This is the continuation of a story. You can read the rest here.

I’m strangely not worried about dying to death of starvation or vampire bears or whatever kills you in the mountains, even though my car doesn’t have a latch to open the trunk from the inside. Most new cars have those. It’s hell kidnapping people nowadays since the kidnapped can just pop the trunk from the inside and get on with their day. You have to tie them up first. What a hassle.

The goons who threw me in here must have known that my car doesn’t have the inside latch. Still, I am unconcerned. It’s not because I am a zen master, because I’m not. It’s because I have knowledge. You see, in addition to the chrome trim, window-roller-upper thing and all the other detritus stowed in my trunk, in a way, so is my trunk lock. It sits there, looking serious and secure like a real lock, but it’s a sham. It doesn’t lock anything except itself. It’s held in place with some putty. Laziness kept me from installing it properly. I now see the error of doing things, since not doing things just saved me from dying in my trunk.

I poke a digit at the lock and bop it on the head. I refrain from making a “bop” sound. Alright, I lied; I made the “bop” sound, but in a very dignified manner.

A round stream of unenthusiastic light falls into the lock hole. The sun is still trying to climb the hill. Me and my car are at the bottom of the ravine, the goon bastards. 3600 pounds of classic American muscle scrunched up in a ravine on purpose. Goons have no respect for fine American steel. They couldn’t have stolen a Honda to kill me in or something?

With my shrewd sense of direction, fine-tuned after years of ending up in strange places, I have no idea where I am. I’ve only driven in these mountains once, a few hours ago, at night. It’s now a lazy sort of daytime and I hadn’t exactly driven to my present location, unless you count passed out in the trunk of a moving car to be “driving.” I don’t.

To get back to civilization, I need to go downhill since, through the process of elimination, I came uphill last night. The problem is, inside the ravine, every direction is up, which is the opposite of the direction I need to go. Why is physics failing me?

I can determine north, west, east and south by the position of the sun, but that only helps hone in on exact directions in the same way that I know Los Angeles is west of New York City. I came northeast into the mountains last night, so provided that my goal is to walk all the way back to Los Angeles (shudder), I should head southwest.

The sun is there, so that means west and south are basically, sort of, scientifically this a way. Of course, this-a-way also happens to be the steepest part of the ravine. Of course, it is, because why wouldn’t it be? There better not be any wildlife around here. I’ll stab it with my screwdriver.

I grab the emergency kit, put the emergency sunglasses on my face and leave Tank–that’s my car’s name, not an actual tank–in the ravine. I don’t want to look at her. It would be sad since I’m more attached to my car than I am to most people I know. Damn goons. No respect.

Three or something hours later, I’ve killed the damn ravine and off to the gas station with the nosy gas station attendant we go. Easy peasy. I need a nap.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“You alright there, buddy? My brother plum near run you over. Oh, not on purpose, mind, but because you was lyin’ in the road. He’s out fetchin’ your car with the tow-er,” says the giant hovering above my head. On second thought, maybe she isn’t a giant at all. She’s just entirely too close to my face. Her massive head continues, “He said you was the one who got gas last night.”

Out of the countless customers this backwoods gas station surely had in the middle of the night, how did he ever manage to narrow it down? I try to sit up and fail, but at least I don’t hit my head on anything.

“Now, don’t trouble yourself, mister. Stay as long as you need. Want some wooder?”

“Some what?” The mystery is solved when she hands me a glass of clear liquid. I drink it too fast and spray some of it out my nose. Don’t look at me like that. I find it perfectly reasonable to shoot water through my nasal passages. It makes me feel like a water dragon. Rar.

“We didn’t call the cops or nothin’. Is there someone you’re wantin’ us to call?” With great effort, because moving is hard, I pull a business card from my wallet.

Part 4.