The Mountains

That morning Emmett Clark parked his black Model-T truck and stood at the edge of the remnants of Lake Wallace, a barren desert of cracked dirt and debris surrounded by distant plains and abandoned farms. Years of intense drought and over-farming of the prairie land had long ago drained the area of life-giving water that kept the nearby town of Eiden thriving, and now Emmett traversed the lifeless ground as a shortcut to save a few minutes getting into town. As he walked, he heard the loud taunting yips of the coyotes and saw the sun slowly rising over the distant bluffs, glowing a deep blood red color from the thick clouds of blowing dust that ceaselessly swirled in the distance. “Another bad day,” he mumbled while placing his hand on the revolver hiding in his side pocket.

The main strip of town was a single, unkept dirt road lined with two story buildings on either side. Years of failed crops and population decline left the remaining family businesses as withered as Lake Wallace. A handful of spoked-wheeled cars parked outside the few places that managed to stay open. Emmett stepped toward the hardware store, taking short fast breaths while his heart began to race. Day after day of inhaling that foul dirt permanently damaged his ability to breath. Every storm made things worse. Emmett and his wife Helen used up their remaining sheets to guard her face from the fine particles that invaded their lungs. But those facemasks would only last so long before they turned black and useless. The storm also annihilated the garden they resiliently tried to rebuild each week to no avail. Yesterday’s storm ripped several panels off of the house and exposed Helen and him to a thick rush of blowing dust that surged in with the wind. He desperately needed supplies to fix his home and protect Helen from suffering the same inevitable fate he knew was coming to him—slow, painful suffocation from dust building up in his lungs.

Emmett took more short fast breaths with each step down the planked sidewalk up to the store. He noticed the front windows were blocked by several layers of wood and sheets. Thankfully, the last customer left as he entered. Emmett cautiously viewed the inventory. The once full and vibrant shelves were dull and spacious and lacked the basic necessities of a different time. But he managed to acquire most of what he needed; wood boards, nails, chicken wire, rough wool blankets, a sack of flour, and a small cart to carry it all. “Where’s Bob, he in today?” Emmett inquired to the shopkeeper from across the floor. The shopkeeper sullenly looked up from his counter. “Bob . . . he is alive, but he will be out for some time. His newborn child, Beau, died in that cursed dust storm yesterday. I don’t know how much more we can take, our inventory is shot and the sand piles higher each morning, and I continue to hear more stories that no person should ever have to hear.” Emmett felt the revolver in his pocket hit his leg as he approached the sullen shopkeeper. “Listen,” Emmett asserted, “I don’t got money for this, Bob stopped offering me credit last year, and it’s a shame what happened, but I’m leavin’ and don’t you try to stop me.” The shopkeeper sighed. He did not have the same stingy business sense as Bob and let Emmett leave unbothered.

Emmett felt no relief. He dragged the supplies through the empty waste of Lake Wallace to his truck. From there, he took the county road six miles out to reach the homestead and farm he acquired with Helen in 1927. Once surrounded by miles of bright golden wheat fields, the house was now embedded within an arid Sahara of misery and lost dreams. Helen stood outside, frantically shoveling away the drifts of dark sand that gathered along the entrance of the old wood-boarded home. Emmett wasted no time, without even a word, he gathered his tools and began to hammer the new wood boards onto the sides of the house that needed reinforcement. The sun continued to rise and shined unforgivingly, delivering the ruinous heat that plagued their world.

So fixated on repairs, Emmett failed to notice the two strangers assisting Helen with the shoveling until he moved on to the next section of the house. The sight of more people under his charge surprised and angered him. “Who the hell are these, Helen,” Emmett barked. Before Helen could respond, one of the strangers nodded towards Emmett. “I am Joshua Johanessen and this is my cousin Eric. We bought the homestead a couple miles down last year in a foreclosure sale. We thought we could revive the land and make money from the cheap property. And now, unfortunately, it is overrun by the coyotes. The dust storms stripped the house of paint, strangled the fields, and almost buried us yesterday. But the howls of the coyotes . . . it haunts us. They ate our remaining livestock, and they circle our land like vultures waiting for collapse. Their howls blend with the sound of the wind blowing through the jagged cracks in our house, and as the night looms over us we are unable to discern the difference between them. Each morning, the carcasses of their victims are gathered in the dirt. Hundreds must be buried near our porch. As of yesterday, Eric and I had enough, we are fleeing, but must wait for the next clear day before we can do so. Our house cannot be habitated, please let us stay and help in your plight.”

It never occurred to him until Joshua spoke, but Emmett grimly realized he too was haunted by the yips and screams of the coyotes. The asynchronized pack howls had perpetually kept him on edge and awoken him in the night. Emmett decided to let the strangers stay.

The frenzied repairs continued. While Emmett began creating a dust barrier with chicken wire near Helen, a look of concern grew over her face. “Emmett, there is something else,” she said softly while continuing to shovel dirt. “We can no longer get any milk or butter from The Hershalls.” Emmett took several short breaths, shook his head, and continued his work. “Its true darling,” she continued with a resigned tone, “the dust has been infecting the cattle herds, ruining the meat and spoiling the dairy cows. The Hershalls got orders from the Federals and Mr. Tompkins. They had to shoot the few unblemished stock to salvage any meat, and for the others . . . it was awful, just awful. Mr. Tompkins stopped by while you were out. He told me they dug a massive pit out by Boise City, forced everyone to gather tainted or starving cows, horses, and even chickens. They tossed or corralled them all in the pit there, and they shot down every single one. Whole families with children watched, and they shot every animal. I am thankful the dust killed off the mice, but this . . .”

An hour before mid-day, Helen prepared an early lunch with the sack of flour Emmett had procured. Biscuits with the last of the butter before the culling. Emmett and the guests quickly ate the food before returning to work. Emmett was eager to reinforce the roof where he suspected most of the dust entered. He needed no ladder; he was able to walk along the tightly packed drift of sand abutting the home. He slowly climbed the lightly sloped roof and inspected each inch to decide where best to place the next wood board. But he soon heard the coyotes off in the distance, first a yip, then multiple yips, which crescendoed into a piercing howl. The dreadful moan rattled his spine with chills. He looked up to see if one could be spotted. Instead, he saw off in the distance a morose and vile black wall of dust that extended endless miles on both sides and was as tall as the sky, like a vengeful mountain range slowly approaching to consume them all. It was a storm blacker and more menacing than any the group had ever seen. “It looks as if the end of the world draws upon us,” Eric stated with amazement. Joshua affirmed, “We are indeed in the end times, cousin.”

The sounds of coyotes and death swirled in Emmett’s mind, but even as disoriented as he was, he knew the house would not survive such a storm with the minimal repairs they managed to make. “We need to get to town,” yelled Joshua, “I heard the old Mills Theater is the best place to wait it out.” Emmett jumped down from the roof and looked at Helen as she quickly tore cloth from the flour sacks and fashioned them into facemasks. “Emmett, please let us go in your truck! The storm is getting close!” said Joshua with increasing panic in his voice. Reluctant to abandon his home, Emmett gazed at the looming darkness as it grew more imposing and immense every second. “No choice, Helen,” he confessed. Helen nodded and handed him a facemask to put around his head and cover his mouth. The outer reaches of the storm descended upon them as torrents of dust blanketed the sky.

As the light dimmed, everyone rushed into the truck, cramming uncomfortably onto the single bench seat. Helen sat tightly against Emmett. She could feel his whole body tense up and shake with nerves while he strained to breathe. Once Emmett heard Eric slam the passenger door shut, he took off down the same county road he had driven only a couple hours earlier.

The full malice of the storm took hold as thick clouds of dust blackened the sun, turning a once bright day into a howling starless night, obscuring Emmett’s vision. He turned on the truck’s lights to the terror of everyone. The group went from staring into an unknown darkness to realizing they faced certain death. Black dust, mixed with coarse sand and dirt, surged all around them at speeds they had never seen from the previous storms. Amongst the swirling chaos, Emmett could view a small strip of ground immediately in front of the headlights and nothing more. His only option was to drive guided by pure memory and familiarity with the route. With each motion of the truck, he grew increasingly worried the dirt would overtake the road and he would be driving into the empty void itself, never to escape.

An hour into the punishingly slow ride filled with life or death directional guesswork, the truck started bucking, made a puttering noise, and then stopped. “Why are we stopping, are we there? I can see nothing in this bedlam,” Eric said in a short, exasperated tone. Emmett felt they had only traveled three miles, halfway to town. Walking was out of the question. He realized that in their haste to leave, the gas tank had not been filled. “It’s the gas, we’re out,” he shouted. “There should be a gas can strapped to the back, near the tailgate, but I cant remember if it is still there or has anything left. If we’re gonna make it, one of y’all need to get out and fill the tank with what’s left.” Eric shifted around on the seat. “Who is going to do it, it seems to me that is your task Emmett,” Joshua calmy stated. Emmett considered the thought, but he figured risking the dust could doom everyone since he is the sole person capable of driving them through the abrasive darkness. If he died, they all did. Before Emmett said another word, Eric volunteered out of a desperate desire to reach town. “The gas tank is propped up in back there near the passenger side, and the canister is tied up on the inner bed near the tailgate,” Emmett instructed. He handed Eric a knife stashed near his side of the seat. “Just cut the rope and move fast.” Eric paused to catch his breath, opened the door, and disappeared into the caustic churn of black dust.

In the brief time the door was open, a massive plume of dust drifted into the truck and the ravenous sounds of coyotes seemed to come with it, filling the occupants’ ears along with the dirt. Joshua hesitated, but slammed the door shut. Helen leaned over and locked it, so it would stay closed. The occupants felt the truck sway from either the wind or Eric’s movements. No one could be sure. The noise of the dirt hitting the glass and metal of the vehicle made it too loud to communicate with Eric. Several minutes passed. Joshua’s usually clam demeanor twisted into an anxious restlessness. He looked closely out the back window and then out the passenger side. He could not see anything but the infinite nothingness that surrounded them. “I am getting out, grabbing Eric, and I will make sure the gas is filled. I will need you to close the door for me, and then open it once I return,” Joshua hurriedly informed the others. Emmett and Helen looked at each other and nodded towards Joshua. In mere moments, he too disappeared through that portal of despair. Helen forcefully closed and locked the door as quickly as she could manage, but she could not stop another scourge of dust from launching into the cabin.

Emmett and Helen waited several more minutes, too fearful of being devoured by the storm to check on either of their former guests. Emmett’s facemask was already blackened from the previous opening, and he felt the burning in his lungs. He knew his time was limited. He could not take another blast of dust. Desperate, out of pure absurdity, Emmett decided to try to start the truck again. He turned the keys in the ignition switch as if to play a joke on himself. When the vehicle fully clicked on along with the headlights, Emmett and Helen were stunned with disbelief. Suddenly, the visage of Joshua, standing alone, appeared pressed against the passenger window looking at both of them in the dim light. Reflexively, in a panicked fit of instinct, Emmett pulled out his revolver and pointed it at the window so Joshua could see it. The shadow of Joshua nodded and vanished back into the dark never to be seen again.

Emmett focused his vision as much as he could muster onto the small patch of ground illuminated from the headlights and drove faster than ever. He watched aggressively for specific vague landmarks to guide him, such as the base of a large fence post and an abandoned tractor embedded into a ditch. The truck roared forward, occasionally swerving, and made one definitive turn to the left off road. Helen feared Emmett had gone mad. The drive felt as chaotic as the storm itself. Helen closed her eyes waiting for the truck ram into a wall or another car, or worse, stall on a massive drift while they were buried alive. Sure enough, the truck ceased to move and Emmett turned off the ignition. Helen opened her eyes and gasped. In front of them, an extremely faint street light stood tall, flickering through the dust. Emmett had cut through the barren Lake Wallace and made it to Eiden.

A graveyard of abandoned, haphazardly parked vehicles stood between them and the old Mills Theater. Emmett looked at Helen for a long moment as she tightened her heavily tarnished facemask. “It’s time to go,” he stated softly. Helen nodded and the two raced out into oblivion. The vexatious howl of the coyotes coldly greeted them as they charged towards the main stirp of buildings. Almost immediately, Emmett stumbled over a large object and fell into the dust. Blindly searching through the dust, Helen reached down to get him back on his feet. Instead, she pulled up the suffocated corpse of the hardware store owner, Bob, and in a panicked fright dropped him back into the void. While desperately gasping for air, Emmett regained his footing and took Helen by her hand. They approached their target with greater caution, dodging the many dead laying before them.

After navigating the gruesome maze, Emmett and Helen stood against the tightly boarded up entrance to the theater. It was indented with tall walls that blocked enough of the storm for them to see several of their former neighbors dead against the boards. Emmett began pounding on the door heavily and attempted to rip off the barriers. Helen yelled for help through her mask until her throat bled. When no one responded, she felt the town left them for dead, just as they left Joshua and Eric.

Emmett did not relent and felt he was close to dislodging the first board. Helen sat in despair watching, but noticed a wood panel open towards them from another section of the entrance. The people inside must have dreaded the thought of Emmett destroying their barrier and decided to help. The vague outline of a person stood at the threshold and beckoned them forward. Emmett and Helen ran into the bastion before the inhabitants could change their minds. They found handfuls of townspeople huddled together around lamps, horrified by the noises of the storm, Emmett’s pounding, and Helen’s screaming. Emmett and Helen sat on the floor where they could find space. Helen closed her eyes and felt a strong sense of relief and sense of pride for the two of them making it this far. “Folks should never have to go through such journeys, but we made it, and we can move forward,” she said quietly. Silence seemed to permeate the room. No erratic breathing, no laconic responses, nothing. Helen’s eyes welled with tears as she leaned up against Emmett’s lifeless body.