The Tramp – Part Five

serial killer stories

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Down the road, the Tramp saw a collection of cars jumbled together in a massive crash that must have contained at the very least eight automobiles. Knowing he didn’t have enough time to slowly drive around the destroyed set pieces, he instead decided to drive further toward that — right up the curb and into the sidewalk.

He pulled back in his right hand and rolled the window back up; it was probably the only clean spot left on that side of the insignificant vehicle. The shaft of his sword’s blade dripped red and flesh all over the passenger seat; he left it on because he didn’t have the time to put it back into its proper compartment. The side of the curb almost looked as if it would be enough to topple the little car, it sent the Tramp’s body bouncing up and down he did his best to lean himself towards the right to prevent it flipping over. Luck held out for the Tramp and the car made its way onto the walkway safely without sacrificing any speed.

Though the sidewalk was still heavily occupied by those smart enough to keep out of the road and he didn’t have enough time to waste; the bombs might fall any moment and he wouldn’t miss a chance at all of the excitement. He thrust his hand against the face of the steering wheel but to his chagrin, instead of the loud boom of a horn he expected, a silent tune of a Mexican mariachi band rang meekly from the speakers. The people in front of the car had no chance of hearing the horn over all the commotion of screaming and the alarm so only those who happened to see it were able to get out of the way.

The game of avoiding pedestrians was quickly lost as he made contact with of the first people on the narrow sidewalk. Everything went to a standstill and time crawled slowly forward into the future.

Because of the car’s miniature stature, unlike any other car that would hit someone straight on in the torso it instead swept a man wearing a black leather jacket off of his feet and into the windshield. The two of men made eye contact with one another, one of them behind the wheel seat belt buckled a sheet of glass protecting him the other about to collide with an unstoppable object his life about to end. The skin on his forehead broke in spot where contact was first made and then from their webs of flesh opened up streaming from their origin. His skull now visible cracked and then caved in; splinters of bone flew off in a different directions, his gelatin textured brain crept its way out of the depression in his head and smattered its pinkish red self all over the windshield. The life in the man’s eyes disappeared as the white sclera filled with the remaining blood from his skull.

From then on, the Tramp could only wait patiently seemingly for an eternity for the man’s lifeless body to fragment the windshield and roll over the top of the car. What he left behind blinded the Tramp’s field of vision, the man’s blood and gore was all over the place; he no longer had a direction of where he was headed.

Knowing that it would be foolish to continue at the rate any longer in the car’s state, he pushed down on the brake pedal and it quickly came to a stop. He lept out of the car at a great pace and threw the door open so violently this time that he caused it to part from the thin pieces of metal that held it in place. The Tramp ran into the wreckage of cars — all of them seeming to be incredibly contorted and broken in broken shrapnel; one was flipped over, its driver screaming for help as an inferno blossomed in its engine.

The Tramp ran past the screaming woman without even a moment’s hesitation of maybe rescuing her; she didn’t have a working car therefore she wouldn’t be of any use to him. All around the Tramp, as he went from vehicle to vehicle, were people attempting to escape from their metal-shrouded tombs; many of the people involved in the crashes were going at such an extreme velocity they were far too injured or weak to free themselves in order to get so safety. It would only take one of these ticking time bombs to go off to take everyone along with it, like a domino effect, one more after another.

The Tramp continued to skirt around the mayhem of ruined bodies and torn-up vehicles; the air reeked of gasoline and fear and there wasn’t a soul with his mouth shut. The Tramp waded through the sea of ruined vehicles and screaming people until he came across the one that he would use. Unlike the miniature car he was forced to use before, this car was almost a tank. Just the four wheels were large enough to dwarf the cars surrounding it; they seemed to be half the size of the glorified gold car that he had just used. The body of the car reached up toward the sky and was incredibly thick on the sides. That is the type of car someone uses when they don’t want to be stopped. And it technically was; the car wasn’t overly damaged in the multiple car wreck — maybe a dent or two, but otherwise, it remained unscathed.

The glaring fault as to why the behemoth of a car wasn’t still driving fell entirely on the driver.

Didn’t wear your seatbelt did ya, chap? Thought the Tramp.

The muscular man laid multiple yards away from where his truck waited. His face was nearly ripped from its skull and his limbs were contorted at impossible angles. He bleed like a stuck pig, draining all of his fluids onto the pavement. People walked over and through the corpse, now just another body amongst a thousand others.

The car was so large that the Tramp had to nearly leap from the floor to get a foot on the step to get his body into the vehicle. The view and stench would have sent away any lesser man, but the Tramp had grown accustomed to the smell. Like those who thought he was one of them, the Tramp felt safe in the proximity of death. Taking his thick jacket off of his shoulder, he wrapped it around his right fist; without much pain, he punched against the still-remaining windshield until it popped off. Blood still remained all over the front hood but at least the Tramp could see now.

With the keys still in the ignition, the Tramp twisted and he was off once again; however, unlike the previous car, he would no longer have to fret about hitting anything. Laughing gleefully, he over took an injured woman crawling across the ground. He imagined the woman’s head popping off like a toothpaste cap would if you were to continuously fold it from the bottom. He drove on running over a few more people and crushing a smaller car until he was freed from the soon-to-be-grave sight.

On the open road, the Tramp put his foot down on the gas pedal; the car made a wonderful screech. The open space before made wind come thundering into his face but it didn’t matter to the Tramp.

This is the best day of my life. Finally, I killed that Trent kid, ran over some others and now I’m going to the motherload. I’m going to miss this life stuff but at least I’m going out with a bang.

The roads were empty from then on — everyone who got onto the road without crashing was already well on their way to the Vaults. The only disturbance he saw on the way into the suburbs was another wreck — this one featuring far less cars than before. The only vehicles involved were a truck, a smaller car and an absurdly long black limo. The Tramp slowed the car down, maybe this can be a quick warm up for what’s to come. But, alas, the vehicles were empty.

The Tramp looked around a few moments in search of the wounded but no one was in sight. The confusion the Tramp felt was great but he managed to put it behind him as he went on driving.

Maybe God decided to save them from me … He won’t be quick enough for the others.

 

previous: The Tramp — Part Four

more by FRANCISCO LEYVA

photograph by Alejandro Lopez

 

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