“Just a little village. Nothing to see here,” was the message posted on the sign nailed to the roadblock. James didn’t believe it for a second. He’d been traveling through the brutal desert for days. He was just about ready to give up all hope. His 87’ El Camino was low on fuel. His water supply was dangerously depleted and he was almost out of food.

“Nothing to see here.” Maybe there was nothing to see, but there would be supplies. That he was sure of. He got back in his car and drove on the shoulder around the roadblock.

About a mile up the road there was another barricade. This one was manned, by scary looking guys with guns. James hit the brakes as the sentries fired warning shots into the air. He put the car in park, kept the engine running and stepped out onto the pavement. He waved at the guards and forced a smile. One of the armed men spoke into a megaphone, “turn your vehicle around, sir. The village is closed.”

James cupped his hands around his mouth to project his voice and shouted, “I mean you no harm. I’m just in need of food, water and supplies.”

“We have nothing to spare,” the guard with the megaphone answered. That was all he said. James could see the gunmen at the barricade training their barrels in his direction. He could tell they meant business. He got back in his car and turned around. It was just for show. He knew the village was too much of an opportunity to pass up. The last three towns he’d been through had been totally deserted and the corpses rotting everywhere in the streets was a telltale sign that any food or water would’ve been contaminated anyway.

James waited for nightfall. He left his car a ways off the road in the chaparral and approached the village on foot. He’d have to move stealthily. The guards at the second barricade would be vigilant. He really didn’t mean them any harm. He planned to simply collect some provisions and be on his way. He brought his empty backpack with him to load up with food, an empty gallon water jug and a gas can. Maybe it would be enough fuel to get him to a filling station somewhere further down the highway.

He gave the barricade a wide berth, hiking through the desert sand. After about an hour he could see some lights in the village. He was close. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck. When he tried to breathe his throat made a morbid gurgling sound. Warm liquid ran out of his mouth. He’d been stabbed.

“Should have listened to me, son,” his attacker whispered. Cold darkness enveloped him and James was no more.

“You know what to do” Darren Rehnquist ordered. A group of six men picked up James’ lifeless body. Fresh meat was back on the menu.