The Savage Garden

Union 76

Earlier...

Grey heard the rumble of thunder outside the bathroom. He cringed visibly and cursed his luck. An early start of the summer monsoons would certainly derail his date with destiny under the western escarpment of Guadalupe mountains. 

Back in 1980 when he was part of a rig crew drilling an exploratory well in the powdery desert just north of Dell City he noticed how they perpetually seemed to be in shadow no matter the weather. He always thought of the range as The Shadow Mountains. The dark irony was these  dry, rocky peaks were a metaphor for the condition of his heart. Dry, barren, hard and sharp. 

He could pray to have God delay the rain for a few days but instead cursed and hoped  it would just be an isolated squall high up in the hills and his plans would unfold as he had carefully imagined. 

 On the other side of the gas station in the far corner of the parking lot a younger woman,  much younger than Grey, fought her way up the embankment though the heavy brush and prickly tumbleweeds. She also cursed but finally broke free and headed, exhausted from her long trek through the outback, towards the entrance to the station. It was the only building on this stretch of highway between Artesia and Carlsbad located about 26 miles in either direction. She had seen the large orange globe after circumnavigating, what looked to her in the moonlight, as an extinct cinder cone about 

It was a few hours before dawn and very still. Grey was sitting on the toilet seat at the Union 76 gas station,halfway between Carlsbad and Artesia, with a tourniquet around his left arm and a needle jabbed in the other. This was the last stop of his 2,000-mile-one-way journey. His destination was now under the shadow of the western escarpment of the rugged, forbidding Guadalupe Mountains. At noon, it would be a furnace.

Above him, a round, fluorescent light fixture flickered and buzzed. Over the door, a dusky scorpion sat on the wall, its telson raised. The bug reminded Grey of why he had fallen in love with the desert. Unlike the East, with its green meadows, lush forests and gushing mountain streams, the desert southwest was honest. Mother Nature was not beneficent -- she was as dangerous, cold and unforgiving as any woman could be. Out here, it was all exposed. The thorns, venomous fangs, claws,  and stingers were exposed. 

Grey saw his first vial was full, so he ejected it and inserted another. Just as the fresh vial clicked into position, someone burst through the door. The screws, bolt and hasp of the cheap, slider- lock whizzed by him, pinged off the tile wall and clattered by his feet.

Surprised, he threw his arms up and saw his antique syringe arc through the air and bounce on the floor. The blood vial shattered on impact, leaving a fan of bloody, glass icicle shards across the restroom floor. 

Simultaneously, a young woman lunged through the door and vomited towards the sink. Most of it hit the mirror and slid down into the sink, stopping it up. She was thirty-something, slender, very pale, and had long, dark hair. Her clothes, though ruined, were black, and stylish.  Corporate Goth, Grey thought.

Whoever she was, she looked as though she had fallen asleep behind the wheel and rolled her car several times in the desert. Her low neckline, gauzy top and dark stockings were torn in several places. Her mid-thigh leather skirt had fared better. She had some scrapes and bruises on her skin and every inch of her was covered in dust. He neck looked like she'd been strangled or hung. Peculiar, whitish marks, which looked like burns or brands, lay under the layers of dust on her face and arms.

A faint odor from the sink caught his attention. It was familiar, but he couldn't place it. There was no trace of alcohol. Trying to remember where he'd smelled that musty, bitter odor before, the young woman stood up, looked hard at Grey and asked: