Death Valley

It wasn’t just that the sky was clear and full of stars that night, driving through the complete darkness of the Nevada desert, it was the depth of it, how it started in the sand and stretched up forever, mixing with distant galaxies. The passenger side window was down, drawing in the cool midnight air over Patrick's sun-burnt face. He drank mouths full of it. The twang of soft country music filled the cab of the SUV. He desperately wanted the music to stop, the headlights to be turned off, and the car parked on the side of the highway; to hear the darkness of the desert and see the silence of the Milky Way.

“Roll up your damn window Pat, I have the air conditioner on, “ Rob said from the drivers seat. He was wearing a sleeveless Marine Corps t-shirt and cradling a carton of whole milk between his legs, “Lewis what’s our ETA to Vegas?”

Lewis was the exact opposite of Rob physically. Rob was built of protein powder, Lewis of hostess products and soft drinks. Earlier in the week he had refused a piece of barbeque chicken, complaining that it had bones in it, preferring instead to eat a package of Ding Dongs. Typical computer geek. In the back seat, lap top open, he glowed in an aura of neon blue. “According to the GPS we should be there any second now.”

He was right. Over the next hill a million billboards popped up, advertising everything from buffet specials to the law offices of a thousand different sleazy lawyers specializing in bankruptcy and DUI’s. “We are being spammed by real life junk mail.” Patrick pointed out, forgetting about the cosmos for the moment. The stars had disappeared anyway, drowned by the absurd brightness of the city.

It was getting to be very late and they were looking forward to settling into a comfortable hotel room where they could, “shit, shower, and shave,” as Rob had put it. The streets were crawling with people…drunk people, everywhere. Everyone looked so weathered and hard, as if they had never known a world outside of smoky casinos and dark strip clubs. Being on the strip in Vegas is a lot like sitting to close to the TV. It is dizzying, seizure inducing. The Tropicana was the nearest hotel and the quickest escape from the noise of traffic, the spectacle of Carrot Top in Technicolor on an enormous promotional marquee. Rob parked the truck near a tiny Astroturf island poking out of a vast asphalt sea. Orders were given to Lewis to go in and check for vacancies. Fifteen hundred miles they had traveled to get to this point, all the way from Seattle. They had spent the previous night in Salt Lake City, near the sterile, serene, Mormon Temple. Seemed surreal, going from a holy city to “Sin City”.

Patrick let out a high pitched operatic yawn while stretching his road weary limbs as granola bar wrappers and Styrofoam coffee cups blew from the open truck door behind him, swept by a gust of wind and collected by a rusted chain link fence. Rob was half submerged in the trunk, digging in the ice box for his Tiger Milk energy bar, when Lewis reported back. No occupancy at the Tropicana. What were they going to do? Patrick suggested pulling out the sleeping bags and setting up camp in the vacant lot across the street. It was a lonely lot behind the liquor store, full of tumble weeds, broken glass and busted chunks of concrete, not the most luxurious place to lodge but a place to sprawl none the less. Anything would be better than squashing themselves back in the Toyota, which was starting to smell like B.O. and warm hot dogs. They didn’t need the comforts of civilization, just flat ground and each others company. “Pat, you must have lost your damn mind,” was Rob’s response to the suggestion, that was his response to most
suggestions. Rob was right. They didn’t know this city, or what kind of danger lurked in the shadows. It was easy to imagine a desperate vacationing LA business man, who after a three day gambling binge, was hiding in the rubble across the street with a switch blade, waiting for the opportunity to mug three unsuspecting college kids on a urban camping adventure.

Their only choice was to get back on the road and resume the search for a cheap hotel. Every place they passed had signs made of fluorescent tubing, bent and blinking: NO VACANCY. The further they drove, the more drugged out and completely bankrupt the people looked. The traffic light turned red and Rob stopped the vehicle. In the middle of the intersection, two Mexican men were in each other’s faces shouting obscenities in Spanish. Their girlfriends were begging them to stop, pawing at them with long brightly painted fingernails. Rob drove off in a hurry, watching the scene in the rear view mirror get smaller and smaller, the tow men going to blows, the women scratching and tearing at each other.

They drove for what seemed like hours through unfamiliar streets, seeing two more gang fight before Patrick spoke up. “Screw Vegas. Let’s sleep in the dessert under the stars and come back tomorrow high on fresh air and rest.” They agreed and within and hour they were back in the void of the wilderness. “There’s a good spot,” Patrick offered, pointing to the darkest area of black he could find. Lewis and Rob agreed, Pat had lost his damn mind. “Listen you guys, when capitalism collapses and American citizens are standing in long soup lines, it will be the tough , the self sufficient who will survive and rebuild. We don’t need computers and room service. We have opposable thumbs and the knowledge of fire.”

They went to investigate the potential campsite, if nothing else to shut Patrick up. Out into the dry cracked mud flats they drove, further and further into nothingness. The world ended at the edge of the headlights. A howl went up in the blackness and then a blur of fur streaked across the dusty column of headlamps. Rob slammed on the brakes. They didn’t dare breath or even move, for outside there were glowing eyes peering at them through the dust and darkness. The beasts were just yards in front of the truck, in the light, appearing and disappearing like ghosts. Verbal communication wasn’t necessary, their fear spoke loud enough. Rob threw the vehicle in reverse and headed back to the city. The prospect of being eaten, forced them to sleep in sleeping bags on a well lit asphalt parking lot, heads pushed under the Toyota like a baby pushing into his mother’s bosom.