The old truck roared under the strain as it crested the last hill, it’s battered and rusted hull blent into the desolate landscape, just like one more derelict piece of junk left to deteriorate in the windswept plain. In the distance hills rose in a ring around the valley, seemingly within reach, but a full days walk in actuality. As the truck shuttered to a stop, the whistle of the wind came into focus, an overwhelming wail, streaking across the short grass and dried mud. It was cold out as evidenced by the small clumps of scattered snow and the frozen water in tire tracks. He opened the door of the truck, pushing it through several sticking points, the creaking noise being carried off by the wind. His tattered boots and faded jeans did little to block the piercing wind and he shivered a little in spite of himself.
Walking rapidly away from the truck he headed toward the broken wooden shack which stood nearby. There was a time it had been relatively weatherproof, but that time had been long ago, and no one had bothered to keep it in good repair. The grass grew right up to the edge of the building and as he got close he noticed some of it had recently been trampled down. He paused for a long second, his jaw flexing and unflexing, a disturbed look on his face. Whatever inner conflict had caused him to pause quickly passed and he charged towards the broken door of the broken building. Flinging the door aside, he disappeared into the dark hole. A second later he reappeared, carrying a small wooden barrel. Dropping the barrel on the ground he grabbed a nearby rock and bashed it to pieces. Digging through the broken wood he pulled out a long thin metal rod. It was smooth and polished, cleanly cut at each end. It glistened, even in the dull light of the winter morning. Muttering to himself, he jumped to his feet and then froze, coming over the rise in the distance was another truck. It was large and looming, newer than his own, with tinted windows and oversize tires. He paused for only a moment, then turned and started to run as fast as he could. The wind howled past his ears and caused his eyes to tear up till he could barely see which caused him to stumble and trip over the uneven frozen ground. He resisted the urge to look back, but kept up a dead run towards the distant hills. He came upon an old barb wire fence, stopping in order to duck underneath, he stole a glance behind him. No one was there. The new truck was gone and so was his own. He recalled how he had left the door of the truck open and the keys in the ignition. The wind whistled and howled, the grass whipped around his legs, the metal was cold in his hand, it was 30 miles back to the main road. He headed towards the hills.