All societies have misfits and murderers, usually in proportions that seldom reach a critical mass at any one particular place or time. Yet on a rainy spring evening in southwest Georgia, three of the south's quite ordinary nonconformists, one a lone wolf, another a juvenile offender, and the last a racial deviant, stumbled upon the McEachern family living happily if marginally in a cozy trailer in an Edenesque setting in the piney woods of the southeast. In modern America, almost all southerners live just off a four-lane highway or expressway where anyone from frustrated and angry scoundrels to unwashed loons daily drive by on their way to and from nowhere. While some only pause to purchase gas and snacks, others chance upon local inhabitants, usually interacting in a brief, mutually reciprocal yet distant manner that does not provide a stage for murder. Still, throw in some toxic ingredients of desperation, urgency, and passion and the mix becomes deadly.