Before we start walking again, I listen for Kane’s footsteps, but the only noise comes from the breeze tickling the tops of the sagebrush.
I look up at the stars and pick out Polaris. I should have done this upon arrival, but Kane has stolen my focus. I now know that we are heading basically west and that the valley we are in runs north and south.
As I tilt my head back down, I catch a glint out of the corner of my right eye, like another star, only at ground level. Though at first glance it looks like a single light, it’s really two. After a few moments, it disappears, only to reappear again seconds later, incrementally closer to us.
“Is that a car?” Iffy asks when she looks to see what’s captured my attention.
“I think so.”
This at least gives me some idea of when we are. Motor vehicles started showing up in the early 1900s, but I don’t think that’s how far back we are. At the rate the headlights appear to be traveling, I’m thinking anywhere from the 1920s to the 1960s.
The vehicle is several miles to the north and heading in our general direction. While it’s possible the road it’s on will turn toward the east or west before it reaches us, if the route continues south, the car is likely to pass within a mile or two of our current position. Though my default is to limit our interaction with the people of this era, we need help getting some place warm and back to civilization.
“Run,” I say, and start loping due west as best as my injured leg will allow me. If the road is two miles away, there’s no chance we’ll reach it in time, but if it’s one, maybe.
Iffy matches my hindered pace, but I know she could go faster.
“Just run,” I tell her. “Don’t wait for me.”
She looks unsure.
“Go! I’ll be right behind you.”
“You better be,” she says and then sprints ahead.
I try to follow the same path she takes, but soon she disappears into the night, leaving me to pick out my own way. Looking to my right, I see the lights are much closer now. If Iffy doesn’t reach the road in the next two minutes, we’re going to miss our chance.
The terrain has steadily inclined since we reached the brush, so it’s with some surprise I see that it suddenly dips down into a narrow wash. It’s only because I throw out my arms to maintain my balance that I don’t fall as I come over the top. Once I’m up the other side, I search ahead for Iffy and spot a shadow moving quickly toward the road much farther away than I thought she would be.
I push myself as hard as I can, but there’s only so much my leg will give me. The headlights are less than a minute from being directly in front of me. I’ll never make it on time, but I now think there is a good chance Iffy will.
Once more the terrain dips through a wash. When I crest the far side, I can pick out the dark line of the road. The vehicle is all but in front of me now, and I can tell it’s not a car but a truck. I search for Iffy and spot her about a hundred feet shy of the blacktop. As I adjust my route to take me directly to her, I notice another shadow, this one only about a few hundred yards ahead of me.
I curse under my breath as I realize the error I’ve made. The person nearing the road is not my girlfriend. It’s Kane.
He reaches the highway twenty seconds ahead of the truck and moves into the middle, waving his arms. I can hear the vehicle’s engine roar as the driver uses it to stop. Kane runs up to the door. It’s too far for me to hear anything, but then I see him race around the front of the truck to the other side.
“Hey!” I yell as loud as I can. “Hey! Don’t leave!”
Ahead of me, I can hear Iffy doing the same, but when the motor revs up again and the truck starts to move, it’s clear our shouts have gone unheard.
It’s at least a half hour before we see another set of headlights. Iffy and I have spent the intervening time huddled together among the bushes on the side of the road, trying not to freeze to death. Iffy jumps to her feet to flag down the vehicle, but I’m slow to follow, my wounded thigh stiff and unforgiving from the prolonged crouch.
Unfortunately the vehicle is headed north, opposite the direction Kane has gone, but we can’t afford to be picky at the moment. When I finally join her, Iffy stands in front of me so that she’s blocking the view of my ripped pants as we wave our arms and shout.
The car that rolls to a stop beside us is a sedan. It’s rounder and larger than most of the cars in Iffy’s world, so it’s a safe guess it’s from several decades earlier than 2015.
The window rolls down, and a man old enough to be my grandfather looks out. “Car trouble?”
It’s as good a cover as any, so I nod. “Any chance you could give us a ride to the nearest town?”
“I could do that, or I could also take a look at your engine and see if we can get it started.”
“We, um…” I pause, trying to think of something that won’t make him too curious, but it’s Iffy who comes up with a good response.
“It’s the gas tank,” she says. “We were driving down a dirt road a little ways back. We think a rock punched a hole in it.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “What were you doing off the highway at this time of the morning?”
Iffy slips her hand in mine and says, “My husband wanted to show me a place his dad used to take him camping when he was a kid.” She smiles. “Took us a while to walk back to the highway.”
The moment she says “my husband,” I notice a change in the man’s demeanor. His suspicion has disappeared, leaving in its place a sense of sympathetic understanding.
“Hop on in,” he says, pointing at the backseat.
Neither of us can resist sighing in relief as the warmth of the interior wraps around us.
The moment we settle in, the man presses down the accelerator. “I’m heading all the way up to Bishop, but I can drop you in Lone Pine. It’s only about fifteen miles ahead.”
Iffy squeezes my hand, and from the look on her face, I know she’s familiar with the names. At least we are no longer completely lost.
“Thank you,” I say. “That’ll be great. We appreciate it, Mr.…”
“Graves,” he says. “And you are?”
“Denny Younger, and this is Iffy.”
“Iffy? What kind of name is that?”
“My… Christian name is Pamela,” she says. “Iffy’s just a nickname.”
This seems to satisfy him.
After a brief pause, I ask, “You wouldn’t happen to know what time it is, would you?”
He looks at me through his rearview mirror, a bit of the previous suspicion creeping back into his eyes. “No watch?”
“It, um, broke when I was looking under the car.”
Again, the simple answer seems to do the trick. He looks at his own watch. “Just a little after five.”
That would be 5:00 a.m. given his previous comment about morning.
The rest of the trip is spent mostly in silence, with just the occasional question thrown our way. Thankfully, all are easy enough to answer. A little more than twenty minutes after he picked us up, we arrive in the town of Lone Pine.
From the amount of lights we see as we drive in, I can tell it’s not very large. The highway we’re on seems to do double duty as the main street of town. Scattered businesses line both sides, separated by stretches of empty lots and here and there homes. An illuminated sign ahead catches my eye.
The Dow Motel.
I lean over the seat and point at it. “Can you drop us there?”
“Is that where you’re staying?” Mr. Graves asks.
“Where we were supposed to stay if we hadn’t broken down,” Iffy answers quickly.