Free Evil Jester Digest, Vol.1 by Peter Giglio (Editor) Page A

four-wheel drive vehicle. Useless in the city, but great in an emergency like this. A brown curtain of dust hung in the air. All around was dirty sand, rocks, and nothing that moved or lived.
    “Where the hell is the highway?” Harry said again.
    “Can’t you find it?” Laura said.
    “Do you see it?”
    “No. Don’t lose your temper.”
    “I couldn’t have parked very far off the pavement. And the wind couldn’t have moved us. I just can’t see the damn Interstate. It’s probably covered with sand.”
    He inched cautiously forward. The engine made a discordant grinding sound. “Don’t quit on me,” Harry told it.
    Nothing outside gave him any clue. The Impala labored through the sand, complaining all the way.
    “Are you going the right direction?” Laura asked.
    “I have no idea.”
    “Don’t we have a compass or anything?”
    “No. And what good would it do if we did?”
    While the wind had lessened, it had not stopped, and bursts of grit continued to buffet the Impala. The engine screeched, coughed, and quit. Harry twisted the ignition key and let the starter grind until it barely muttered. He swore for a solid minute and pounded on the steering wheel.
    “It’s not the car’s fault,” Laura said.
    “I’ve got to hit something.”
    “Harry, let’s try to be calm. We have enough to worry about.”
    Without the air conditioner the temperature inside the car rose rapidly. Sweat trickled from Harry’s armpits and darkened his short-sleeved shirt. Breathing became difficult.
    “We’re going to suffocate if we stay in here.” He pushed the door open and the full heat of the desert slammed him. A curtain of yellow dust hung in the air limiting his vision to a few yards in any direction. He made a tunnel of his hands and peered into the haze. “Now where the hell is the highway?”
    Laura got out on her side and came around the car to join him.
    “I can’t see anything,” she said.
    “It’s got to be right here. I didn’t drive that far.”
    He walked to the back of the car and peered in the other direction. “Hey.”
    “What is it?” Laura said.
    “Looks like headlights.”
    Laura walked back and followed his gaze. Through the curtain of dust a pair of lights could be dimly seen. The lights bounced as they drew nearer, and the stranded couple could hear the grumble of an engine.
    “It is headlights. Somebody’s coming.” They both stood behind the Chevy in the path of the oncoming lights and waved their arms.
    The approaching car ground to a stop a few feet in front of them. It was an old, very old Ford. It was impossible to tell what the original color had been, so rusted and scraped was the finish. Harry figured it was pre-World War II. You don’t see many of those relics driving around, but Harry was damn glad to see this one. He walked to the driver’s side window and leaned down. The glass was too caked with dirt to see through. He rapped with one knuckle.
    “Hello…hi, there.”
    No response.
    “Hey! We need some help here.”
    The window creaked down about two inches. Harry could make out a pale oval in the darkness of the interior.
    “I got off the Interstate when the sandstorm started, now I can’t even see the damn road.”
    Squinting through the opening Harry saw the driver was a long, angular man in a wrinkled khaki jacket. He leaned away and opened the passenger side door.
    Harry looked at his wife. “I guess he wants us to get in.”
    Laura spoke quietly. “I don’t feel good about this.”
    “I don’t think there’s any choice.” Harry led her around to the other side of the car. The door was open about six inches. It creaked angrily as he pulled it the rest of the way. A pale hand pushed the ragged seat forward toward the dash. All that could be seen of the driver was a long jaw with stubble like fungus. He wore a battered black fedora and a stained black pants.
    With a last look at his wife, Harry climbed into the backseat. Laura followed.
    They nearly