Usually, I tend to get my creative ideas when I'm either out driving
 in my old Dodge Challenger, or in the shower. Ironically, this one
 came to me while I was in the shower. I also have to give credit
 to the PJ Harvey song "The Wind" for providing me with a mental
 soundtrack for most of the story.

 - - - 

"Versatility" by JeanCroix

The dry sandy gravel crunched under his boots with every step. He'd
actually been counting his steps since his car broke down, for lack
of anything else to concentrate on.

"8,195... 8,196... 8,197..."

That made it at least three and a half miles, depending on his stride
length. And it certainly wasn't getting any cooler outside. The last
weather report he'd heard on the radio said it was 91 degrees. But
they'd also said it was flash flood season. With the way the desert
seemed to stretch flat in all directions, he didn't see much chance
of a flood. But what did he know, he'd never been out west before this
week.

"8,567... 8,568... 8,569..."

Not one car, truck, or anything. And he'd been walking for hours.
Should have shelled out for a cell phone when he had the chance, he
mused. Now it was just... how far? Until he reached the nearest
anything. He was surprised that he wasn't feeling very thirsty. Was
that the first sign of heat stroke..? He couldn't remember. Crunch,
crunch...

"9,204... 9,205... 9,206..."

It came up gradually-- at first, he thought it was just his head
buzzing. But no, it was definitely a sound. A distant hum, coming
from behind him. Finally, a car? He turned to look, and saw the glint
on the horizon, approaching from the direction he'd come from. Might
as well quit walking now, he decided-- assuming they actually stop
to pick him up. But how could they not?

The noise was a full-fledged roar by the time it was close enough to
make out any details. It was green-- and old. A GTX? No, as it pulled
up to him and slowed down, he could see it was a Roadrunner. '73 or
'74, he guessed. But with a big block, judging by the hood scoop and
the externally-mounted tachometer. It had to be a 440, or even a hemi.
But it didn't really matter; the car was stopping, and he wouldn't have
to walk any more.

The passenger side window was already rolled down, and he could see
the driver-- the guy was a total throwback, just like the car. 
Shoulder-length, curly brown hair, tinted glasses, long sideburns,
and a faded black t-shirt. He was reminded of a roadie he'd seen
at a Blue Oyster Cult concert decades before.

The gear shifted to neutral, and the rumble got slightly higher in
pitch, but also quieter. He walked the few steps to the passenger
door, and peered in.

"Saw your car way back. Take it you need a lift?"

The driver had a slight drawl, but not enough to place. The interior
of the car looked immaculate, with not even so much as a crack in
the dark green upholstery.

"Yeah. Yeah, thanks for stopping. I really appreciate it. I've been
walking for half the day now."

He opened the passenger door, sat down, and pulled it closed. It felt
so good to get off his feet, despite the comfortable boots he had on.
If he'd had on his other shoes, he knew his feet would have been shredded
by now. The driver shifted quickly, and the massive engine roared.
He could feel himself being pressed back by the acceleration.

"Better roll up that window before we lose all the cool air," the driver
shouted. "I got the AC on. And you prolly need it by now."

That was for sure. He stank, and almost regretted the fact
that his sweat was soaking through his shirt and into the leather
seat. Almost. For now, it was good to get out of that sun. He looked
over at the gauges on the dash, and saw that they'd reached a cruising
speed of about 120. The car must have a huge cooling system to go 
along with the huge engine, he thought.

"My name's Sam. But people sometimes call me Slick. Y'know, as a joke,"
the driver offered with a grin.

"Phil Knudson." He wanted to offer more about himself, as a gesture to
the man who'd been kind enough to rescue him. But he faltered; he was
exhausted, and besides, Slick didn't appear all that interested in
personal tidbits.

"Well Phil, yer lucky I came by. Not many cars out this way this time
of year, what with the heat and all. We oughtta hit the next town
in a few hours..."

Slick reached down to the tape deck and pushed in the tape. After a 
few moments of silence, the opening guitar of Yes's "Roundabout" arose.
Phil settled back in the seat, his eyes half shutting from exhaustion
and the bright sunlight.

 - - -

Phil awoke and realized he must have dozed for more than a couple minutes.
Slick had turned off the tape deck, and was braking the car. They were 
still surrounded by desert; there was no apparent reason to be stopping
here. Especially with the dark purplish clouds moving towards them
from the west.

"We got a problem," Slick started, "Engine's overheating."

They rolled to a stop, and Slick quickly shut off the engine. Grabbing
underneath his seat, he produced a half a roll of duct tape, and then popped
the hood. He got out to go take a look, and Phil followed, hoping to
stretch out a bit and offer any assistance he could.

Slick was already tearing off strips of duct tape when Phil got there.
He wound them around the radiator cap, and in a quick motion, turned
it and jumped back. But the expected blast of hot water and steam
didn't come-- just a small puff.

"Sheeit," deadpanned Slick. He started searching around the radiator,
and in short order found the huge crack in a radiatior hose which was
the source of their trouble. He pointed it out to Phil, grumbled,
and stepped back for a second. Sniffing the air, he turned and finally
seemed to notice the approaching clouds.

"Wunnerful. With my luck, Louise here'll get hail damage, to boot."

Phil almost snickered upon hearing the car's name, but figured now
was not the time for humor that might just piss off his benefactor.
He held back, and looked at Slick, wondering what he was going to
do. They were stranded, and the storm was coming in fast.

Slick appeared to already have a plan, though. He was tearing off
duct tape already, and winding it around the cracked section of the
hose. After a few layers, he removed the belt from his jeans, and wound
it as tightly as he could around the taped area. Finally, he covered it
all with even more tape.

"Well, that oughtta hold her until we get to a shop. Trouble is,
no water. An' we ain't gettin' no PISS in Louise. 'Sides, even
the two of us pissin' all we got wouldn't even halfway fill 'er up."

At this, Slick began tearing at the duct tape again. He started
by making a small loop, and then wound around more, making
the diameter larger as he went. He stuck the small end into the
radiator, and kept adding to the sides of the makeshift funnel.
When the wide part was a good eight inches in diameter, he stopped,
and reinforced the sides some more. Finally, with the last of the 
roll, he taped it down to the radiator as securely as possible.

"As long as the wind don't blow it away, we might get enough in
there to do it," Slick hoped. The storm was almost upon them,
and they barely made it inside and closed the doors before the
deluge began.

As the fierce rain slammed into the car, Slick stared sadly toward
the open hood. His hands rested loosely on the steering wheel,
and Phil saw him sigh heavily at the sight of his precious engine
getting soaked.

Over the metallic drumming of the drops on the roof, he could hear
Slick softly humming "Roundabout." Phil turned to look out his window,
and could barely see more than fifteen feet from the car. The huge
raindrops slammed into the ground, kicking up mud onto Louise that
was then immediately washed away.

"Heck," Slicked piped up, "I been in worse trouble than this before.
Coupla years ago, Louise blew out a differential in a snowstorm,
in the middle'a the night. An' I weren't any closer to a town than we
are now. Was holed up in Louise for almost two days, 'fore a snowplow
came along." Phil tried to find solace in the story, but couldn't.
"'Least I could run the engine now 'n again to keep from gettin'
frostbit," Slick added with a shrug.

Almost as quickly as it was upon them, the rain stopped, and the sun
was beating down again. Slick nearly bolted out the door, and hurried
around the the front of Louise. Removing the tape funnel, he peered
down into the radiator.

"Whoo! It ain't full, but we got enough to make it outta here!" He
put the cap back on, slammed the hood with a clang that echoed
through the car's frame, and strided back to the driver's seat.
Just as he was putting the key into the ignition, there was a
noise from the back of the car. Phil turned quickly toward the rear--
there was definitely a thumping coming from behind the back seat.
From within the trunk. Then, a muffled scream joined the thumping.

Phil quickly looked at Slick, who was already watching his startled
reaction with a slight grin. "Well what'd you think I used the first
halfa' that duct tape for?"

 - - -

Copyright 1998 by JeanCroix (gruzlj@rpi.edu)