Through the Storm(5)

Would anyone else be at the lake? He glanced at his wrist out of habit but had left his watch and phone in his backpack, and he had no intention of stopping and digging either out now.

This was the Sunday before Labor Day. He rubbed his chin. Even a site this far out would attract a few people to fish and camp, but they wouldn’t harm his vehicle. Would they?

Conner ran the last hundred yards and bounded breathlessly into the parking area. There, alone in the lot, sat his apparently unharmed red pickup. Feeling a bit silly, he slowed and walked to the truck. Close up it still looked fine. The odor hadn’t grown stronger as he approached his truck but still hung in the air.

Just to be sure, he stepped around it and even looked underneath for any hint of burning.

With a sigh, he unlocked the door, hoisted his pack into the back of the cab, and set his rifle behind it. Then he slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key.

The usual dash lights flickered, but the engine didn’t budge—not even a sound.

He tried again.

Nothing.

Conner banged the steering wheel, prayed, and turned the key.

“Nada.”

He looked around the dirt lot. Even on this three-day weekend, no one else had driven up here.

“Just my lousy luck.” Conner retrieved the cellphone from his backpack. No service—of course. Then, as he stared at the phone, it died. “Oh, this day just keeps getting better!” He shoved it in a pocket. A ten-mile hike awaited him before a cell tower would be in range—if his phone would turn on.

He imagined walking the two hundred miles back home. He shook his head. No, that’s ridiculous. His luck was bound to change. Someone would come along and give him a ride. He needed only to trek somewhere so he could call the auto club or find a ride back to civilization. Either way, someone would fix the truck. Still, he might have to walk the twenty miles to the freeway. He looked under the hood. All the belts were good. He tightened the battery connections. Then he tried to start the vehicle again, without success.

Conner considered what to do with his rifle. Bringing it would reduce his chances of getting a ride, but leaving it in the truck didn’t seem like a good idea. He looked into the sky at a sun already past its zenith. He might need to camp along the road. Like a Boy Scout leader, his dad had always preached being prepared, and in this case, it was probably a good idea. The food, water, and sleeping bag would make camping, even for one night, more agreeable.

As he walked away from his truck, he sniffed the air and wondered again what caused the pungent smoke.

The road he walked along hugged one side of a small river valley. Trees lined the right side of the road, with few on the left that sloped toward the river. He scanned the ridge of hills to the south and then lifted his gaze higher into the sky. The temperature remained pleasant despite the bright sun. A hawk drifted on the air currents high above.

His spirits revived a bit as he hiked. Maybe everything would work out. Then he remembered his father would be home sometime today. Conner had planned to talk with his dad about enlisting in the marines, instead of attending college. Conner was supposed to be watching over his little brother, and for any talk about the marines to be successful, he would need to arrive home before his father.

He hoped Drake hadn’t burned down the farm. Conner didn’t think he had reason to worry, but still he hurried.

A few hundred yards farther along the road, the stench of burning rubber and plastic grew stronger. He strode around a sharp bend in the road.

Billows of smoke told him he had found the source of the smell before he actually spotted the smoldering wreck. Skid marks showed where the driver of the silver-gray SUV had tried to stop but plunged off the road, rolled down the slope, and slammed into a tree. The impact left the car wrapped like a “C” around a large Douglas fir.

Conner shook his head. The awful smoke and charred metal of the wreck stood in sharp contrast to the nearby forest and stream. He hoped the occupants were okay and had left. Without a thought, he gulped air and then gagged on the acrid fumes. Before continuing his journey, he had to be certain no one remained inside.

Taking shallow breaths, he hiked down the slope. “Hello? Is anyone there? Do you need help?”

No one answered, giving him hope that the occupants had survived and left.

With tentative steps, he approached the vehicle.

Windows were shattered and tires still smoked, leaving only charred rubble within the SUV.. Thankfully, he spotted nothing that looked like a body.

Then he noticed a tarp neatly spread out five yards from the wreck with stones holding down the corners.

Conner stepped closer, and then stopped, unwilling to see what might lie beneath, but he had to know. If he wanted to be a marine, he couldn’t succumb to the fear that grew within him.

He knelt and slowly folded back the cover. The day got worse.

*

Rural Josephine County, Oregon, Saturday, September 4th

Small red symbols lit the dash. Neal turned the key and heard a click and then nothing. He opened the car door and the overhead light shone. He lifted the hood and another light illuminated the engine.

It might be a coincidence that the aurora had splashed across the sky at the moment his vehicle had died. No, as strange as it sounded, a storm on the sun burning out most modern electronics, like those in his car, might be the answer. He shook his head. Despite all he had read, the thought of it still seemed bizarre.