Bug Out! Part 11: Motorhomes on the Dark Road Read Online Free

then most people have never heard of Chet either. Jason wasn’t first generation, then?”
    “Few of us are,” Scott said. “You can usually tell the first generation. They’re the ones with the dead families.” He snickered.
    “I was first generation, and I didn’t kill my family, Scotty.”
    “Perhaps,” Scott said. “How did you meet Chet again?”
    “My dad and Chet used to hunt together,” Howard said. “But that doesn’t mean anything. He was no killer. Hell, a few of the people at your RV Park used to hunt with Chet. That’s how they knew about the place.”
    “Okay, you have a point,” Scott said. “Shall we take a seat in the screening room?”
    “Yes!” Bailey said, running over and sitting on one of the ancient folding chairs in front of a crude screen hanging on the wall. Howard and Scott looked at each other and grinned.
    “Ready?” Scott asked.
    Howard shook his head yes, looking mesmerized.
    “C’mon, guys!” Bailey cried.
    “It may terrify you, Bailey,” Scott said, a wild look in his eyes.
    “I hope so,” she said.
    Howard came over and sat next to Bailey as Scott turned on the projector. After it started, he rushed over to the door and pulled the chain, killing the lights. Then he sat on the other side of Bailey. The sound track from the movie started to snap, crackle, and pop as the picture came into view.
    “Where is that?” Howard asked.
    “Some crappy bungalow in Leimert Park.” Scott said.
    “Isn’t that where the body was found?” Howard asked.
    “Yeah, close by, in a vacant lot,” Scott said. “Wish I could find the house.”
    “I always figured she was killed closer to the Biltmore, in downtown LA,” Howard said.
    “That’s where my dad and his friends picked her up,” Scott said. “Look, there she is.”
    They focused on the scratchy film in front of them, flickering in the darkness. The sound was hard to listen to because of the ambient noise on the sound track. The rustling of the clothes, footsteps, noises outside.
    “Why aren’t we doing this at the studio?” asked the brown-haired woman in a Boston accent. She looked around nervously as she stood in front of the white screen, squinting in the bright lights.
    “They’re overflowed,” said a man, out of view of the camera. “They hired us to scour the area for new starlets. If you interest us, you’ll be given a formal screen test at the studio, so it’s up to you to impress us.”
    “I’ve heard that before,” she said. “What do you want me to do?”
    “First of all, say your name.”
    “Elizabeth Short,” she said, forcing a smile, but still looking around warily.
    “How long have you been in the area?”
    “Not long.”
    “Is that a Boston accent I hear?” asked one of the men off-camera.
    “You can still hear it?” she asked. “I was from there originally, but spent a lot of my early years in Florida.”
    “When did you become an idiot?” asked one of the men.
    She looked at him, the corners of her mouth dropping in anger. “Hey, you sap, what gives?”
    “You let three strange men take you to a deserted house on the promise of a screen test. Smart women don’t do that.”
    She started walking away, a terrified look on her face. The camera followed her. One of the men got into camera range, hitting her in the head twice with a small club, knocking her out before she could even scream. “Chet, get your lazy ass over here and help me tie her hands and feet.”
    “There’s dear old dad,” Scott said proudly.
    “Who’s the first guy?” Howard asked.
    “Prescott Beckler,” Scott said. “Never met him. He disappeared before I was born.”
    “How about the Torso Killer? He ever get into the film?” asked Howard.
    “Yeah, later,” Scott said. He got up and pulled the light chain again, then flipped off the projector.
    “We don’t get to watch the rest?” Bailey asked.
    “Tomorrow. They had her for several days and filmed a lot of it. See that stack of film