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The car jerked. We either hit something or the tire blew out. Possibly both.
"Go check, here's a flashlight," my dad told me. He handed me the flashlight he told me about. I didn't question him. He was rather disabled. He had to walk with a cane and he most certainly couldn't bend over. I opened the door without a word and looked at the two front tires. It was dark out yet I could see the tires were unscathed. I went to look at the back two when I saw a dark clump in the middle of the road. We must've hit it. But what was it? I walked cautiously over to it, not wanting to get hurt if it was only injured and attacked. It seemed to be a plastic bag. The kind you find in morgues. The kind with dead bodies in them. I touched the cold plastic, which sent shivers up my spine. I turned it over to find the zipper. Against my will, I opened it. There was a pale body inside of it. Its eyes were wide open, as if in shock. It was wearing a blue uniform. It was a guy. What ever happened to him was a mystery. His skin was somewhat translucent, and his veins were clearly showing. But he had a huge gash across his chest. It was red. I jumped back. Curiosity had left my body now, I was just scared. I dashed back to the car and motioned frantically toward the corpse. My father looked at me skeptically and opened his door. He hobbled over to me with his cane when he saw the black clump, illuminated by the flashlight I had dropped. He had a frustrated look on his face but he walked over to it nonetheless. He soon saw the face with its pale pallor and disturbing stare. With its veins appearing to pop out from underneath his clammy skin. With its ripped open chest and bloody uniform.
"Kat..." my dad started solemnly. "This isn't good. We have to take this man back to the city."
"Yes dad," I replied, not knowing what else to say. I zipped the cadaver back into its dark prison and dragged it back toward the van. My dad opened up the trunk and with much struggling, I got him inside. I climbed back into the driver's seat and toward our old destination. My father seemed to be shaking, he had a rather odd look of shock on his face. I'm sure mine matched it.