The Island of Lost Things: Oregon

February 3, 2012

Turn right in 200 feet.

Cody took his foot from the Navigator’s accelerator and peered at the darkness beyond the rainy windshield. There were no road signs and nothing indicated an impending crossroad.

Turn right in 100 feet.

He turned the wipers on high and stared at the trees to his right. Still no indication of a road ahead.

Turn right in 50 feet.

“I don’t see shit, Brittany.” Cody had named her Brittany. He harbored fantasies about Brittany and her smooth, unshakably confident voice riding his cock as they maneuvered unknown byways together.

Turn right in 25 feet.
Pause. Recalculating.

“Fuck!”

There was nothing, only an unbroken expanse of pines on either side of Cody’s vehicle. He glanced in the rearview out of habit, not because he expected to see headlights behind him on this dark stretch of Oregon road, not in some perverse hope that another driver would come along to guide him.

Make a legal U-Turn at the next opportunity.

“Oh, Brittany, you bitch. You know Chelsea, don’t you?” Cody suspected they were best friends, this sexy, disembodied GPS voice and his ex-wife. He struck the steering wheel the palms of both hands. “Oh, fuck my life.” He was suddenly reminded of Stephen King’s short story, “You Know They Got a Hell of a Band”.

Recalculating.

“Recalculate all you want, you twat.”

Something flashed reflective green and Cody automatically tapped the brake pedal. “Is that a road?” he asked the night.

Turn right in 50 feet.

“Yes!”

Cody swung the big SUV off the paved highway and onto a graveled road lined with spindly lodgepole pines. He gave the accelerator an encouraging boost. He felt the rear tires slide a bit in warning, but gave them a tad bit of gas in defiance.

“Oh yeah, baby,” Cody hissed, turning into his slight spin and righting the vehicle on its eastward path. “We’re doing it now.”

Pines closed in on both sides, but he felt a surge of relief. “We’re on our way, you slut.”

You have arrived at your destination.

Cody put an unconscious foot on the brake pedal, staring at the weak trees around him. “What the fuck.”

The Navigator crept slowly forward to a point where the road ended and the forest of skinny tree trunks blocked path ahead.

“This is not happening.”

He hit the dome light and, stretching his travel-weary muscles, reached for the Rand-McNally Road Atlas under the passenger seat. Cody sighed, “I fucking hate you, Brittany.”

Don’t be hatin’, Cody. You have arrived at your destination.

Cody forgot about the atlas and sat up straight. He stared at the GPS. “What?”

I said, don’t be hatin’, Cody. You have arrived at your destination.

Cody rubbed his face with both hands. I’ve been awake too long. Too many miles and too many hours. Maybe I should take a nap here, then figure it out in a few hours.

You have arrived at your destination.

Cody stared.

Asshole.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m over tired.”

He reached for the handle and swung the heavy Navigator door open into the dank Oregon forest.

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5 Responses to “The Island of Lost Things: Oregon”

  1. Tee Says:

    WOW! You’re incredible. More!

  2. Evelyn Says:

    Amazing! Can’t wait to see what comes next. MORE!!


  3. LOL! I’m so glad you like it! Brittany is much more than COdy could ever anticipate. Thank you for reading!


  4. You’ve reached into my imagination, and taken it captive. (again) Can’t wait for more, Debi. 🙂 A great beginning.


  5. What makes this a success is maintaining the reader’s attention through suspense and a little misdirection. Can’t wait to read more.

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