Finding Car Wrecked

"What is it, Chris?" she asked.

He didn't answer, so she came up behind him and pushed at his hip lightly.

"Chris?"

Still no answer. Gemma peered in the back seat, but didn't see anything unusual. She tried to see what he was looking at in the front seat, but couldn't because of the glare from the sun.

"Chris, move. What is going on?"

Slowly, his shoulders shifted and he reached into the car. He seemed to be moving his hand back and forth. Then he stood up and his expression made her freeze. He was horrified. His hand was about a foot in front of his face and he stared with utter disgust and pure terror at it. It was as it it were something that weren't at all connected to him, but an alien thing that had spawned from his wrist and were talking to him on its own account. Because something bright and shiny red glistened from the very tips of his fingers.

"What is that?" Gemma asked, her voice faint and breathy.

"Blood." Chris's voice came out as a croak.

Gemma grasped the top of the car to brace herself and leaned against it to keep herself grounded.

"What?" she looked inside at the front seat. There was blood smeared across the front seat laterally from driver side to passenger. It was still glistening, as if a little damp yet. A hand print, the fingers creating sharp red daggers where they'd clawed in the mess, grasped the seat cover and dragged along the back of the seat. They had marked the edge of the steering wheel, trying to reach for the horn perhaps? And had grasped for the door handle on the passenger side, which was also bloody. Long stripes marked where an arm and a leg were dragged from front to back of the driver's side. It was the scene of a struggle.

"Where did that come from?" she asked, stupidly.

"I don't know." Chris swayed on his feet, then took a step away from the car. He stepped toward the car again, then looked at his hand. "Where would it come from?"