The Reaper in Death Valley

By Hailey L. Parkinson

“Fuck!” I shout as my palms slam onto the steering wheel. This roadtrip is not going as expected. Definitely not as I had planned.

The engine light is flashing red on my dashboard, blinking as fast as my heart is racing, mocking me for my own stupidity. I’m stopped off the side of the freeway in the middle of nowhere with smoke rising from the hood of my car. A sweat is broken out across my forehead despite having my AC on. Death Valley is so hot that even the air conditioning cannot fight off its terrible blaze. Past the full blast of the barely cooled air, I was still warmed by its overbearing, unwelcome embrace. I ignored the signs on the road telling me to turn off the air, and now here I am, in this very predicament. Surely that had been the cause. 

If only I had heeded the warnings, maybe I wouldn’t be stuck off the freeway on the hottest day of the year. 

Stepping out of my car to inspect the damage, I immediately regret all of my decisions leading up to now. The outside air is sweltering, immediately burning me and pestering my blue eyes. They weren’t designed to see well in bright places. It’s the middle of the day, brightest time of the day as well as the hottest. I groan over the fact I still haven’t bought new sunglasses from when they broke last week. They could have come in handy right about now to protect my eyes from the light. I could have at least picked up some cheap ones to at least use for the drive, then discarded once I got a better pair, but I was too picky when I looked through the selection at the gas station. With disappointment, I shake my head at myself. 

When will I ever learn?

This trip was meant to be with my brother to visit family out of state, but he ended up getting sick and my people-pleasing heart couldn’t cancel on my loved ones. Even though my brother insisted on me being smart and postponing our plans, I simply didn’t want to wait until that unknown date. 

Now I am wishing I had listened. Wishing I had done a lot of things differently.

Popping the hood, smoke wafts upward into my lungs. I cough up every particle that invades my body while my hands swat at the smokey cloud. It’s so thick and black that I can’t see the engine, and it appears it won’t dissipate soon. I huff out an irritated sigh, tears now brimming in my eyes at my frustration and from the smoke. There won’t be much I can do to fix this problem, as I am not the type of girl who knows how to maintain a car even though I have tools in the trunk. My father taught me to always be well-prepared for situations such as this, but I can’t remember how to even check my oil for the life of me. My dad and brother have shown me time and time again, yet it doesn’t stick in my brain.

Realizing that I am useless in this field, I rely on the thought of someone else aiding me. Though chances are slim, maybe I can order myself an Uber or call a tow truck. Probably the latter. 

I unplug my phone from the cheap charging cord to dial for help. The battery percentage is at five percent. This call will have to be quick or else I’ll be utterly doomed. My thumb selects the internet app. It loads and loads and loads in circles, making me grow more impatient by the second as my skin grows sticky from the heat. Then it finally confirms my suspicions of not having enough service bars to search anything up.

Another irritated sigh over my terrible luck escapes me.

Father always told me to be well-prepared for long car trips. To make a list and never forget the most important things. Those things being snacks and water, a reliable phone charger, and a map. None of which I brought for myself. If my brother had come with me, maybe I wouldn’t have forgotten. Or simply would have planned better. He’s the far more responsible one out of the two of us. I wish he was here with me. He’d know how to fix this problem.

This problem wouldn’t have even happened if he had been with me. His luck never runs out. Or maybe it’s because he’s so organized and ready for any possibilities. His phone would be fully charged, already calling for a tow truck, because the number is saved in his phone. 

I, on the other hand, can only hope I can now find information to call for a lift.

Looking around, squinting at the nearby road signs, I pray that the closest one I spot holds something valuable for my situation. Walking towards it is a chore on the rocky ground beneath my feet. Only strappy sandals cover them, giving me no support. Rocks and dirt wiggle their way between my toes. No breeze cools my skin even with the movement. Only the piercing sunlight high in the sky slows me and eats away at me, leaving tears behind from my flesh’s weeping. The sweat is the only thing to somewhat cool me, though it doesn’t do much to truly keep me that way. The heat wins the battle.

When the writing upon the sign finally comes into my blurry vision, an overwhelming feeling of relief washes over me. In fat, black numbers is printed the phone number I had hoped to find. 

My fingers scramble quickly to dial them into my phone, but when I press the turn-on button, the only thing that shows up on the black screen is a low battery signal. The brick of now hopeless technology has grown burning hot in my palm. Damn the janky charger I bought at the gas station before I officially hit the road. If only I hadn’t forgotten my own at home, I wouldn’t be having this problem. A dead car and a dead phone will get me nowhere.

The panic starts seeping in. I should have listened to my brother; should have postponed our travel plans. I could have so easily told my family that this weekend would have been too much on my shoulders alone to drive. I should have at least turned off my AC and braved the heat no matter my dislike for it.

But all I can do with the choices I have made leading me here is by taking a deep breath of the uncomfortably warmed air to attempt to ease the nerves. It does little to calm me, though it’s a start.

All that is left for me to do is stick my thumb up with my arm outward as I stand on the side of the freeway underneath Death Valley’s deadly sun.

Blaring upon my pale skin, making me sweat and groan, I curse the giant ball of gas in the sky. Outside spaces have never been my favorite, so I do not have that summer tan as everyone else back home has by now. Nor the tolerance to remain out in the heat for long periods of time. I’m nervous about how long I’ll have to stay standing out here for in hopes someone will come to my rescue. The rays are becoming unbearable, singeing my skin, turning it to pink then red. This will be the worst burn of my life if I don’t get help soon. It most likely already is by now.

I should have packed sunscreen, though I hadn’t expected for this to happen. Didn’t expect it to be a necessity. The plan was to buy any necessities such as that once I arrived to my destination. Packing soaps and lotions, including sunscreen, would have taken up too much space in my suitcase. Lugging around so much stuff would have been a nuisance for me, so I opted out of bringing it along even though it could have been easily placed in my car.

Once again, I regret another choice of mine.

Looking up at the white, blazing sun, I squint and hold my hand above my eyes. It is the only bit of shade I can get in this moment. With the sun directly above head, like a looming knife tied to thread, the shadow from my car is directly beneath it. Hiding underneath would be impossible with how low it sits. Even if it were a possibility, seeking refuge beneath it would make me invisible to any passing cars that may come my way. I could always sit in my car as I wait, but it is a furnace inside; somehow hotter inside it than outside of it. 

I decide to slump against the side of my car and sit on the ground instead. It is hot and uncomfortable, but it is better than standing. My body has grown tired anyway, and my mind is about to crash out. I am drained and wrung out.

My skin has already dried out from standing outside my car for only a few minutes. Surely no more than fifteen. Though that short period of time has already felt like hours. Sweat soaks the back of my shirt, underneath my breasts, and my scalp. My poor family will have an absolute mess on their doorstep once I manage to get there. Except now I have no clue how I will.

My other hand that isn’t blocking the sunlight remains outward, rested on my bended knee, praying a car will pass by me and the driver will be kind enough to give me aid. I wait and wait and wait, impatiently. Though I stay put as I lean my back against my vehicle. The heat has become overwhelming at this point, and I am worried about fainting despite sitting down. My water is already all gone, as I drank it all while driving. With my tongue dried, it sticks to the roof of my mouth. I should have bought two bottles instead of the one. Should have sipped on it instead of gulped. I hadn’t realized Death Valley was so vast, otherwise I would have prepared better for this section of the drive. Would have bought more snacks that I scarfed down and more water that has already been drunk up. 

As I direct my squinted stare away from the sky, a blurry, lanky man dressed in all black appears across the road. He stands there ominously tucked underneath a hood, staring me down, though I cannot see his face. Blinking rapidly, to fix my vision, he has dispersed from my line of sight once it adjusts. 

Odd. I could have sworn there was someone out in front of me. Except now there is only the long endless valley of dust and tumbleweeds. No sign of another person standing there seconds ago. 

Perhaps it was my thoughts of missing my brother. This road trip was meant to be bonding time with him. Life has been hard lately on our relationship. With Father’s passing last month, we have grown distant. When our aunt and uncle reached out to us, inviting us to spend the week with them, we were more than pleased to agree to come. At first, we thought of flying. But quickly it had changed into a road trip so that we could have more time to spend together. 

I could have chosen to stay home instead. Could have used this time off to take care of my sick brother. 

But Nevada was so tempting. The idea of being independent for once, driving all by myself, to visit family, made me feel grown. Being the younger sister, I haven’t felt very grown up. My maturity still feels very out of reach. But now Father is gone, now returned to our mother who died when we were very little. I had been babied my whole life yet was taught vital life lessons. They simply flew right over my head. Mother’s death didn’t affect me like it affected my brother, for he knew her far better than I. So, I suppose I always assumed Father would be around forever to care for me. Same as my brother. Which has always been a nice thought, but a ridiculous thought. The harshness of reality slapped me in the face when Father died of a heart attack last month. In that time as I readjusted to a new life by moving in with my brother, who has always been the strong, independent, responsible child, I learned that I knew nothing of importance. Giving up the idea of going alone, doing something all by myself for once, was impossible to say no to. 

I reassured my brother I would be okay, and I could do it on my own. Insisted that everything would be fine with a wish to prove to myself that I could do it.

What a pathetic lie. 

Look at me now. Stranded on the side of the freeway — in Death Valley of all places — overheated, thirsty, and all alone.

My impaired vision refocuses on the road as I fall into a pit of despair when I finally notice a semi-truck racing straight toward me. It is impossible to miss as the noise also alerts me of its nearing presence. This is not a mirage like that man dressed in black had been. 

The smoke that still flies out from the hood is enough of an indicator that I need help, the hitchhiker signal is only to request it. The prayer I say beneath my breath is a silent plea that the truck driver will care enough to give me a lift. 

The brake lights come on, then the merging signal.

Thankfully, my prayer is heard. The semi slows down as it pulls over to the shoulder ahead of me. Grabbing my suitcase and running for the truck, a wild smile breaks out across my sore, burnt face. If I had stayed outside any longer, this heat would have been the death of me. Blisters may already be forming along the back of my neck where the sun beats down the harshest. The part in my hair stings, and I wouldn’t be surprised to find blisters there either. I don’t dare check.

When I approach the massive vehicle, I step up the offered steps and open the unlocked door. The trucker in the driver’s seat is looking down at me with a frown, though his bushy beard hides most of it away. He wears a black flannel, black jeans, and even a black hat. “Unfortunate situation you’re in, miss. Get in, I’ll drop you off at the next stop,” he tells me in a deep gravelly voice as if he has been smoking for years. I climb into the passenger seat and do up the buckle as I profusely thank him for rescuing me. A deep sense of relief washes over me once the door is closed. The heat has stopped altogether now being seated in the truck. It is far cooler in here than outside.

“Shame what happened to you,” the trucker says as he begins to navigate the vehicle back onto the empty road. The next exit isn’t for another twenty miles, unfortunately, but at least I’ll be safe from the sun and on my way to get help. As soon as this kind man drops me off, I’ll have to find somewhere I can charge my phone so that I can get in touch with my family about my situation. Considering the condition my car is in, I may have to book a flight. Or maybe my aunt or uncle can meet me out here to pick me up. My poor brother won’t be able to drive out to save me with his illness. Either way, I will have to make arrangements for my car to get towed and how to get back home or transported the rest of the way to Nevada. 

I sigh as I look out the window. “Yeah, I wasn’t as well equipped for this trip as I hoped I’d be,” I admit to the stranger.

He chuffs at my confession. “What brought you out to these parts?” 

“Family.” I respond quickly, because that’s all there is to it. I simply wanted to see my family and my stubbornness wouldn’t allow me to back out despite the initial plans all falling apart. 

“Do you happen to have a phone charger? My phone is dead.” I ask. Surely this man would have a charger in this truck to keep his own alive during the long hauls. If I can get my phone charged, then I can call someone to help me out. Or at least for a tow truck to take my car to the closest shop to repair it. But my heart sinks when he says nope while popping the p. “Do you have a phone I could borrow by chance, then? I need to make a call.” I ask, getting my hopes up again. He has to have a phone on him. 

If I can get a hold of my brother, then he can contact our family in Nevada while I wait for my phone to turn back on.

Except he shakes his head as if he’s shooing away a pesky fly. “No phone on me, ma’am. Sorry.” 

Sinking into the seat, I look back out the window, and my eyes catch sight of a black figure with a reflective light blinding me, which leaves me unsettled. Sitting straight back up to eye it better as we fly past, I could have sworn I saw a tall black figure in a ripped-up cloak and a staff in its bony hand. The same as I saw before. Except all that’s out to the right of us is a dead plain of yellowed ground and branchy bushes. 

I could have sworn…

I must have heat stroke; I think to myself as I shake my weary head. I press my fore finger and thumb to the bridge of my nose to ease away the headache from these delusions. No one would be dumb enough to trek this valley in all black.

Suddenly, my ringtone sounds from my lap. A squeak slips past my lips. My phone was dead merely minutes ago, useless to me. Now it is ringing even though I always keep the ringer off. It’s loud and vibrating as the caller ID says an incoming call from Death Valley is lit up on the screen. I decline the call, not wanting to waste the already dead battery for a random caller. 

The truck driver does not make a comment about how my phone is supposed to be dead. He only stares straight ahead at the unending road ahead of us with a singular raised eyebrow. The one with no other cars in front or passing us, no signs in sight, and only the cracked sanded grounds next to us.

My phone begins ringing again, which I once again decline, though all the quicker this time. It hangs up and pauses for a moment, leaving us once again in silence. But it quickly starts up again, taunting me to answer, seeming louder than before. My stomach drops even though there are no bumps in the road.

“You should answer that, Janie,” the truck driver says to me.

My face turns to him slowly, eyes open wide. My stomach now up in my throat. “I never told you my name.” It comes out as a barely feasible whisper. 

The trucker looks directly back at me, not even his peripheral vision on the road. “Answer the phone, Janie.” He says seriously. A fire is burning in his once honeyed eyes and my heart stalls in my chest as how my car stalled on this tiresome freeway.

I slide the answer button to the side, doing as he says, because now I am terrified of what will happen if I don’t. None of this makes sense to me anymore. 

My brother would be so disappointed to know I got into a stranger’s vehicle even in this situation. Especially now that I feel in danger. I had thought this man to be my hero, but he may very well be the opposite. 

“Hello?” I ask as I bring the phone to my ear. My voice still barely a whisper. So small, so tiny, so weak. My innards are tangled in knots, my skin is still in pain, and now my heart is pounding out of control. What did I get myself into? Whose truck did I climb inside?

“Hello Janie,” a male’s voice says from the other line. “We have been awaiting your arrival.”

My hands grow clammy as I press the phone into my ear. “Who is this?” My voice shakes as I ask, nervous about the situation I have wound up in. I side eye the trucker whose knuckles are white as they grip the steering wheel. There is no one that I know who lives within Death Valley. The only people expecting me are my family all the way in Nevada.

“It’s the collector of your soul, Janie.” He says with a darkness that creeps down my spine and tickles my senses. I shiver, the truck suddenly way too cold for the beating heat from outside that should be slithering in and tormenting us. Not even my own car could fight against it, how can this truck?

My gaze darts to the AC. It’s turned off.

Looking back at the trucker, there is no sweat coating his forehead like how it coated mine when I had been driving.

My voice is shaky when I ask the man on the line, “What do you want from me?”

Even though I cannot see this person’s face, I can feel his wicked smile. Every nerve inside my body is now as hot as the sun was when singeing my flesh on the side of the road. “To reunite you with your late father, Janie. He waits for you past the gates.”

A sob rakes its way out of me as my heart clenches within my chest. A tear streams down my face from all the emotions I have been feeling since my car started stalling. Panic, frustration, irritation, worry, and now fear. “Why?” My terrified voice gives away all that I am failing to conceal. How does this man know of my father’s death? Why does he wish me to join him in death?

“Because you’re dead, Janie.” The truck driver chimes in from beside me. I look over at him with widened eyes, spooked out of my body that he could hear the entire conversation. “You died on the side of the road due to dehydration and heat exhaustion.”

I shake my head, refusing to believe what is being said. “No. No, that’s impossible.” It is a desperate plea I cannot hold back. I would give anything for it to be untrue.

As much as I miss my father, my brother is still very well alive. Back home with a cold. Worried sick out of his mind that I chose to take off without him. 

My poor, poor brother who will have to mourn his only sibling while he still grieves his father. 

The trucker looks at me again, with that same hellfire in his eyes, nodding despite my rejection. “If you don’t believe us, look at your arms.” Looking down at my hand that doesn’t clutch my phone, I finally notice the welts. My skin is splotched with red blisters, some have already burst with puss now leaking out, other spots are practically blackened. “The sun poisoned and killed you, Janie. You were out there for a whole hour before you died.”

Still, I shake my head, pleading with anything, anyone, that may be able to hear my thoughts to wake me from this dreadful dream. “This can’t be happening,” I deny even though no one pinches me awake. It hadn’t been more than twenty minutes, surely, even though it felt like forever. The sun could not have been that harmful. Yes, I could feel the sunburn blooming, but it could not have been enough to kill me.

“Oh, but it is, Janie,” the voice on the phone says, sultry and mischievous. As if he is pleased with my death. He chuckles to himself over a joke I do not understand. I imagine him licking his all-too thinned lips afterwards. 

“Your stop is approaching,” the truck driver says. He pulls up to tall black metal gates that have appeared out of nowhere, opened wide like arms preparing for embrace. Except there is nothing friendly about this gothic entrance. In the middle of the gates stands the same black figure I mistakenly saw in my impaired vision in the valley as we were driving down the road. A figure dressed in a ripped cloak, black as sin, with a bony hand wiggling his fingers at me, as if to say hello. Welcoming me to whatever lies behind those darkened doors. And in his other hand, a scythe, glinting under the merciless light of the sun.

The passenger door creaks open to let me out despite me not touching it. The seatbelt unclicks and unravels from around me, earning a startled squeak out of me. Slowly and hesitantly, I step down from the giant truck. Looking back at the truck driver who drove me all the way here, I am surprised to see he is now replaced with another reaper, identical to the one that waits for me to join him. “Rest in peace, Janie.”

The door slams in front of my face, and the truck pulls back out onto the empty highway. I watch it drive away, leaving me alone in the middle of nowhere. Facing back around, the grim reaper waits for me at the black gates. Except now, standing next to him, is my handsome father. His arms are opened wide with a saddened smile spread across his wrinkled face. 

But what shocks me most is the other two figures beside him. A woman, almost identical to me, though far older in age. Possessing the same blue eyes that I have.

My mother.

And next to her, my strong, independent, responsible big brother. 

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