WHO NEEDS HEADLIGHTS?

Why the suspense?

PART ONE.

            School was out!  Summer vacation had come at last.  My younger brother, Hugh, and I itched for adventure, and we recruited Jay Bell to borrow his dad’s old pickup truck and come with us.  We could drive hundreds of miles in almost any direction out of Trona, California, and not cross a paved road, much less meet another human being.  This time we decided to explore the Panamint and Argus Mountain Ranges and told our parents we would be camping for a week.

Looking North from Trona
Panamint Mountains in the distance

From Searles Valley to Panamint Valley to Death Valley, the terrain is rugged with mountain trails climbing thousands of feet above sea level into regions of permanent snow and valley trails dropping hundreds of feet below sea level into arid desert that rarely sees a drop of rain.  Roads and trails were often washed out, overgrown with sage brush, and barely usable.  But, they were the only way to get to the old mining sites and ghost towns.  Not all the old sites showed up on our maps, and we were always excited to stumble across a new find.

            The morning of our departure, packing was quick and easy--we threw all the big stuff into the truck’s open bed behind the cab.  This wasn’t our first time camping, and we packed our usual:  lots of easy foods, like Hostess fruit pies, nuts and jerky, a couple ten-gallon water jugs, a shovel and ax, our sheath knives, firecrackers and matches, guns with lots of ammo, sleeping bags, and TP.  Sun-protection gear for the day and cold-weather clothes for the night were essential.  In early June, mornings in the Mojave Desert heat up fast after the sun comes up, but nights get cold quickly once the sun goes down.

We always tossed in lots of extra batteries for our flashlights, hoping to spend as much time as possible exploring old, abandoned mines that we found along the way.  We also brought along a backup can of gasoline in addition to topping off the gas tank.  In the 1960s gas was cheap, but we had to make our gas last all week.  And, of course, this was B.C. (before cellular phones).  It was normal for us to be out of touch with our parents until we got back.  We were always camping, and they figured we knew what we were doing.  We didn’t think to tell them where we were going--and they didn’t ask.  Mom just waved and said, “Don’t get hurt.”

            The first day out, we drove north into the mountains, getting as far away from civilization as possible.  Though the desert seems desolate on the surface, we saw lots of wildlife.  Vultures, hawks and eagles filled the sky.  Besides the ever present scorpions, tarantulas and snakes, ground squirrels and jackrabbits bolted from clumps of scrub as we passed, and a scraggly coyote appeared in the distance, watching us warily.  We knew mountain lions prowled the high country, but they were usually too smart to show themselves.  The sky was clear; the air was fresh and clean; life was good; and we didn’t have a care in the world.  This was our kingdom, and we were the unchallenged rulers.

            After a long day exploring unfamiliar roads and trails, we realized the sun had disappeared over the mountain tops.  Night was imminent, and in the fast-dying daylight, we needed to pick a campsite safe from wildlife and weather before darkness engulfed us.  As we drove up a deep mountain ravine, just coming up onto the embankment, loud popping noises suddenly rang out under the dashboard.  The cab filled with smoke.  The dashboard lights blinked out and the engine died.  Turning the key off, I put the truck in park, and tried to restart the engine.  Nothing happened--nothing at all.  The starter didn’t even click.  The truck’s electrical systems were totally dead.

            Silently, we sat in the deepening gloom, surrounded by acrid smoke from the electrical flash fire.  Winding down the window to air out the cab, Hugh leaned out to look behind us.  “I don’t think this is a very good place to park.”

            The truck perched perilously on the edge of the ravine and straddled a well-used wildlife trail—the one we had followed up out of the wash.

            Looking back and forth from Hugh to me, Jay asked, “Did anyone think to tell our parents where we were going?”

            When Hugh didn’t answer, I said, “No, but it doesn’t matter since we told them we were camping for a week.  No one will think to worry about us until we’ve been gone for more than a week.”

            Hugh leaned back and closed his eyes.  “It will take a week to hike back to that last paved road we crossed.”  He let out a long, weary sigh.

            Jay nodded.  “And another week, if we’re lucky, before anyone drives by.”

            “And,” I added, “unless we figure out how to carry one of those big water jugs, all our water will be back here with the truck.  I didn’t see any signs of wet springs along the way.”

            With daylight almost gone, we decided to get out and look around while we could still see.  Things didn’t look good.  A wide web of small gullies fed down from above into the large ravine, on the edge of which our truck was precariously stalled.  If it rained higher up in the mountains, we could lose our truck in a flash flood.  Also, all the wildlife trails coming down the mountain merged into the wide path going under our truck and on down the deep ravine.

            Our truck had become a road block for any local critters passing through in the night.  The mountain grade was too steep for us to push the truck up the hill off the trail and away from the ravine.  Rolling the truck back down the hill would put it deeper in the ravine and in greater danger from flashfloods.  Like it or not, our truck had to stay stuck right where it was.

            Once the deep blackness of a moonless night was upon us, we hauled out the flashlights.  Scouring the area, we piled what dry sticks and dead brush we could find on the trail several yards up the slope in front of the truck.  As Hugh got a fire burning, we heard the yelping and howling of a coyote pack in one of the higher gullies.  We hadn’t brought firewood with us, and there wasn’t much dead wood in the area.  Our small bonfire wouldn’t last long.  Without a fire, the coyotes would soon be down to see who was trespassing in their territory.

            Suddenly, we heard the sound of larger rocks cascading down the side of the ravine not far downhill behind the truck.  Something big was climbing up the wildlife trail toward the truck, and it was making a lot of noise as if it didn’t care who knew it was coming.  Quickly, we climbed back into the cab, rolling up windows, locking doors, turning out flashlights, and slumping down in our seats--as if it wouldn’t be able to see us, if we couldn’t see it.

Checking around, I realized all the guns were back in the open truck bed, not in the cab with us.  Outside, everything had gone quiet.  Even the coyotes had stopped howling.  After holding my breath for an eternity, I slowly lifted my head to peek out the driver’s side window, just in time to see a dark shadow on four legs glide out of sight around to the front of the truck.  Lifting my head slightly higher to look forward through the windshield, I saw our bonfire had died down to glowing embers, blowing in the gentle wind.

As I watched, the dark shadow slid out slowly away from the truck toward the bonfire, blocking my view of the embers, but still not revealing any detail of what it was.  If only I could turn on the truck’s headlights to see what was out there!  For a second, I considered shining my flashlight through the window, but knew if I turned on my flashlight in the cab, the windows would reflect light back at me, and whatever was out there would see us all sitting in the cab.

We should have prepared for predators, I thought, but it’s too late now.  We’re sitting ducks, unarmed and trapped!

<>  To be continued !  <>

WHO NEEDS HEADLIGHTS

BUILDING SUSPENSE
(Find the original post on Adrienne Monson's blog.)

CC Stan Shebs /Wikimedia

Kingston Range Excelsior Mine Road 1

 

          Summer vacation was here at last. Jay Bell along with my brother Hugh and I were ready for an adventure. Jay borrowed his dad’s old pickup truck, and we told our parents we were going camping for a week. When we said camping, we meant exploring. We could drive hundreds of miles in just about any direction from Trona, California, and not meet another human being or even cross a paved road.
           From Searles Valley to Panamint Valley to Death Valley, the terrain was rugged with mountain trails climbing thousands of feet above sea level into regions of permanent snow and valley trails dropping hundreds of feet below sea level into arid country that rarely saw rain or moisture of any kind. Many trails were washed out, overgrown with sage brush and barely usable, but they were the only way to get to old mining sites and ghost towns. Some sites didn’t show up on any maps, and we were always excited to stumble across a new find.
           That morning, packing was easy–we threw everything in the back of the truck. We were careful to bring lots of extra batteries for our flashlights. Sometimes we spent days exploring old, abandoned mines that we found along the way. In addition to topping off the gas tank, we also brought along a backup can of gasoline. We would need to make our gas last all week. Of course, this was B.C. (before cellular phones), so it wasn’t unusual for us to be out of touch for days at a time. It didn’t dawn on us to tell our parents where we were going, or even which direction we might be going in–and they didn’t ask. We were always going camping.
           The first day out, we drove into the mountains, getting as far away from civilization as possible. Though the desert seems desolate on the surface, we saw lots of wildlife. Vultures, hawks and eagles filled the sky. Besides the ever present scorpions, tarantulas and snakes, jackrabbits bolted from the scrub as we passed and, in the distance, a scraggly coyote appeared at times, watching us warily. We knew mountain lions prowled the high country, but they were usually too smart to show themselves. The sky was clear, life was good, and we didn’t have a care in the world. This was our kingdom, and we were the unchallenged rulers.
           Finally realizing the sun had long disappeared over the mountain tops, we knew that darkness was imminent. It was time to pick a campsite safe from wildlife and weather while we still had daylight. We were driving up a deep mountain ravine, just coming out onto an embankment along the wash, when suddenly loud popping noises rang out from behind the dashboard. All the dashboard lights blinked out and the engine died. I turned the key off, put the truck in park, and tried to restart the engine, but nothing happened–nothing at all. The truck’s electrical systems were totally dead.
          We sat silently in the deepening gloom, surrounded by smoke and the smell of an electrical fire, before the acrid smoke forced us to wind down the windows to air out the cab.
          After a long silence, Hugh leaned out the window and said, “I don’t think this is a very good place to park.” The truck was perched perilously on the edge of the ravine and straddled what seemed to be a well used wildlife trail.
           After another long silence, Jay asked, “Did anyone think to tell our parents where we were going?”
          When no one answered, I said, “No, but it doesn’t matter anyway, because we told them we were going camping for a week. No one is going to think to worry about us until the week has passed.”
          Hugh leaned back and closed his eyes. “It will take a week to hike back to that last paved road we crossed.” He let out a long, weary sigh.
           Jay nodded. “And another week, if we’re lucky, before anyone drives by.”
           “And,” I added, “Unless we can figure out how to carry one of those heavy jugs of water, all our water will be back here with the truck.”
          Daylight was fading fast, so we decided to get out and look around while we could still see. Things didn’t look good. Numerous smaller gullies fed from above into the large ravine, on the edge of which our truck was precariously stalled. If it rained higher up in the mountains, we could lose our truck in a flash flood. Also, all the wildlife trails coming down the mountain merged together in a wide path going under our truck and down the deep ravine.
           Our truck was now a road block for any local critters passing through the area in the night. The mountain grade was too steep for us to push the truck up the hill away from the ravine and the trail, and there was no way we were going to roll the truck back down the hill where it would be deeper in the ravine and in even greater danger from flashflood. Like it or not, our truck was stuck right where it was.
           Once the deep blackness of a moonless night was upon us, we hauled out the flashlights. While we continued scouting the surrounding area, we gathered sticks and brush into a pile on the trail up the slope from the truck. As Hugh got a fire burning, we heard the yelping and howling of a coyote pack not far away in one of the higher gullies. Our bon-fire wouldn’t last long–there wasn’t much wood in the area, and we hadn’t brought any fire wood with us. Without a fire, the coyotes would soon be down to see who was trespassing in their territory.
           Suddenly, we heard the sound of rocks cascading down the side of the ravine not far downhill from us. Something big was coming up the wildlife trail toward the truck. Without a word, we all quickly climbed back into the cab, rolling up windows, locking doors, turning out flashlights, and slumping down in our seats–as if it couldn’t see us, if we couldn’t see it.
           Outside, everything had gone quiet–even the coyotes had stopped howling. After holding my breath for an eternity, I slowly lifted my head to peek out the driver’s side window, just in time to see a dark shadow glide around to the front of the truck, out of sight. Lifting my head slightly higher to look through the windshield, I saw our little bon-fire had died down to a few glowing embers, blowing in the gentle wind.

lawren / 123RF Stock Photo

           As I watched, the dark shadow raised up slowly in front of the truck, blocking my view of the embers, but still not revealing any detail of what it was. If only I could turn on the headlights and see what was out there! But all the truck’s electrical systems were dead, and I knew if I turned on my flashlight, the window would reflect back as much light as it let through. Whatever was out there would see us in the cab.
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          Suspense is the result of proper plot development, and a writer has many tools to use in developing a storyline that will capture the reader’s imagination and carry her/him along towards an anticipated destruction or salvation. Tools like point of view can put the reader in a character’s mind, building an empathetic bond. Repetition of seemingly innocent facts can build tension. Foreshadowing creates curiosity, and the list goes on. Make the reader hungry and then slowly, carefully feed and starve the reader as the tale unfolds.
          Suffice it to say, in my story above, after a very long night, the truck’s headlights become the eventual means of our salvation, but that’s for another day.
          Of course, the story doesn’t end here, but the scene has been set and hopefully your expectations have been prepared for a journey through the unknown. The best part of the story is yet to come and the reader should now be voluntarily on board and excited for the ride–hungry for the rest of the story. Suspense is like an unsatisfied hunger that keeps the reader reading until the end of the story, where the hunger will be satisfied. In the best stories, the reader relishes both the hunger, while it lasts, as well as the eventual satisfaction of that hunger.
           What about the story?  Want to know more?