Red continued north along the highway when something in the dimming light caught his attention on the side of the road. He stopped the car and got out. Crossing the pavement to the western side, he knelt down and looked at the dirt leading off. There was a large tire track, turning slightly south toward Goodwell as it terminated in the asphalt. He looked up toward the mountains and could see it, like a ’90s holograph painting, the scene coming into view once you have lost focus. Red could see it.
A two-track heading west toward the mountains. And in the mountain, a gap, probably the space where the two-track kept on going. Right above the spot, he could see the storm clouds intensifying, as if the storm was directing its rage at that one solitary location. Concentrating its attention.
Red walked back to his car, started it up, and turned off the road, headed up the two-track. It seemed pointless, but what else was he going to do tonight. He couldn’t go home and think about PJ anymore. He didn’t want to sit alone in the dark where the temptation of the whiskey could sneak up on him. Better to keep driving, even if it was into the wasteland as night fell.
It was several miles of rough driving, the suspension on the car yelling in agony. This was not the vehicle for the job. Red’s back began to complain, but he adjusted himself in the seat and drove on, the glow of the dash lights illuminating his face in the ever-increasing dark.
He clicked on his windshield wipers, temporarily blinded as the dust and bugs turned to mud in the sprinkle coming down. The headlights cutting two swaths of white down the brush-covered road.
It took a long time, but he finally made it to the mountain base. He put it in park and got out. The rain was increasing, but he ignored it. Water dripped from the brim of his cowboy hat, encasing his head in a slow waterfall. His shirt began clinging to his back. Red took the flashlight from his belt and pointed it at the mountain as he walked closer.
He could see that the two-track kept going, winding up the mountain out of view. The rock walls looming on each side. It was pointless, he thought to himself. Driving all the way out here for no reason. But something in his gut was pulling him forward, that inkling at the back of his neck that told him he should keep going.
Red turned around and got back into the car. He sat there for a moment, contemplating the road ahead.
He put the car in drive and eased into the chasm.
It fit, like a snake unhinging its jaw to swallow a rat.
He started up the winding staircase, the headlights painting macabre shadows on the rocks before him. He could hear the patter of the rain on the metal hood of the cruiser and the echo of the engine humming as he drove up to the sky.