DEATH VALLEY ROMANCE
Death Valley is the hottest, godforsaken dried-up desert in the entire United States. It’s been said you can fry eggs on the blacktop roads that wind through the mountains, valleys and across the flat basin. I’m driving along one of those roads on my way to Furnace Creek, a popular resort. It’s hot as an oven, but I’ll make it. My windows are up, and the air conditioner is set on high. The cool air blows across my face and rushes up my miniskirt which I’ve pulled up as much as I can. Suddenly, the engine sputters with a horrible sound forcing me to stop along the side of the road. The car rattles as the engine sputters to a stop. The air conditioner also dies. White, clouds of steam billows upward from beneath the hood. I nervously turn off the ignition.
I lean back against the leatherette seat wondering what could have gone wrong. I’m clueless as to what happens under the hood. The loud noise and warm steam frightens me. I hope the car doesn’t explode.
The unbearable heat is killing me. I open the door and scoot out of the car one leg then the other. Whoa, this is hot. The heat burns my skin and sweat covers my arms, legs and forehead. My throat is dry and my eyes squint from the blinding sun. Using my open palm as a brim to shadow my eyes, I look up and down the road. Not a car in sight. I’m alone with nothing to do but watch heat waves dancing on the hot blacktop. The unbearable heat quickly sucks away my strength. My tired arms and hands fall to my sides in despair.
Steam is still hissing from under the hood, and I’m stranded on a road in the middle of Death Valley.
“What can I do?”
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