One Last Piece of Apple Pie, continued

I hadn't had anything to eat all day except for half a cookie of unknown origin I had found laying in the back that morning, and now my stomach was rumbling. I pulled off at the first place I found, which took quite a while given how far away from anything I was. I had stopped in some tiny gas station advertising apple pie, empty except for a single employee, me and two women. I listened to the two women talking in the background as I snarfed my pie. I've never been much for manners, but I still figured listening in on a conversation was at least marginally better that sitting in front of two strangers while forcing food into my mouth like an epileptic backhoe set loose on a fresh batch of intolerant kindergartners. It turns out the one of the women -- I assumed the one sitting next to a backpack bigger than she was -- planned to hike the PCT. Seemed like a crazy idea to me, but I couldn't fault her commitment.

God knows what that cookie was laced with. In hindsight, I probably should have known something was a bit iffy when I found, given both the packaging and the taste. But let's be fair -- I had been hungry. In any case, the cookie had finally hit. It's pitch black now. I see occasional streaks of light, but I can't tell if they were shooting stars, other cars, or my own damn hallucinations. A cool breath pools on the back of my neck and a skeletal hand reaches down to caress my cheek. I turn around instantly. Nothing, but now from the front comes a hollow sigh and the hand reaches down to stroke my chin. It can't be a living man: it's far too cold. These are just hallucinations, I tell myself, trying desperately to find a place to pull aside. Funereal music fills the car and just as suddenly stops. It's dead silent, except for my own breath. Except then I hold my breath, and the breath continues, only now it's hollow and scratchy. I resume breathing, and the other breath is still there, staying in sync with my own.

***

High up along the winding mountain roads, a lone Buick coasts through the night. It moves erratically, dancing along the edge of the cliff. A turn comes; the car seems to accelerate, wheel pointed dead ahead. The guard rail crumples and splits under the speeding steel. It falls, silent, into the vast and gaping void.