Beware of strangers.
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no," screams Donavan, beating on his steering wheel, as his 2018 Jeep Wrangler muddles off the darkened road.
As he looks around outside the car, there is a single street light within walking distance. He looks down at his jumpy cell phone signal, and decides to get out of the car.
Kicking small stones with the tip of his shoe, "I should have stopped at that damn gas station before I even got on this road."
As he walks toward the light, the ends of his curly hair shakes underneath his ribbed knit beanie. Then he see them, headlights, a vehicle slowly approaches. Donavan throws his hands in the air to get the attention of the driver, who pulls over toward him. The ruggedly handsome older Caucasian male with salt and pepper hair reaches over, manually rolling the window down for Donavan.
"How can I help you beautiful?"
"Oh my goodness, thank God for you," Donavan replies.
"You look like you need a little help."
"I do, can you take me to a gas station. My car has completely run out of gas," asks Donavan, leaning in the car window flirting.
"Hop on in, the nearest gas stop is about 20 miles from here, so it's gonna be a ride," the Gentleman says.
"That's fine with me as long as you don't mind the company," Donavan replies smiling, opening the car door, and hoping in on the passenger side.
This is an Emergency Broadcast, the serial killer branded Marlon Brando is on the...
The Gentleman turns the radio off as he helps Donavan with his stubborn seatbelt.
"What's your name stranger?"
"Marlon," he answers.
As the car rolls underneath the streetlight, a head rolls from underneath the tarp in the trunk.