"GPS signal lost," my phone chirped at me as I headed down the empty highway. Since there was nowhere else to go but straight, I kept driving, hoping the phone would pick up a signal again shortly. Aside from my headlights, the only illumination was from the occasional flash of lightning as it ripped across the sky. The rain was coming down pretty hard and even with my wipers on high, I was having trouble seeing the road.
Eventually I gave up waiting, spotted an area I could pull over and slowed down. I threw the truck into park and grabbed my phone off of the mount to take a look at it. I still had no signal, but I guessed that from the last update, my turn would be coming up in a half an hour or so. I hoped it reconnected soon since I was currently driving through middle-of-nowhere Wyoming; an area I was most certainly not familiar with. Even if it had been daytime and not in the middle of a truly epic thunderstorm, I still would have needed the GPS. I've always been hopeless when it comes to navigation. What was I doing way out here? Well, after my parents split, my dad left New Hampshire and this is where he ended up.
Cross country travel to visit my dad wasn't high up on the priority list. I just wasn't super close to him, at last not as much as I had been when I was younger. When I was a kid he did the typical dad things, taught me how to catch a ball, helped me with my homework, introduced me to video games... I still remember how annoyed my mother was when she found me playing Doom, also, he taught me how to shoot. It was my favorite family activity back then. Then, not much longer after my 13th birthday he changed jobs. Picked up a high level position at a very successful start up. He was raking in the money but the hours were long and he had to do a lot of traveling across the country all the time; I barely saw him anymore.
I think that's why my parents divorced, the distance kind of ruined their relationship. I used to walk into arguments between the two of them over how he was never home and never did anything with the family. Anyway he eventually burnt out on both family life and work, his solution was to give up. Packed his bags, quit his job and took off. Unfortunately my mom didn't take him leaving very well. She tried to fix the pain with alcohol and she became very unpleasant person to live with. The day I turned 18, I got out of that house and I hadn't done much talking to her since.
I worked a few terrible retail jobs until I managed to luck out and snag a pretty awesome job at a local gun store. It paid a little better than my last few jobs and I finally was making enough that I could save up to go to college. When I first started I mostly I just worked the counter, so it wasn't all that different than any other retail job, except since I had some experience with shooting it meant I could help customers out when they had questions.
The cool thing about this shop though wasn't the normal store section. Rick, the owner actually designed and built hand crafted double barrel rifles. These were the things you'd see taken on a safari in the early 1900s. Each one was a work of art and priced far beyond anything I could ever afford. He had an extensive machine shop in the back and was known as one of the best gunsmiths in New England. He was also a super friendly down to earth guy who was more than happy share his extensive knowledge and teach me pretty much anything I wanted to know, as long as I was willing to learn.
I had gone into the job with a decent knowledge of guns, I knew how to clean, disassemble and assemble the few that I owned, I knew about proper shooting techniques and I was a decent marksman but I had never done any repair work, or even looked at building something by hand. After working there for almost four years, I could pretty much take anything he sold apart and put it back together with ease, I picked up repair work and even helped him with a few of his rifle orders.
Since I was helping him with assembly and repair work and not just running the counter, he was paying me very reasonably. I decided to invest some of that money into an education. Working in Rick's shop hand kindled an interest in making things. I knew it would be tough but I wanted to pursue something in an engineering field. Rick was a fantastic boss and was very flexible with my schedule so I was able to continue to work full time while going to school part time. I enrolled in the local state university and was accepted.
Sadly, Rick, who was getting up there in years, had a heart attack eight months later. Fortunately he recovered, but he decided it was time to get out of the business. Being in the hospital shocked him into thinking about his own mortality and he wanted to spend what time he had left with his family instead of working all the time. He approached me and asked if I wanted to buy the store off of him and run it myself, but there was no way I could afford to pay what it was worth so I had to decline. In the end, the owner of a competing store ended up buying it. Sadly he had no intention of keeping both stores open. Instead, he fired me, closed down the shop, folded the inventory into his own store and sold off all of Rick's machinery.
With my primary source of income gone, I had to find another job. I sent my resume to dozens of places but I never got any responses. It seemed that all of the jobs that paid well enough for me to keep up with my living expenses and paying for school wanted people with years of experience or a degree I didn't have yet. Still, I wasn't ready to give up. I had been pretty good about saving money when I could and I had enough to keep me going for a while until I could find work again. To help keep my expenses down, I dropped down to a single class a semester. It was important for me to not drop out entirely, because I knew If I kept at it and got my degree it would help in the search for not just another job, but a career.
It took a while but finally I found some place hiring that worked with my school schedule and got me enough money to keep things going... barely. It wasn't anything glamorous, working the night shift as a security guard in a small warehouse, but I wasn't picky. The hours sucked, I was often the only person in the building until the next morning's shift took over, and my boss was an asshole, but it beat nothing at all. I divided my time during the day between sleeping, studying, going to class and trying to find something better.
My irregular schedule took a toll on my already anemic social life; two years rolled by and most of the people I knew in school who were going full time had started to graduate. Meanwhile I was stuck moving at a snail's pace. I tried to keep in touch with a few of them but as they moved away or started jobs with normal schedules it became harder and harder to maintain contact. I hadn't dated in years and I never went out anymore, but that was a price I was willing to pay. I only had to keep it up for a few more years until I graduated and found a real job, then I could focus on me again.
I justified it to myself, friends and fun were things you did after you had your life in order. Once I got a real job I could return to a normal schedule, I'd have time to go out and do things again, I wouldn't be stuck working a dead end job, scraping by and squirreling away what little cash I had.
Things were slow going but I was steadily making progress towards my goals. Then, out of the blue, my dad showed up at my apartment one day. I almost turned him away, I had just had finished a long shift, was exhausted and had a big test coming up the next day but those were just excuses. The real reason I didn't want to talk to him was he gave up on me and my mom and I wasn't a fan quitters.
Something stopped me though, maybe it was the way he looked at me or maybe I just had a moment of weakness. I invited him in, we talked for a while and we made an attempt to catch up on the years that we had missed. He didn't seem to want to talk much about his past, instead focused on what I had been doing and what my plans were.
We had been talking for several hours when he finally got around to telling me the real reason traveled across the country. He had been diagnosed with cancer and it was terminal; according to his doctor he didn't have much longer to live, a few months at best. It was a complete shock, both to him when he first found out and to me. Outwardly he seemed fine, maybe a little thinner than when last a saw him and with a bit less hair but he didn't look like he was dying.
We talked about the cancer for a while, then things turned to his past and that's when he really broke down. With tears streaming down his face he pulled me into a hug and began to apologize over and over again for leaving. I wanted to forgive him, but it was going to take time, time I wasn't sure he had left. It was getting late when he told me he was going to be sticking around. With his place so far away, he wanted to be closer to me until his time came. I didn't want him stuck in some hotel, so I invited him to say in my tiny apartment, it would be cramped but it felt like the right thing to do.
I helped my dad move what little he brought with him from his hotel to my place and after we got all the stuff moved in, I got on the phone with work to see about getting some time off. After arguing with my boss for a while, I managed to get a solid two weeks, though he warned me not to try to take a day more. I gave my dad the news, and promised that we could spend the next two weeks together, it wasn't possible to make up for all the missed time but at least we could really get to know each other again.
He didn't make it to the weekend.
The funeral had been small, mostly family, distant relatives I only saw on holidays, and a few people my dad had called friends another lifetime ago. My mother showed up, I could smell the alcohol on her ten feet away, she saw me and turned away before I could make eye contact. I felt bad not talking to her but a small part of me said I should seek her out in the near future. Maybe it was time to make amends. After the funeral, I wasn't in any mood to go back to work and I still had some time off left. Sitting around the house and moping wasn't really my style, and I needed to get out to Wyoming and go through his house.
He had left it to me, but I couldn't keep the thing, I didn't make enough to keep up a home half way across the country. He had figured this was going to be the case and had told me before he died that I shouldn't feel any compulsion to keep it. Sell it off he said, but there was some stuff there he wanted me to have. He left me his not inconsiderable savings and his pickup truck as well. Flying out there was a big nope, I wouldn't get into an airplane if I could avoid it, so I figured I'd make use of the truck, drive out to Wyoming and go collect what I wanted. I headed out to rent a trailer, but found someone selling an old one for a good price. With trailer in tow, I began the long drive across country.
The loud boom of thunder shook my attention back towards reality. I dug though the glove compartment until I found an old paper map. I fumbled around with it, trying to remember how to use them before I finally figured out where I thought I was. If I was looking at it correctly I was about twenty miles from my turn. I pulled back out onto the road and continued on my way.
Just as the rain started to let up, I saw the exit coming up. I pulled off the highway and followed the smaller road for a while and eventually rolled into a small town. Everything was pretty dark, not unusual this late at night in the middle of nowhere, but I did see a gas station with its lights still on. I pulled in, almost forgetting to pull up to the diesel section. I remembered at the last minute and swerved into the proper station. The display on the pump said the credit card system was down, so I ran inside to pay with cash.
"Diesel's all out." The old man behind the counter said, "My shipment got delayed, won't be here till the day after tomorrow"
"Shit, I've only got about a quarter of a tank left, are there any other stations around?" I asked.
The old man laughed, "You aren't from around here are you, next station is about 120 miles west on 14." Then he leaned over the counter taking a closer look at the truck.
"Where are you heading?" he asked somewhat warily.
"Actually I'm hoping to get some directions, the weather is screwing with my phone's GPS and no, I'm not from around here," I said, then I told the guy where I was headed.
"Why are you going up to Bill's? And why are you driving his truck?" he asked with a bit of edge in his voice.
"You knew my dad?" I asked with some surprise. Dad hadn't talked about any of his friends from out west.
"As well as anyone knew him, he mostly kept to himself, but it's a small town." he said with a shrug, "Didn't even know he had a kid, but he never really talked about his past. Now that you mention it, you look like him. Where the hell is he? I haven't seen him in a few weeks," his expression turned sour, "wait... knew?"
I let out a sigh, "He died, early last week... cancer. It was really sudden, he had flown to New Hampshire to see me, I only found out when he showed up at my door."
The old guy's gaze softened.
"I'm sorry to hear that."
We talked for a bit and then he gave me directions, including pointing out some land marks that he swore I wouldn't be able to miss.
"I don't know how long you are planning on being here, but if you need fuel before Monday, give me a call, the name's Frank," he wrote down a phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to me, "I've got some extra diesel at my place and I'll top off your tank, but check around your dad's house, I know he has a generator, he probably has some."
I thanked him, grabbed some food to make for lunch the next day, and then headed out. Half an hour later, I pulled into my dad's driveway and parked the truck. I ran through the still heavy rain to the door, dug through my keychain to find the key my dad had given me and unlocked the door. After 12 hours of driving, I was exhausted, everything looked fine at first glance, so I headed to the guest room, and collapsed on the spare bed. I was sound asleep in minutes.
I woke up the next morning to sunlight pouring in through the window; I let out a groan and did my best to ignore it but the room only got brighter as the sun crept upwards. Finally I gave up, pulled myself out of bed and shuffled off to the bathroom. A few minutes later I headed out to the truck and grabbed my small suitcase. I hadn't packed much because I couldn't stay long, I pretty much had one day to pack and then I had to get back on the road. It had taken me three and a half days of driving to get out here, if the return trip was about the same I'd have to go back to work the day after I got back. That was all the time off I could get, my jerkass of a boss had threatened to fire me if I wasn't back right on schedule, didn't even offer any condolences when I told him why I needed the time. If all went to plan, I'd pack up what I could. The rest could stay with the house or be sold off. I had already found an agent who could was going to help with all that, but he wasn't available until the end of the month.
I walked around the house looking into each room to see what kind of stuff I'd need to pack up. I had no real need for furniture, so I didn't know if I was going to ignore it entirely or take a select few things. Either way there was too much of it to fit all in one trip; I'd have to wait to see what else there was to pack. There was an old CRT TV that I was just going to toss, a nearly empty bookshelf, which surprised me, my father was an avid reader, that looked like it had seen better days and stacks and stacks of magazines that I had no interest in moving. Looking around in the daylight made me realize how empty this place was.
Still I packed up a few boxes, mostly a few small photo albums and family memorabilia that my dad had taken with him and placed them in a pile near the door. Next was the basement; it took me a moment to find the light switch, and when I could finally see I let out a small gasp. There, on the floor, was a large pile of boxes, already packed full of stuff. There was a note taped to one of the larger boxes in my dad's handwriting. It simply said "Keep all this." My eyes watered a bit and I mumbled, "Thanks Dad," before I started investigating what exactly he had packed up for me.
The first few boxes weighed a ton, I opened one and immediately realized why the bookshelf was so empty; he had already packed it all up and then some. Guessing by the few books he had left on the shelf, the ones already packed must have been what he considered worth saving. After sorting through the multiple boxes of books, I opened another and found several large bags full of pistol and rifle brass. The first few bags were labeled .44 magnum, the rest were labeled .30-06. I opened another box and found reloading supplies. My dad used to be a fairly active shooter, but he had told me that he had ended up selling most of his gun collection.
He had only kept his two favorites and he had told me about them before he passed, so I had known I'd be picking them up. What I didn't know is that he had started reloading his own ammunition. After taking an inventory, I found two presses, a progressive and a single stage. There was also powder scales, calipers, case trimmers, reloading dies, bullets, primers, gun powder and everything else a person would need to reload their own ammunition. The tools and hardware I would need to mount the presses were packed into another box and the last box was chock full of reloading manuals.
I made my way to the other half of the basement, I found a few boxes full of tools with another "Keep these" note. Then I spotted my dad's gun safe. I pulled out my phone and opened the note with the combination. Turning the dial back and forth, I unlocked the safe and opened it up. Taped to the inside of the door was a picture of me, I must have been about 10 years old in the photo. I was sitting on a bench at the range we used to go to, looking through the small scope on my dad's old .22, he was standing behind me with his hand on my shoulder.
I had to stop packing after that, I took the photo with me, wandered back to the finished half of the basement, sat down and cried. It took some time but eventually I was able to pull myself together; I went back to the safe and pulled out the rifle. I looked over the gun and then placed on the ground. A glint of stainless steel caught my eye, I turned around and looked back into the safe. There was my dad's favorite revolver, and unlike the rifle, which he must have bought after he moved, this one I recognized from my childhood. I had been too small back then to handle the recoil, so I'd never used it myself it, but I watched my dad shoot it many times. Just picking it up flooded my brain with memories of the past; for a few minutes I just held it, looking it over. Finally, I placed it next to the rifle and looked into the safe one more time to verify that it was empty.
That's when I saw a box wrapped in gift wrap and a piece of paper on the floor of the safe. I picked up the paper and turned it over. It was a note, it had been taped to the door, likely where the picture had been. It must have come loose and fallen down.
"Son, I'm sorry that I was so distant those last few years and I'm sorry that I took off. I wanted you to know that I'm really proud of you, but I do have one piece of advice. There's more to life than work, don't let your job consume your life like I did, go out and do something exciting. One last thing, don't forget to open the box in the back of the safe. Think of it as making up for all the birthdays I missed and I won't be around for. Love Dad."
I wiped a tear from my eye and pulled out the box. Slowly, I peeled back the wrapping paper and then opened it up. My eyes went wide with surprise. Inside was an absolutely beautiful lever action rifle chambered in .44 magnum. It had a gorgeous walnut stock, a shiny steel receiver, and a heavy octagonal barrel. Wrapped around the end of the stock as a leather cheek rest with little loops on the side to hold extra ammunition. To complete the package, a sturdy looking leather sling was attached to the rifle. The stock iron sights had been replaced with a peep sight, my favorite kind. I distinctly remembered talking about this gun with my dad the last time I had gone shooting with him and how badly I had wanted it. I pulled the lever down and looked inside the receiver to verify that it was unloaded. Satisfied, I closed the lever back up, enjoying the distinctive click-clack sound it made. Working the lever had cocked the hammer, so I released it, then I brought the rifle up to my shoulder and peered down the sight. The golden bead on the tip of the post was clearly visible through the ring, I couldn't wait to take it out to the range. After I finished admiring the new rifle, I carefully packed it away in the last case.
The cases for the guns were stacked up next to the safe, I went through each gun, verified that they were unloaded and then packed everything up and locked the individual cases. Not knowing about the lever action, I hadn't brought a lock for it. That made me a bit nervous as I had to drive quite a ways to get these things home and I wanted to make sure I went above and beyond federal transport laws. In theory simply being locked up out of reach in the trailer should be sufficient but I didn't want to take any chances. Not every state understands what "shall not be infringed" means and I didn't need some yokel arresting me on trumped up charges. I considered keeping all the guns in the safe, but the gun cases didn't fit and so I'd have to take them out. Loose guns in the safe was a great way to get them all banged up and I didn't have any way to prevent them from moving around so I quickly abandoned that idea. I'd have to stop at a store on the way home and grab an extra lock, preferably before I left the state.
I broke for a quick lunch, then got back to work. Next to the safe were four big ammo cans, two labeled .44 magnum and the other two labeled .30-06. I was surprised that he didn't have more, I know my dad used to buy his ammo in bulk, but I guess if he started reloading it, he could just load up more when he needed it. I locked up each of the ammo boxes and moved them into the pile that I needed to bring upstairs; then I got to work on the rest of the basement, which hadn't been packed up yet. There was a fairly large collection of tools, which I spent a few hours boxing and then I moved everything upstairs. Every once in a while I'd find another note from my dad, suggesting I keep a particular item, or just a picture of the two of us from when I was younger. By the time I finished cleaning the basement up, I was almost on the verge of tears again, but at the same time, the pictures reminded me of the happier times and I was thankful he had left them.
Finally, the only thing that was left was the garage. I opened it up only to discover it had already been cleaned out. The only thing sitting in there was a portable generator, with a big piece of paper taped to the side that said "Diesel only", a few of those yellow plastic 5 gallon jugs and lastly, a full 55 gallon drum with a note that said "Diesel" and a small hand pump sticking out of it. The drum was a little over three quarters full, just enough for me to top off the tank of the truck and fill two of the jugs.
I spent the rest of the evening packing the trailer, finishing up around ten. The hardest part was getting the gun safe into the trailer. It weighed several hundred pounds empty, I had a dolly so I was able to wheel it through the basement and out the garage, but getting it into the trailer was a monumental effort. I probably shouldn't have attempted it alone, but I didn't know anyone in town and I didn't want to pay for movers. After that I went to bed.
I woke up the next morning at 4AM. Since I had such a long drive home, I wanted to get an early start. I did one last check around the house, locked up and hopped into the truck. It was still fairly dark and another storm was starting up again when I finally hit the highway.
Out here the roads had been empty even during the day time but now at this early hour I hadn't seen a single car since I had left town. The rain was coming down fairly hard but nowhere near as bad as it had been the other night. I turned up my music to help me stay awake. A particularly good song came on and I was drumming along on the wheel when I caught a glimpse of something in the distance. A small greenish glow coming from the road ahead.
Thinking it was a flare in the road, I flicked on my high-beams trying to see if there was anyone up ahead. The heavy rain was preventing me from getting a good look at whatever it was, but I could tell that it was getting brighter as I approached. Still, I couldn't make out any source for the strange light, I'd always seen people put out flares in multiples and there was defiantly only a single light. The rest of the road looked empty. I took my foot off the gas and started to brake when suddenly the light... grew. I don't know how else to describe it. One second there was a small green spot and a moment later there was some giant swirling green surface as big as the truck. I slammed down on the brakes hard, but it was too late, I was going too fast to stop in time.
I expected a crash, but the truck just barreled through the green surface. There was a strange sensation of movement that didn't fit the motion of the truck and then suddenly I was blinded by the sun which was now right in my face instead of just barely starting to creep over the horizon. The sudden switch from darkness to light turned my vision white and I raised a hand to shield my eyes. The truck was skidding, I tried to slam on the brakes but the pedal gave a lot of resistance. Between that and the loss of power steering I realized that the truck had stalled out. I didn't have much time to think about it before there was a series of large bumps followed by a bang as truck dropped down at least a foot; I heard a wrenching sound from behind me, followed by what sounded like a chain snapping. The truck lurched again, dropping even farther, I was jolted sideways and slammed my head into the driver window. There was a spike of pain and everything went black.
A dry coughing and a desperate need for a drink was my first realization that I was awake. Something about that bothered me, but I wasn't sure what. After a few seconds of confusion, it hit me. I had no recollection of going to sleep. In fact the last thing I remembered was turning onto the highway. I jolted upright, eyes flying open as I desperately latched onto the wheel while simultaneously slamming my foot down on the brakes as my eyes tried to focus on the road in front of me. It took me another second or two to realize I didn't feel any sensation of movement, the truck wasn't screaming down the highway out of control nor had my braking accomplished anything. By then my sight had cleared up enough that I figured the best thing to do was look out the window. Instead of the winding forested highway that I had expected, before me stretched a rough and rocky reddish brown landscape with some mountains in the distance. There was a smattering of green here and there where small desert bushes struggled to grow in the obviously sun stricken landscape.
The interior of the cabin was scorching hot and sweat was dripping down my face. I reached up with my shirt to rub some of it away; the brushing motion made a sharp pain shoot though my forehead and I grunted loudly. I gently probed at the sore spot, right above my left eyebrow.
"Fuck!" I said loudly, touching it made it feel worse, much worse.
I flipped down the visor and opened the flap so I could get a look at my forehead in the tiny mirror. There was a rather sizable lump along with long shallow gash covered in dried blood. I couldn't remember hitting my head, but I suppose if I hit it hard enough, that might be why.
"But what did I hit it on?" I asked myself as I looked around the truck.
"Oh."
There was a dried smear of blood on the door window. I must have hit my head pretty hard, but thankfully both the window and my skull appeared to be intact. I opened the glove box and pulled out the small first aid stored in there. A moment later both the window and my forehead were relatively clean. I didn't bother with a bandage because as far as I could tell it wasn't bleeding anymore and I really didn't want anything touching it if it didn't need to be.
My immediate problem taken care of, I turned around and opened the cooler I had sitting on the bench. I grabbed a bottle of water, popped the top and took a long drink. There was a small pill bottle in the first aid kit, I picked it up and gave it a shake. A bunch of pills rattled around; it felt like the bottle was about half empty. I made a mental note to replace it once I figured out where I was, then I took the cap off, shook two pills into my hand then swallowed them with a swig of water.
The pill bottle and first aid kit went back into the glove box and I sat there taking another sip of water as I tried to put off the obvious problem that had been staring me in the face since I had woken up.
Where the hell was I and how did I get here? I vaguely remembered leaving my dad's house and getting on the highway during a rainstorm.
Before I got knocked out, I was up north in the mountains, and the surrounding landscape was considerably more green and forested. The view out my window looked more like the southern part of the state, or possibly Arizona or Utah. That and nowhere in my line of site was anything that resembled a road at all.
Something had to be wrong, I wasn't supposed to be anywhere near those places. Had I driven south instead of east and then gotten into an accident? The bump on my head could be making me forget things but why would I be out in a desert to begin with? My first order of business was figuring out where I was. Thankfully in these modern times, getting completely lost took some effort, and finding out where you were was fairly simple. I pulled my phone out of the dock, even if I somehow was in the middle of nowhere and had no cell service, I should still be able to get a fix with the phone's GPS.
Instead of my wallpaper, the display lit up for a moment and then showed the boot animation. I set the phone down while it continued to start up and tried to start the engine. There was a bit of hesitation but then it roared to life. The first thing I did was crank the AC up to max and then I plugged my phone back into the charger, and then glanced at the clock in the center console, trying to figure out how long I had been out.
Something was wrong, the numbers on the clock looked strange, not like numbers at all. Had it been damaged in the crash? I couldn't imagine what would cause a digital clock to show the kind of gibberish I was seeing. Perplexed I squeezed my eyes shut and then opened them again, but that didn't help. I turned my gaze towards the dashboard and that's when I knew something was wrong. Like the clock the dashboard was a mix of gibberish and nonsensical symbols. It looked like someone had replaced all the numbers and letters with some junk alien script out of a low budget sci-fi show
Maybe, just maybe, some weird damage could somehow make a digital clock's display show a bunch of junk, but there was no way my whole dashboard got opened up and changed out. I reached up to the sore spot on my head and gently felt it. As far as I could tell, other than being in pain from the crash, I felt normal enough. But, the inability to read immediately made me think drain bramage, and if that was true then I needed to get help and I needed it quickly.
Picking up the phone, I was happy to see that it had finished booting but frustrated that my inability to read extended to the phone as well. Worse still, though the text was indecipherable, the no service icon was still plain as day. Dialing 911 without being able to read the keypad wouldn't really be that difficult, but with no service I wasn't going to be making any calls anytime soon. I opened a GPS compass app I had and waited for the phone get a lock on the satellites. Unfortunately even if it did, I had no way to read the coordinates, but I wasn't sure what else to do. Ten minutes passed and the GPS icon was still flashing so I gave up and put the phone back down.
"Well this is just great!" I shouted at no one in particular. For a few minutes I didn't move, instead I tried to calm down as best I could and enjoy the fact that the inside of the truck didn't feel like an oven anymore. With nothing better to do, I decided to get out and survey the damage. I turned off the engine and opened the door, and that's when I found out why the truck was tilted at a bit of an angle. There was at least a three foot drop down to the ground below me; I carefully climbed out of the truck and dropped to the ground below, then backed up a bit so I could get a better look.
There was a long rocky trench running through the ground, maybe once it carried a stream but judging from the surrounding environment it had dried up long ago. Many of the rocks were man sized or smaller but here and there were large boulders that had survived whatever process had eroded the tear in the earth. The truck was currently straddling two of these large boulders, having made it almost, but not quite, across the gap before it had gotten stuck. Without some external assistance that truck wasn't going to be moving again.
I couldn't see the trailer at all from my current position so I decided to get out of the trench. Behind me it stretched out for a few hundred more feet, getting shallower as it went on until it all but disappeared. Rather than try to climb the potentially loose rocky sides, I followed it for a while until the grade leveled off and then walked out, circling back to check the other side of the truck.
Once I was out the trench I found the trailer resting about 20 feet back from the edge on a large flat rock, the start of the same boulder the rear of the truck was currently stuck on. The broken remains of the safety chain was hanging off the front of the hitch. Behind the trailer, where the boulder ended and the dirt began, I found a pair of tire tracks, oddly they only seemed to go back about ten feet; past that the ground was undisturbed. I walked over to the start of the tracks and tried to reconstruct what had happened from my hazy memory and the evidence before me.
I remembered being on the highway and I remembered seeing something that made me start to slow down. Kneeling down to get a closer look at the tread marks, didn't help much. There was a hard transition from undisturbed soil to tire tracks, as if the truck had appeared out of thin air. A very bright blue spot in the dirt caught my attention, but when I picked it up, it was just a piece of confetti. Strange but considering my current circumstances, it didn't register very high on the wtf-o-meter. I found a few more pieces of confetti in the dirt, before I found a green one that seemed to trigger a memory.
The thing in the road that I had been braking for, it was green or more specifically I had seen a green glow. A green glowing... something. The truck passed through it and then... I was here? I wasn't sure if there was another memory gap or this was the whole thing, but I now distinctly remembered seeing some strange green swirling... something in the middle of the road. I wasn't able to stop in time and ended up driving through it, then I remembered some pain and everything going black.
Regaining some of my memory surrounding the event didn't really help much, I was still missing something. I had driven into that green glow and the next thing I remembered I was waking up in the desert. Something happened in the gap, somehow I got from upstate Wyoming to... I dunno? Some desert somewhere? If anything, now I was just made me more confused. Trucks don't teleport into the desert, so what was I missing? Aliens? Magic? Excessive consumption of alcohol followed by a road trip?
However I had ended up here, I must have been out for quite a while. In the hour or so that I had been awake, the sky had started to get a bit darker as the sun inched ever closer to the edge of the horizon. Soon it would be completely covered by the mountain range to the west of me. Moving back to the trailer, I opened it up and took a look inside. I had done a pretty good job packing everything and on top of that there wasn't much room for stuff to move around so as far as I could tell, nothing seemed damaged from the crash. I'd have to check the boxes later, as I didn't really want to pull everything out of the trailer in the middle of nowhere.
There was one thing I did want, and thankfully it was in easy reach. There was an extra blanket in the trailer and if memory served me correctly, it got cold in the desert at night. I grabbed the blanket and then headed back to the truck.
I circled over to the passenger side so I could check for damage, but it seemed in fairly good condition. The surface of the boulder wasn't exactly level and because of that the passenger side of the truck was about a foot or so lower than the driver's side. I had a brief moment of worry about it slipping free and crashing down while I was in it, but after poking around for a bit, it looked like the truck was jammed in there pretty good.
Climbing back in was a chore but eventually I was able to get back inside. I tossed the blanket in the back and grabbed the small cooler that was back there. Inside were three more of the 24 oz bottles of water, a few cans of soda, enough leftovers to make a meal or three and a chocolate bar. I was already feeling pretty hungry but I didn't want to immediately eat the only real food that I had so I settled for the chocolate bar.
Food I could go without, heck a few days might do me some good, but if someone didn't find me soon, water was going to be a problem. My brain happily informed me that the only way someone would find me would be if someone was actually looking for me and that might take a while. Not to mention how would they know to look wherever here was.
I picked up my phone but it still looked like gibberish so I powered it off. If only I could get the truck unstuck then I could just drive out of here; I still had plenty of fuel, the gauge was still well above the 3/4 mark, and there was more in the back. I opened the windows a bit to try to let out growing heat and then I decided to get some rest. The headache that I had been sporting since waking up had only gotten worse and I had nothing else to do. I curled up on the bench as best as I could and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.