My Car Broke Down In The Middle Of Nowhere, And Now I’m Pretty Sure I’ll Never Get Home

“The driveway is ‘bout three miles down ther’. S’on yer right.”

The Nissan coughed and gagged down the bumpy dirt road. Morgan felt it lurching back — almost like a dog being tugged by its collar in a direction it doesn’t want to go. When he finally reached the driveway the empty cornfields were about gone and it was trees surrounding the area. The sun was almost completely behind the mountains now, making the sky a reddish-orange hue.

“Jus’ drive up and tell’m Bobby sent ya. He alsa makes jerky down ther’ behin’ the barn. S’damn good jerky, y’all should giv’er a shot.”

The barn was about a quarter mile down the driveway. The brush had opened up a lot more to reveal a space about the size of a football field with a couple little shacks, what seemed like a smoker (for the jerky he supposed), a small home in the right corner of the area, and the barn straight ahead. It was painted dark red and looked almost brownish-purple in the setting sun. Morgan felt another chill in his neck and then a twinge in his stomach. How did he get here? He could smell the burning of the engine, or the transmission, or whatever it was that was wrong with his 98’. He could smell it as he pulled up in front of the barn and when he put in in park, smoke started to ploom out from under the hood.

Morgan stepped out of the car to a slight breeze. The crisp Wyoming breeze associated with the early fall was carrying the stench of rotting meat from behind the barn- perhaps the leftover’s that weren’t smoked yet. He heard footsteps coming out from behind the barn and stiffened up, preparing for who or whatever was going to come walking out.

“How’s it hangin’ partner?” A denim-covered man of 20-something strolled out from behind the barn looking at his hands, wiping something dark off of them- grease, mud, blood, etc. He stood tall, around 6’2” and had a lean but muscular build. Like a swimmer. He finally looked up at Morgan and turned his mouth up into a curious smile.

“Uhh,” Morgan looked around confused. “I’m sorry, do you know me?” He asked stepping around to the front of the hood.

“No, but you must know me. You don’t accidentally find this place.” He chuckled slightly and moved toward Morgan.

“Oh, gotcha. Yeah, uhh Bobby told me where to find you. He said you might be able to help me out. My car- well, my car has seen better days.” Morgan laughed nervously.

“I’ll say,” the man cocked his head and raised an untrimmed eyebrow toward the faded blue car. He looked up at Morgan and held out his hardened, greasy paw. “Thomas Gregory. Call me Tommy.” He smiled down at Morgan. His teeth were surprisingly white and straight. His soft blue eyes made Morgan sleepy. He put the other hand through his greasy black hair and tossed it back like a model — a drug-addicted model…a model. Morgan hesitated for a second, like he did back at Bobby’s house. Everything seemed okay on the surface. The trees were green. The dirt under his feet was brown. Two guys were standing in front of a broken car. But still, something underneath all that — something guttural — was wrong.

“Morgan,” Morgan stuck out his hand and pursed his lips into a smile. Tommy grabbed it tightly and shook slow. He walked back to the barn and opened up the two huge doors one by one until the barn’s mouth gaped like a black hole.

“Well, let’s go cowboy. Throw’er in neutral ‘n get’r in here. Let’s getcha back on the road.” Tommy gave Morgan a passing pat on the back and got behind the Nissan. Morgan grabbed the wheel with one hand and they started to push. It went easily. The black hole was sucking it in.

“Morgan…” Tommy trailed off in thought.

“Yeah?” Morgan grunted still pushing.

“…ain’t that a girl’s name?”

Morgan rolled his eyes.

“Welp, this is gonna take some doin’.” Tommy pulled himself out of the dusty hood of the 98’.

“How much doin’?” Morgan was leaning on the side of the barn, pretending he knew the slightest bit about what Tommy was looking at under that hood. Tommy closed the hood and pulled a rag from his back pocket.

“You’re gonna need a coupla new parts. And not the kinda stuff I have jus’ lyin around.” Morgan groaned. “Come on inside,” Tommy continued. “We’ll give my buddy a call. See when he can get the parts in.” Tommy started to his house and gave Morgan a little wave without looking back. Morgan took another look at the house. It was small but looked large next to the little shacks around the property. Its white siding was falling off in some places and the chair on the porch had lost an armrest, but otherwise the house looked nice…banal. As he started catching up to Tommy, his peripheral caught movement in the attic window. Was that a person? The thought dissipated before it reached the inner workings of his brain. A bird, the eyes said and tossed it into the “don’t bother” file.