This story, of a real event in my life, was originally shared in my Readers Group newsletter.

It was 1988 and I, along with three friends, were driving through the empty roads of Nevada on State Road 50. It was after midnight and I was nearing the end of my twelve hour shift.

We didn’t originally plan to take a route through vast open spaces with little population in the middle of the night, but we were anxious to get home. A few weeks earlier, back in Florida, the four of us hopped into a cramped Acura Integra and started our 19 day trek to California and back.

It was to be an epic road trip, inspired by one taken by two of my older brothers who, when I was a child, rode their bikes from Massachusetts to Florida. Stories about their adventures fueled my imagination and I wanted to create my own memorable road trip.

Seventeen days later, we were nearly out of money and out of patience. We’d seen the best and worst in each other and tolerance had turned into a simmering anger. We couldn’t stand being with each other anymore, but were forced to exist in the cramped confines of the car.

We ditched our original pre-planned road home because it would have added two more days to our journey. Instead, we took out a map and picked the most direct route from San Francisco to Florida.

This was before Google Maps. Before easy searches for gas stations and restrooms. Before the internet and cell phones. 

We were driving blind and didn’t care.

The car hummed and the small cabin of the car was peacefully quiet. The other three passengers had fallen asleep, something of which I had been fighting for hours. Staring at the empty road, pitch black with only the faint headlights of the Integra leading me, induced moments of a waking sleep. Driving, but not seeing. My mind drifted from the pulsing flashes of reflective white paint dividing the two lanes to daydreams of my near future out of this car and away from these people who I had recently considered dear friends.

My body suddenly stiffened and my grip on the steering wheel tightened until my knuckles turned white.

My mind reacted in panic, screaming a warning of something I didn’t see, but which my senses told me was there.

I jerked the steering wheel, tossing my car mates to the side, and veered into the opposite lane of the highway.

Twin distant headlights fast approached.

I spun the wheel of the Integra and settled back on the right side of the road. I gazed forward, trying to catch my breath.

My car mate sitting next to me, I’ll call her Tuesday, woke up and peered at me through squinted eyes.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I thought I saw…” I started, then my voice tailed off. I couldn’t describe what I witnessed because it had no form. It was a figment, a hallucination created by my own mind, filling the gaps between the waking and sleeping world.

“I thought I saw something,” I finally said.

My senses had been on high alert for hours. I’d never driven through an open range before and, since starting my shift behind the wheel, had barely avoided hitting roaming cattle standing on the thin roadway a few times. A high speed impact with 2000 pounds of future steaks, burgers, ribs and leather, would destroy our small sports car and probably get us killed.

Yet, I could only feed off invisible fear for so long. I had reached my breaking point.

Unfortunately, respite wasn’t heading our way.

Real fear was waiting for us in the one light town of Eureka, Nevada.

***

Part 2: Running on Empty

I tried and failed to get Tuesday to stay awake with me.

She leaned her head against a pillow wedged between the passenger seat and window, and fell back into an uncomfortable slumber. The two other companions in the back seat never stirred. One of them, I’ll call Tom, had been my best friend since high school. The other, I’ll call Barb, was his fiancé.

They remained in a blissful sleep, unaware of how close we came to driving off the road.

As I stared at the empty night, struggling to remain alert, I thought back to when Tom introduced me to Barb for the first time. They had that unique look of two people in love, their eyes filled with more than just lust and infatuation. I was happy to see them taking their lives to the next level.

I wasn’t ready for that. Not even close.

I was still a naive young man trying to figure out how I fit into the world. This trip to California was supposed to help clarify things. It did, in some ways. Not by defining what I wanted, but by showing me what I didn’t.

Addition by subtraction.

I caught sight of a green sign as it zoomed passed the car.

Eureka, Nevada was less than fifteen minutes away.

Just in time. We were low on gas.

Driving through an unfamiliar land blanketed with a pitch dark sky, Eureka was the only pin on the map within seventy miles. It was our only option.

With a tank as empty as my stomach, we both needed a fill-up, but it was nearly two in the morning and it was unlikely a gas station would be open that late. During the trip, Tom had been buying the gas on credit and would let us know our stake when he got the bill.

Good thing. I had run out of cash days ago and Tuesday had been spotting me until we got home. I promised her, and Tom, I’d pay them back after a few paychecks made it into my bank account.

No one seemed to mind. Cash flow was the least of our problems.

The separation between the passengers in the front and back seats was far wider than the carpeted mats below Tom and Barb’s feet. Over the course of our journey, cracks had formed in our jovial endeavor and small irritations had become a chasm of anger and impatience.

Lines had been drawn. Tuesday and I vs. Tom and Barb.

Truth was, Tom and I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about how best to take the trip. We were young and stupid. We just wanted to get on the road and figure it out as we went.

Turns out that was a bad idea. It wasn’t long before emotions overtook logic or common sense. Outside of love, emotion should rarely lead the charge.
It could have been different. I could have been alone on the trek without Tuesday, but I don’t know if that would have changed much.

With Tom and Barb joined at the hip, I didn’t want to spend three weeks being the third wheel. I needed a travel partner.

I’d known Tuesday for a couple of years in college. She was fun and beautiful and excited to join us. She was in a serious relationship and I had recently left one.

Even though my motives were pure, her attractiveness was distracting and her flirtatious nature confused me. My hormones wanted to cross our relationship boundaries, but I wasn’t that type of guy.

She came on this trip as a friend. I wanted her to leave the same way.

The hum of the tires deepened as I slowed the car.

The dark horizon became a muted gray as we approached the lights of Eureka illuminating the moonless night.

Finally. My turn behind the wheel was coming to an end.

“Hey,” I said. “We need to get gas.”

Everyone stirred awake. They knew what that meant. After filling the tank, Tuesday and I would move to the back seat and Tom and Barb would take the reins in the front. I could finally close my eyes and wake up hours later, escaping, if only for a little while, the fog-thick tension that surrounded us.

We slowed as we neared the first building. Eureka wasn’t much of a town, but a pause in the journey. At less than half a mile long, you could drive through it in between blinks.
On the right hand side was a bar, it’s sign still shining and it’s front door open. As we passed, I leaned my head and peered inside. Just a few customers left. The bartender was wiping down the counter. Chairs had been placed upside down on the tables.

They were closing for the night.

On the left side of the road was a small motel. It was functional, but, in the light of day, would probably look the worse for wear.

We passed a darkened store, then a few nondescript buildings.

Nothing was open. That included the two pump gas station. A sign on the glass door said they’d reopen at seven.

I glanced at the fuel gauge.

Less than an eighth of a tank.

Eureka was our stop for the night, whether we liked it or not.

Everyone in the car grumbled. Five unnecessary hours of cohabitation was five hours too long. We’d have to come up with an alternative.

“Why don’t we ask someone?” Barb said from the back. “See if there’s anywhere nearby that’s open.”

I looked through the windshield at the empty buildings dotting the open range and doubted our chances at success, but, at this point, five hours sitting in the car that wasn’t heading home was an eternity.

I turned the car around and headed back to the lone business with its lights on.

The bar.

That turned out to be a terrifying mistake.

***

Part 3: Fear Screams My Name

Before cellphones and the internet, there was a common separation between the male and female of the human species… asking for help.

Men wanted to solve problems by themselves while women just wanted the problem solved as quickly as possible, no matter who provided a solution.

In the middle of the Nevada open range, in the one light town of Eureka, at two in the morning, that canyon sized separation dissolved into a haze of exhaustion and impatience.

We, the four weary travelers, could barely stand breathing the same air in the small confines of the Acura Integra. We all longed for home and freedom, both from the car and each other. Waiting five hours for the gas station to open seemed like the worst choice of all.

We were wrong.

We drove back to the only building still open, the lone bar across from the seedy motel. It was closing time and there were but a few inebriated customers left exiting the establishment.

Nights in the desert were as cold as the mountains in winter so it wasn’t surprising to find one of the bar patrons dressed in jeans, work boots, a flannel shirt and thick jacket. He was sporting a three day stubble and his black hair was unkempt.

We eased up next to him and Tuesday rolled down the passenger window.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Do you know anywhere where we could get some gas?”

The man stopped, almost surprised a car had approached him without his knowledge, and looked at Tuesday’s beautiful face. A smile formed on the man’s face and he leaned down toward the car.

“You need gas?” he asked. “I got some in my truck I could sell you. It’s my boss’ gas. But, I could ask him.”

“That would be great.”

We followed him up the incline of the hotel parking lot and he paused at the back of his red Chevy pickup. He looked into the bed of the truck and then took a few steps back toward the car.

“I’ll need one of you to come with me when I ask my boss,” the man said. “He won’t believe me.” His gaze fell on Tuesday. “She can come with me.”

The car suddenly filled with dread. The man’s warm smile had grown crooked and his eyes, suddenly desperate. The instincts that had kept our species alive for thousands of years raised voiced its concern, a small plea from the depths of our animal brain that told us to run.

“We’re not going into a hotel room with you,” I said.

The man stepped forward. “I got the gas. Plenty of it. I just need her to come with me into the hotel room.”

My hands tightened around the steering wheel.

“Can’t you just ask him yourself?” Tom asked from the back seat.

“He can come out here to meet us, if he wants,” I added.

“Nah,” the man said. “She has to come with me.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Barb whispered from the back. We all nodded in agreement.

“Thank you, anyway,” Tuesday said as she rolled up her window.

I shifted the gear into reverse and sped out of the parking lot.

The man with the flannel shirt started to scream with guttural rage.

“Get back here!” he yelled into the quiet night, his angered voice echoing against the surrounding buildings.

That wasn’t going to happen.

“I’m going to kill you!” he said. “I’m going to get my shotgun and kill you all!”

The Acura bounced as I sped off the slanted hotel parking lot and onto the two lane main road.

“Get back here!” the man screamed again, running toward us.

I sped away as fast as I could, my heart racing. The dark buildings flashed by the windows in a blur.

What the hell did we just do?

As I flew past the closed gas station at the blinking red light I realized our nightmare was just beginning.

We had nowhere to run. We didn’t have enough gas to make it to the next town. If we tried to run, the crazed man would find us broken down on the side of the road, alone.

If we stayed, his hunt would be even shorter.

Worst of all, we told him we needed gas. He knew we had nowhere to hide.

We were trapped in an empty town in the middle of nothing with a maniac on our heels.

***

Part IV – Peering into the Darkness

I sped out of Eureka and looked at the gas gauge. The needle was nearly flat against the E. 

I ran through our options. It was a short list.  

We had no gas. We didn’t know the area. We couldn’t call anyone. We didn’t know anyone.  We were all alone. 

And a crazed man threatened to kill us all.

Shock turned to panic. My panic fed my fear.

On the other side of the small town, in the pitch of night, I spotted a small picnic area up an incline. I pulled into the gravel parking lot and parked the car so it would face the town housing our killer.

Fight or flight was in full effect. If he came after us, I’d drive as fast as I could until we ran out of fumes. I’d honk the horn. I’d do anything to wake the small town. This was survival mode. Him or us. 

I’d prefer it to be us.

After I turned the engine off, the interior of the car grew quiet. Through my fear, I heard the faint beat of panting breaths. My heart was beating against my chest and a cold sweat was forming on my brow. I thought I was the one huffing like a dog, but Tuesday was as terrified as me, her eyes wide, peering into the dark, and her breath short and shallow.

The unholy scream that emanated from the stranger echoed in my mind like a demonic cry. It was unlike anything I had ever heard.

“That was crazy,” Tuesday said.

“Scared the crap out of me,” I said.

“You think he meant it,” Tom asked from the back seat.

“It sounded like he did.”

About fifty yards to our left was the two lane road. Between it and us was gravel, tall grass and weeds. 

With the engine off, I kept one hand on the wheel and the other on the key in the ignition. My feet were poised above the gas and clutch.

I was ready.

As Tom and Barb’s adrenaline ebbed, they began to fall back to sleep. My heart was still racing. Tuesday’s too. 

We kept our eyes locked on the road. It was the only direction from which he’d come for us. 

I looked at the clock. 

Five minutes had passed.

It felt like hours.

My eyes scanned the night, looking for movement in a sea of black, shades of darkness shifting in the abyss.

I should have paid more attention when we drove into the small town. If I wasn’t at the end of my shift. If I hadn’t hallucinated imaginary obstacles on the empty road. If we had followed our AAA Trip Ticket and not selected the most direct route between San Francisco and home.

A lot of regrets that would have to wait. I had nothing left but fear and focus.

Tuesday peered through the windshield, trying to spy the same impossible variations between black and blackness. She glanced to the backseat.

“I can’t believe they were able to fall asleep,” she said.

“I wish I could,” I said. “I’d rather this be a dream.”

Our journey from one coast to the other, spanning thousands of miles, all we had seen and experienced, had suddenly collapsed around us.

Driving over the drought stricken Mississippi River. Staying at the Bedrock City campground when visiting the Grand Canyon. Camping near the twin mountains of Tucumcari, New Mexico, where Tuesday and I stared for hours at a clear night sky blanketed with infinite stars. Visiting USC and UCLA. Eating at every Hard Rock Cafe that crossed our paths. Driving up the curving Pacific Coast Highway and touching the cold waters of the Pacific Ocean. Admiring the iconic buildings of San Francisco.

All gone in a haze of fear and dread. 

The jagged edges of the gravel path began to glow as the lights of an approaching car neared.

Tuesday and I gasped in unison.

My grip on the key in the ignition tightened. My right foot tapped against the gas pedal.

Our eyes locked on the twin orbs moving toward us. 

“There he is!” she whispered.

The lights were close and low to the ground. A car, not a pickup. It continued passed us and into the night.

Tuesday and I slunk into our seats and I lowered my hand from the ignition.

The oncoming car lights were our only advantage. The town was small. Few cars would be traveling over the Loneliest Road in America at three in the morning. There was nowhere for the enraged drinker to sneak up on us. 

For the next forty-five minutes, we watched random lights from cars and semi trucks approach and pass. Each time our hearts raced, panic rushed through us, our flight response was ready to engage, only to watch the lights fade.

It was mentally exhausting. Each peak of focus was followed by a deeper valley of fatigue. The rollercoaster ride was taking its toll.

Staring into the night was becoming more difficult. My body was depleted of adrenaline and my eyelids began to droop. 

Tuesday’s hand slapped my right arm.

“Look, look, look,” she said. 

My head jerked up and I spotted approaching lights to our left. They were different. Higher. Wider. 

Definitely a pickup truck.

We held our breath as the truck came to a stop. It sat there, idling. 

Tuesday grabbed my thigh and squeezed. My fingers gripped the keys in the ignition. 

The truck didn’t move. It waited. It felt like the crazed man was staring right at us, seeing the whites of our frightened eyes through the moonless night.

My senses were heightened.

A moment later, the engine of the pickup revved and the truck pulled away.

My body collapsed into the seat and I took a long exhale. 

Tuesday leaned over and whispered into my ear.

“What if he got out of the truck?”

***

Part V – Finale

Hours of exhaustion and fear had brought me to the breaking point. A man had threatened to kill me and my friends. We were stuck in the town until sunrise, without enough gas to escape and no way to defend ourselves.

What had started out as a fun cross country rite of passage had turned into a psychological nightmare. My best friend and his girlfriend had been able to fall asleep in the back seat of our small car, but Tuesday and I remained alert, staring into the night, looking for a black needle in a dark haystack.

If the maniac were to follow through on this threat, and the rage in his voice convinced us he would, we expected him to approach us in his pickup truck. We watched the nearby street from our slightly higher vantage point in an abandoned rest area. After what felt like hours, but was probably minutes, one such truck slowed on the road, stopped, idled and waited.

Tuesday and I held our breath, waiting to see if the headlights in the night would turn toward us. A few terrifying moments later, the truck left, continuing past us and down the two lane highway.

I thought our night of fear had finally come to an end, my eyes struggling to stay open, when Tuesday asked a simple question.

“What if he got out of the truck?”

The vehicle was stationary long enough for someone to exit. Perhaps he wasn’t alone in that hotel room. Perhaps he had an accomplice as demented as himself.

Or, perhaps, he was sleeping off his night of drinking in the plain motel at the other end of the strip.

We didn’t know. And we couldn’t risk being wrong.

So, Tuesday continued peering into the abyss, looking for the angel of death to make its approach.

The car was silent. Even our panting breaths had grown quiet.

The world was still, its immensity collapsed into a barren rest area in the middle of nowhere.

My weary mind found comfort in the quiet and my eyes began to droop.

“There he is!” Tuesday exclaimed, hopping up in her seat and cowering toward me.

I looked past her, my heart racing, and saw, not a man, but a cow, a large cow, staring at us through the passenger window. Being in an open range, it had snuck up on us, appearing like a ghost, its dark eyes peering at us, through us, past us.

It was ominous. And comical.

I laughed. Tuesday did too.

If a two-thousand pound, four legged, grass chewing animal could sneak up on us like a trained ninja, then we had no hope of stopping a violent man from fulfilling his promise.

Our laughter subsided and, with the momentary weight of fear lifted, the depth of our exhaustion quickly followed.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I said. “I’m too tired.”

“I know, but, what if he shows up?” she asked.

“Then at least we’ll die in our sleep.”

Tuesday wanted to argue with me. I could see it in her blood shot eyes. Yet, even she had grown too tired.

She reached over and squeezed my hand, then eased into her side of the car and her body melted into the seat.

I took my hand off the ignition and lifted my foot off the pedal. I eased the seat back a few notches and leaned my head against the window.

It took only seconds for my depleted body to drift off to sleep.

***

Sunlight shined through the front windshield, it’s uncomfortable morning brightness waking me from a dreamless sleep as dark as the night before.

My view was blurred from cloudy eyes. As they cleared, I was certain I was still sleeping for, in the few hours of sleep, the vacant rest area had become crowded with cars and trucks. An RV was parked next to me, blocking the view of the street where the pickup truck once lurked.

A foot above me, the RV window was opened and a middle aged man stood, looking into a mirror, shaving stubble off his face. He looked down and waved at me with a generous smile. Not a care in the world.

When did they all get here?

I didn’t know. Nor did I care. We had survived. More importantly, my shift behind the wheel was nearly over. For the next shift, Tuesday and I would move to the back seat and resume our slumber, waking up five hours closer to home.

“It’s morning,” I said with a raspy voice.

The residents of the car stirred awake and I started the engine.

In the daylight, the nightmare town of Eureka, Nevada was nothing but a blip on the highway. Bland buildings and a forgettable stop, save for one crazed pickup owner with a temper.

I pulled into the open gas station and stepped into the cold morning air. My t-shirt and shorts were not enough to stop the buffets of morning winds from forming waves of shivers that charged across my skin.

As the tank filled, I looked down to the road toward the hotel where our hellacious night had started.

It’s parking lot was empty.

The pickup truck was gone.

Our nightmare was over.

***

I was always a fan of thrillers, especially the films of Alfred Hitchcock. Yet, it wasn’t until our memorable stop in Eureka that I had come to understand fear. I was surprised by its power and effect. It was the first time my fight or flight instincts had been fully engaged and our survival from a real, or a supposed, threat brought my senses to a laser focus.

That experience changed me as a man and shaped how I write thrillers. When living through my characters lives, facing what scares them, I am brought back to that night in Eureka, reliving my fright and I try to capture in words the torrent of emotions that went through me that night. Helplessness. Panic. Friendship. Fear of loss.

It was one of the most formative events in my life.

And I wanted to share it with you. Thank you for taking this trip down my memory lane.

© 2020 Pete Bauer