Chapter :2 The Shadow figure
The truck rumbled through the rain, its headlights slicing through the darkness like blades. Abraham's hands were steady on the wheel, but the silence inside the cab was heavy, thick with the weight of what they'd just escaped. The woman sat rigid beside him, arms crossed, her eyes fixed on the road ahead, while the little girl fidgeted in the back, her small voice finally cutting through the quiet. "I'm hungry," she mumbled, clutching her stomach. Abraham glanced in the rearview mirror, his grey-streaked hair catching the dashboard's faint glow. "There's a place up ahead," he grunted, his voice gruff but not unkind. "We'll stop." Minutes later, the truck jolted to a halt in a gravel lot outside a dingy roadside diner, its neon sign buzzing "Eats" in faded red. Rain tapped relentlessly on the roof as they stepped out, the woman pulling the girl close under her coat. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of grease and stale coffee, and a few truckers at the counter cast fleeting glances their way before turning back to their meals. They slid into a booth, the vinyl seats sticky and worn under Abraham's palms. The girl grabbed the menu, her eyes lighting up at the sight of fries and burgers. "Can I get that?" she asked, pointing eagerly. The woman nodded, her gaze darting to Abraham, still wary. "Fine, but eat fast," she muttered. The food arrived, and the girl devoured it like she hadn't eaten in days, ketchup smearing her chin. Halfway through, she looked up at Abraham, her face bright with curiosity. "Hey, how old are you, really? You've got gray hair and some white, but you don't look too old." Abraham leaned back, a faint smirk tugging at his beard. "Thirty-eight. Just a lot of stress turning my hair white, that's all." The girl grinned, emboldened. "How do you know all those fighting skills, like boxing and taekwondo?" The woman's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing in a silent warning, but Abraham raised a hand. "It's alright," he said, his voice low and steady. "Was in the army, back in the day." The girl's eyes widened. "Did you fight in any wars?" For a moment, the diner's clatter faded, and Abraham's gaze darkened, the weight of memories pressing down. Then he shrugged, forcing a lighter tone. "Yeah. The Naf River war, Bangladesh versus Myanmar. I was there. Lots of my comrades got hurt, but none died. On their side, though, plenty of their soldiers got injured because of me. Fifty-one elite army guys—I took 'em down with my bare hands after my ammo ran out." The booth fell silent, the gravity of his words settling over them like a fog. The woman's fingers tightened around her coffee cup, and the girl's mouth hung open. "Wow," she whispered. Abraham chuckled, breaking the tension. "But it wasn't all serious. Once, during training, I got stuck in a muddy ditch playing sniper. Looked like a swamp monster by the time they pulled me out. Sergeant laughed so hard he tripped and landed right next to me." The girl giggled, and even the woman's lips twitched, though her eyes stayed sharp. He leaned forward, warming to the story. "And in the war zone, we were on patrol, jumpy as hell, when a stray dog bolted through camp with half a loaf of bread. Thought it was an attack—everyone dove for cover. Turns out, Private Jenkins was chasing it, yelling, 'That's my lunch!' We all laughed so hard we forgot to be scared for a minute." The girl beamed, but the woman's smile faded fast. She caught the girl's eye with a sharp glare, and the child shrank back, her excitement dimming. Abraham noticed, his jaw tightening, but he didn't push. Instead, he stared out the window, rain streaking the glass, his mind drifting to darker shadows—flashes of gunfire, screams, the burden of survival. As they stood to leave, the girl tugged at the woman's sleeve. "He's not like the others, is he?" she whispered, too loudly. The woman's eyes darted to Abraham, then away. "We'll see," she murmured, her voice tight. Outside, the rain had eased, but a shadow moved near the truck—a figure, too still, watching them. Abraham froze, his hand brushing the door handle. "Get in," he growled, his voice suddenly hard.
Now what will be the next stray with the story in the third chapter we will tell about it.