CrackedBerry

State Route 359 stretched out before us, a desolate ribbon of dirt cutting through the barren expanse of the Nevada desert. Time seemed to hang in the air, heavy with an unspoken truth that lingered between me and Ted.

We both knew our situation was dire.

The car had rolled a few times, smashing every side of it when Ted swerved for some animal. A strange-looking animal, wiry and deformed.

“Was it even an animal or was it something else?” I had questioned.

“I can’t shake the feeling, Ted,” I confessed, my voice barely a whisper against the howling wind. “We might not make it out of here.”

I stole a glance at my friend, hoping for some reassurance, but Ted’s face was an inscrutable mask.

He was never one to wear his emotions on his sleeve. Even when his long-term relationship ended abruptly last year, he brushed it off like it was a minor inconvenience. At least, that’s how he appeared to me.

Ted’s head turned, his gaze fixed on the moonlit road. The pale light reflected off the pavement, casting an ethereal glow that seemed almost otherworldly in the stark desert landscape.

I silently prayed that no headlights would emerge from the horizon.

While Ted was a sturdy presence, I knew I wouldn’t fare well if we encountered a band of crazed wanderers.

“I’m going to check if I can find my phone in the car,” I announced, the urgency in my voice betraying my rising anxiety. “I know it’s a long shot, but if we’re about to get hit with a sandstorm, and…”

Ted interrupted me with a snort of disbelief. “Albert, spare me your ghost stories. This is no time for paranormal fantasies.”

I sighed, the gusting wind punctuating the silence that followed.

The vast desert expanse, I couldn’t help but believe, was a graveyard of forgotten stories. But this wasn’t the time for such dark thoughts. Not when our lives hung in the balance.

“It’s not a fantasy, Ted,” I insisted. “There have been countless reports of strange sightings in the sands.”

“Enough,” he interjected firmly. “If the storm comes, we’ll seek refuge in the car.”

I gestured towards our battered vehicle. “The windows are shattered, Ted.”

“There are no windows in the trunk,” he replied, slipping back into his characteristic stoicism. “Look, help is on its way.”

I followed his gaze, but all I saw was the empty road vanishing into the distance.

“What are you talking about?”

“Right there, don’t you see?” His eyes remained fixed on the road, unblinking.

I hesitated, uncertain whether it was Ted’s presence or the wind that sent shivers down my spine.

“I’ll be at the car,” I mumbled, making my way down into the ditch.

Inside the car, a jumble of fast food wrappers and empty cups greeted me. It took some digging, but I finally retrieved my cracked BlackBerry. My CrackedBerry, as I affectionately called it.

I unlocked the screen, relief washing over me as I saw three bars and a 4G signal. I looked back towards the road, but Ted was nowhere in sight. A sudden unease settled over me.

The bright beige expanse of the desert behind me took on eerie shapes in the dim light. But the radiance was fading; the encroaching clouds devouring the stars.

“I’ll call for help,” I muttered to myself, dialing my mom’s number.

But the automated voice on the other end informed me that the number was unavailable. I tried my dad’s, then a few friends. The same result echoed back at me.

“What is going on?” I wondered aloud, ensuring that I still had a signal. I did.

Switching to Facebook, I found some solace in the familiar blue interface. A few friends were online, and I reached out to one who seemed least likely to find my late-night message strange.

Hey, what’s up?

The familiar icon indicated they had read my message.

Hey Alberto, how’s it going?

At least that connection still held. I left their message unanswered, my attention drawn back to the road. The moonlit pavement stretched out, empty and eerie.

“Ted?” I called, but my voice was swallowed by the rising wind.

I hurried back up the ditch, but when I reached the top, all I found was an empty road.

“Ted?” I called out again, louder this time.

There was no response. Just the relentless wind, carrying with it a chilling sense of foreboding. I could feel the sand stinging my face.

“Stop messing around, Ted!” I shouted, my voice tinged with desperation. “I’ve got service. I called for help!”

But there was only silence. The road stretched out, a desolate path leading to nowhere.

As the first gusts of the impending sandstorm whipped around me, panic took hold. I could barely catch my breath, my heart pounding against my ribcage.

The road seemed to taunt me, its emptiness a stark reminder of our isolation. And then, from the horizon, headlights emerged, piercing through the encroaching darkness.

Help at last, or was it?