A lone stretch of endless highway in rural America becomes the stage for a modern odyssey. A young woman—known only as The Driver—cruises through deserted county roads, carrying secrets just as heavy as her gas tank. She picks up a solitary hitchhiker, a drifter with haunted eyes and restless energy. Neither understands the roadtracks they share: both running from trauma, both tethered to grief. Their journey, meant to stitch together silent companionship, becomes an unraveling of lies, suspicions, and fate.
As they drive deeper into no‑man’s land, the veneer of trust begins to crack. Small towns blur past in twilight; call boxes are burned out; sirens loom in their rearview. Reports surface of a ruthless serial killer on the loose, and suddenly the drifter and The Driver are the prime suspects. Sheriff Teagan and Deputy Vernon descend on every gas station and diner—investigating, accusing, hunting. The tension builds: who is running from who? Who is bait and who is prey? The isolation of the open road amplifies every heartbeat, every glance.
Motive and memory twist as confessions emerge. In chilling flashbacks, the drifter reveals the wreckage he fled from—family shattered, trust betrayed, a past soaked in violence. The Driver too carries grief: a sister lost, a life derailed. Their shared pain morphs into volatility; neither can be sure of the other’s truth. A chance encounter at a truck-stop diner—camouflaged by retro neon and passive diners—leads to betrayal and blood. Betrayed by false authority, cornered by guilt, they must decide: flee alone, or unite in vengeance.
In a cinematic finale, survival becomes redemption. An attempted escape down a desert artery ends in a nightmarish standoff. Engines roar, headlights converge, bullets rattle, and identities collide. But when the killer’s true face emerges—unexpected, terrifying—a new predator rises. The Driver and the drifter must ally or fall apart. They flee into the open desert, cars crashing in dust-choked explosions, until only one crossroad remains: forgiveness or oblivion. As the sun climbs, they slow down, battered but alive. The final image—a rearview mirror half‑broken, the highway stretching forever—asks the audience: who was the real monster? The journey questions not just survival, but the echoes we drag behind us.Roadkill is a lonely road horror with a pulse—it rides hard, reckons with trauma, and leaves memory bleeding in its wake.
