I pressed the seatbelt release, and felt a rush of panic as the button caught. Please don’t let me be trapped in here. Don’t let them have rigged the clasp. But then the buckle popped free.

They shut their doors at the same time, the noise echoing in the silent night, and started walking my way.

“No, no,” I muttered. “Fuck all of this.”

I opened the door and got out, never once seeing the little button on the steering wheel containing a camera. Just like the one now watching you.

The road felt barren, the night sky loomed in its endless expanse. I learned from my days of partying that nothing good ever happens after midnight. Statistically, you’re more likely to die in the wee hours. More likely to disappear.

The two men stopped when I stepped out. Yes, they were definitely identical. At least they appeared so from this distance. Hick brothers who had only been separated when the embryo split.

“Ran into a little trouble, there?” they said together, their thick Southern accents reverberating as one. No way this was random coincidence. It was too theatrical. Too strange.

I figured I could take one of them in a fight, if it came to that. I wasn’t sure I could handle both. “I’m fine,” I said. “I’ve already called Triple-A. Thanks for stopping, though.”

“Triple-A?” the one on my side said, standing motionless, hands hanging down.

“They don’t service these parts,” the other one said, working together to complete a sentence.

“Ain’t nobody out here but us,” they both said as one.

They were about twenty feet away. I was happy for the distance, but wanted to show that I was willing to stand my ground. I figured this would be over soon, and I didn’t want to arm my friends – if I could still call them that – with ammunition to use against me later. Some hidden camera shit of me running from these oafs or pleading for them to stop.

I raised my arms to each side and shrugged. “So, what’s the plan? Any way we can cut to the chase and get this over with? I’ve got a wife and sick kid at home. I don’t want to keep them waiting.”

“Just trying to help,” the man closest to me said. He reached behind his back and retrieved something from a loop on his belt. Pulled around a large steel wrench, almost comical in size. More weapon than tool.

The man on the far side snickered – a dopey, wet sound as though it loosened his dentures. “It’s a long walk to get anywhere from here, and ain’t much traffic this time of night. Let us give you a hand.” He pulled a tire iron from the back of his belt loop. Tweedledum and Tweedledee, carrying their instruments of death.