, he began with his set plan of reaming these two out.

"Hey! You son of a bitch! You almost killed me back there!" He yelled, his fist once more slamming against the window. The driver didn't respond at all. He just remained in his position, yet the prostitute stopped. The girl slowly raised her head to meet Billy's eyes, and by that simple action, drained him of the remaining color on his face.

He'd been wrong. Very, very wrong.

This girl wasn't blowing the guy. She was ripping into his stomach! Blood smeared her jaw-line, her eyes seeming to be something almost alien. The side of her cheek was torn open, revealing the row of bloodied teeth that held remains of this man's flesh and intenstines. Sadly, those were her more pleasant features. Both her hands seemed to have skinned, her veins and skeleton fingers digging into the gut of the obviously dead man. Her shirt was ripped open, which presented what remained of her breast. Her stomach had several scratches on it, along with what he could see of her thighs. To Billy, this girl was every nightmare he'd had.

"I'll… come back later?" Billy mumbled as he forced the bile to remain in his stomach. And with those words, another impossibility came to life. The man's eyes opened.

Letting loose a scream that could beat any girl scout's in the entire county, Billy fell away from the door and into a heap of wood and brick as the girl slammed her body through the window. Arms outstretched towards him, her wail seeming more animalistic than human, she attempted to pull the remaining part of her through the shattered glass.

For a fraction of a second, Billy just watched as the remaining shards of glass sunk into the girl's stomach. This neither stopped her or slowed her down. She continued to push and pull herself free as the glass tore down her belly. With another unearthly scream, the trucker now joined her, his eyes locked onto Billy's.

Run…. Run Billy… Run Damn'it! Why aren't you running! RUN!

Finally finding the ability to climb to his feet, he tore away from the truck, leaving what ever the hell those things were behind him. Cutting the distance from the store to his car in an almost impossible time, he slammed right into Chris, who was looking bewildered at his state.

"We gotta go! Now! I mean now! Get in the fucking car!"

"What the hell are you talking about, the car's a wreck." Chris was now grabbing his shoulders, keeping Billy from running, escaping. Tears burning his eyes as the images of what he saw flashed in his mind, his fear grew stronger with each second he was forced to stand still.

"Dead woman and dead guy but not dead… monsters! Shit! We have to go!"

"What! They're dead? Shit, 911 ain't picking up!"

"No! Dead and alive!" Billy screamed in his face, the scent of urine now becoming present. Hearing yet another shriek, this one not so far behind him, he turned around and found the silhouette of a person racing towards them. Letting out yet another scream, Billy grabbed his friend's hand and began to drag him with him.

"Billy! What the hell is going on! Who is that—" And with that sudden pause, Billy could only assume the girl must have made it into the light. Now Billy wasn't dragging anybody. Chris was actually ahead of him in a matter of second, screaming as loud as he was.

"What the fuck is going on!"

"Just run damn'it!" Billy yelled as they raced down the street of Ypsilanti, Michigan, the creature behind him being joined with the trucker and then another one of them, and then another, and another… After a minute of this, Billy stopped looking back at the growing wave approaching. He just ran, wondering if this was punishment for never attending church.