mojave
blues
A creative writing piece written by VJCL 1st VP Jack Purple
The scorching air shimmers as a tall young man tears down an empty desert road
in an open Jeep, kicking up a cloud of dust that reaches to the sky, stretching like the vast dunes to the horizon. The station lies ahead. It towers above the Mojave, a great grey monolith in a sea of yellow sand. A man in bomber jacket and aviators steps out from his vehicle, hoisting a guitar on his shoulder and leaving the battered, windswept Cherokee behind. Upon reaching the doors of the station, he is met by the guard. The man begins, “Nice to meet you, the name’s Luke. Command told me I’d be covering duty with you here for the next week.” “Pleasure’s all mine. I’m Gus. Come on in, there’s beer in the fridge and I’ve rigged up a TV next to the monitors. Trust me, with all there is to do out here, you’ll need the entertainment.” Luke gives a swift nod and follows Gus inside, through a modest lobby and up a short flight of stairs to an observation room.
The observation deck is dominated by a window running its length, overlooking a
deep pit, illuminated by the setting sun. On the opposite side, the walls are covered in
various display screens and monitors. Walking up to the window, Gus gestures down
towards the pit, “Welcome to the facility. As you can see, we have the exciting duty
keeping track of that box,” he says, turning to a prominent camera feed focused on a
large rectangular box at the bottom of the pit, “on yonder. Buckle in and grab some
refreshments, because we’ll be in for the long haul.” Luke nods and takes a seat, and
begins to strum on his guitar. He glances in the direction of another monitor on the wall. The screen shows a map of the area and small thunder cloud icons rapidly approaching the station. “Do you normally get thunderstorms ‘round here? I can’t imagine they’re too common in the desert.” Gus replies, “Honestly, I don’t think I could tell you the last time we did. You see something new every day I suppose.”
Thunder booms and wind howls outside the station as the two men reach their
fourth hour of guard duty. Gus keeps a close eye on the monitors, particularly the camera pointed at the box. When his eyes shift to that one, they lose their indifference, and take on something else: perhaps fear, or perhaps just wariness. Meanwhile, Luke keeps strumming on his guitar, keeping his eyes fixed on the weather map. “Hey Gus, do you want to hear a story? I heard this one from a mountain man up in Tennessee. You see:
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