THEY
by Vincent Hobbes
Copyright 2010 Hobbes End Entertainment, LLC
First Published in The Endlands, volume one, Hobbes End Publishing, LLC
This story is a work of fiction.
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The storm ravaged the four as they traveled the dark, curvy roads of the Rocky Mountains. It was night—late. The storm reached for them, entangling the two couples on the crystal white road. The snow fell briskly, swirling across the road in a maddening fury, threatening to overtake them.
Mike steered his orange, late-model Chevy Blazer cautiously on the ice-coated mountain road. The truck drifted and Mike tugged at the wheel, maintaining its place on the slippery path. His attention ahead, Mike was also trying to collect himself as he drove into the unknown—an unsettling fear awakening within him. Maybe I made a mistake. The headlights pierced only a few feet into the dark Colorado night as flurries of falling snow swirled around the creeping vehicle.
“Hey, Mike,” spoke his younger brother, Brian, who was seated in the passenger seat beside him. “Maybe we should turn around,” he suggested. Brian was three years younger, and his tone was cautious, careful as he questioned his older brother. He held a tiny flashlight, and an unfolded map rested on his lap. “I think . . . I’m not sure, but I think we took the wrong exit back at Silver Springs,” he added, his voice lingering.
Their wives sat in the back seat, behind the two brothers. Both of their eyes were wide with anticipation. They sat quietly, worried and confused. Kelly and Taylor struggled to calm themselves, but they were still shaky. Kelly’s blue eyes had long since lost the gleam that usually resided in them. They were hollow and scared. Upon hearing her husband’s hesitant words, Kelly tilted her head towards Brian, glad to hear he wanted to turn around as well.
We’re all thinking it, Kelly thought to herself. Mike is so damn stubborn, but he should be thinking it, too.
Mike finally spoke. His attention was on driving, and in a raspy, almost sullen voice he replied, “Maybe we should. Maybe we shouldn’t.”
Kelly was growing angry with her brother-in-law. Typical Mike.
Mike took one hand and pushed back his brown hair, then placed it quickly back on the steering wheel as they rounded another shoulder. “I think we should continue on. We’ve been on this road for almost three hours. Why turn back now?” Mike asked.
Kelly was struggling not to shout out loud. She held her breath, trying to relax. He is so arrogant. Always have to be the bold, older brother, don’t you Mike?
Mike continued talking, taking a moment to look back in his rearview mirror at his wife, Taylor. She was seated directly behind him, smiling as he gazed at her. Her small smile gave him a boost of confidence. Mike then said, “No, we’ll find a place soon enough. It’s just slow going is all.”
“Yeah,” Brian agreed reluctantly. “All I’m saying is I think maybe we’re on the wrong road.”
“And maybe we’re not,” retorted Mike. “Besides, this road has to eventually end up somewhere.”
Brian thumbed the road map nervously. It sounded like popping June bugs under foot as he handled it. “Well, we could always turn around and head back to Silver Springs. We could stay overnight until this storm blows through.” Brian was not doing a good job at acting brave, and knew he should not be challenging his brother. He could not help it though, he was scared.
Kelly did not care if her husband was being a coward or not. We’re all thinking it. Mike has to be thinking the same thing, too. Follow your brother’s advice and TURN AROUND, she thought.
Mike waited a moment, the same conflict rolling around in his head. “We could turn around. Yes, we could. And provided we don’t slide off the road or get broadsided by another car, there is always the issue of . . . gas. Or, lack of it,” he finished in a quiet voice, peering at the dashboard.
The three passengers instantly leaned over Mike, seeing for themselves the steadily dwindling gas gauge.
Mike knew Brian was worried, as were their wives. However, the constant questioning had begun to take Mike’s concentration off the road. “At a quarter tank of gas, we wouldn’t get very far. So, what we need to do,” Mike paused, “is keep going. We should find a gas station or hotel soon enough.” Although he attempted to maintain control, Brian could hear desperation creeping into his brother’s voice.
Their attention changed focus, and the possibility of being lost, and spending the night in the middle of the mountains, made the women chatter loudly.
“Are we going to run out of gas?”
“I knew it. I just knew it.”
“We never should have driven this late at night.”
“Yeah, we should have stayed in that town.”
“Are we going to have to spend the night out here?”
“We’ll freeze to death.”
“I knew it. I just knew it.”
The women’s rippling burst of panic unnerved both Mike and Brian, who always seemed to maintain a certain calm collectiveness in the face of trouble. However, their wives had gotten them riled, and they were beginning to lose their patience.
“Now that’s enough!” commanded Mike, his voice authoritative. “There’s nothing we can do. We’ll just push forward and hope for the best.”
Brian, realizing his brother was creating dissent, chimed in, “Mike is right. We’ll just keep going. There has to be a town or something in the next thirty miles.” He slowly folded the map, realizing it was of no use anymore. He had to have faith they would make it. Brian let out a loud, exhausted sigh and looked forward. He knew the trip was supposed to be relaxing, a long awaited vacation, yet he did not feel relaxed. Not one bit. Brian slowly reached back, grasping Kelly’s hand. It was cold and clammy. He held her hand firmly, sighed again, and shifting in his seat. Brian then looked ahead once more, staring intently into the dark, swirling snowstorm that drifted silently down from the dismal skies.
The storm was growing steadily more intense. The Colorado winter winds jabbed and stabbed at the Blazer, as if desiring to push the four-wheeled vehicle off the road and into the powdery snow banks. Feathers of snow blasted at the windshield, obscuring Mike’s vision as he slowly pushed forward. The flakes fell from the midnight sky like powdered sugar, adding nearly three inches of snow in the past half-hour.
The minutes went by and became an hour. None had spoken in that time, yet the tension in the car was almost visible. It was dreamlike—an unbearable mimicking of how eager life is to be cruel. The gas tank now rested comfortably on the red dash, teetering on empty.
Past empty.
Mike thought to himself, This night . . . this storm . . . why me? The oldest of the four, the man in charge, was drained of all that was plentiful and merry. Usually in high spirits, Mike was frustrated, and a bit scared, although he was careful not to reveal his fears.
Taylor sat behind him, trying to maintain her dignity by not freaking out. Mike looked at his wife in the rear view mirror once more, making brief eye contact. The quick glance betrayed his muddled thoughts. His wife knew him too well.
Amongst the screaming and howling winds outside, and the chugging of the large engine, the four sat silent, frozen. Occasionally, one would take a brief glance at the falling gas gauge, which balanced as if on crooked stilts on the empty mark.
Taylor tried to relax. Not much farther now, she thought. Not much farther until we meet this night, face-to-face. Her attempts at calm were in vain.
She was past afraid.
The orange Blazer pushed a few more slow miles into the shadowy depths of the storm.
The sputtering began.
The truck began to lurch at slow, steady intervals, finally stalling at the top of a hill. Mike struggled with the steering wheel, fighting it, pulling at it, finally s
topping the Blazer gently on the side of the road. The tires were only inches from the depths of a deep ditch.
The four sat in desolate silence, an eternity of hell. Only the sounds of their breathing were audible. The silence placated their fears, although this was only temporary. They knew they faced the open arms of insanity outside the warmth of the truck.
Kelly was the most distraught. Tears welled up in her eyes, pouring down her flushed cheeks. A nostalgic glaze coated them as she silently wished—hoped—prayed to wake up from this horrific dream. Yet, the night answered with a gust of wind, spitting forth its vengeance, and reminding her that this situation was the furthest thing from a dream.
Kelly was a city girl. She had been the only one not enthusiastic to go on this trip in the first place. Now, she was stuck in a blizzard. The simple thought of being stranded at night in nature’s powerful grip paralyzed her with fear. Kelly felt as