Abandoned: Part 1

"Fuck," Tom muttered to himself. His SUV kicked up a spray of rubble and sand as it rumbled over the dirt road. With one hand on the steering wheel, and the other on the map, he cursed again, periodically glancing up, before turning his gaze back on the map.

Looking behind himself, Tom checked that all his baggage was securely tied down. This road trip was shaping up to be a bad idea, he thought. First the overbooked hotel, the flat tires, and now he was lost, traveling down the backwaters of rural America, wandering around in the damn desert. When he had first set out, he was sure that the trip would be full of adventure - but now, all he wanted to do was go home, sit back and watch some television.

"Aarghhhhh!" Frustrated, Tom pulled over to the side of the road, his car tilting onto the sparse grass. The hot midday sun beat down relentlessly, heating up the leather interior of the SUV. Tom turned up the air conditioning, blowing the scents of suntan lotion and sweat away, and flapped the map open on his lap, sending a fine dust into the air.

With a pen, he marked down his route, trying to figure out where he had gone off course. The map was already criss-crossed with red lines, denoting stops and routes, distances and calculations. After a few minutes of staring at the unreadable mess, Tom slammed the map down on his lap and gave a strangled scream of anger. If there were only some gas station, or an information kiosk...

Suddenly, Tom stared off into the distance. Leaning forward, he wiped at the windshield. Nope, it wasn't a smudge on the glass - there was smoke rising from the horizon. A house? A station? Whatever it was, smoke meant people, and people meant help. Maybe they would have directions back to the main road.

Tom shifted into gear. Pressing his foot on the gas, the car roared and sped off, leaving dust clouds in its wake. For the next few hours, he drove, keeping an eye on the dwindling smoke pillar. Eventually by nightfall the smoke had disappeared, but Tom was certain he was headed in the right direction. His hunch proved to be right when he rolled into a small town at the base of a small hill - and just in time. The sun was going down at a fast pace, almost as if it were falling into the surrounding desert.

Parking his car in front of a lit house, Tom turned off the engine and stepped out of the vehicle. As he approached the building, he noticed old-fashioned carts and churns along the side of the wall, and the lights emanating from the window appeared to be flickering alike candles, rather than electric lights. Maybe this was some sort of Amish community, like the brochure back in the car described.

Upon reaching the door and failing to find a doorbell, Tom knocked twice. He could hear muffled conversation from behind the door, and saw shadows moving in the tinted windows. The knob rattled, and Tom stepped backwards as the door swung open.

Simultaneously, Tom screamed and jumped backwards, as the... creature on the other side of the threshold did the same. The door slammed between the two, Tom rushing back to his car, frantically fumbling at the door, yanking it open, throwing himself inside, locking the door after him, and only then did he allow himself to take another breath. Panting, he looked back at the house, where shadows were moving quickly across the window.

What was that? He put a hand to his forehead. All he had seen were two wide circles for eyes, a long muzzle, a bald scalp. As the picture clarified in his head, he almost laughed in relief. It was just a gas mask - the strange nature of it was what had startled him. It was probably just some kids playing around. Tom tossed his head back and closed him eyes. It was the stress getting to him, making him see things that weren't there.

A knock at his window startled him. Opening his eyes, he saw a shadowy figure at the car door. He flicked on the interior light and wound down his window slightly. It was another gas-masked person, holding a candle. "Hello?"

"Who are you?" A muffled voice came through the mask, noisily echoing with the hiss of the filter. "What are you doing here?"

There was a strange lilt to the man's accent, something vaguely sophisticated. Shrugging it off, Tom responded. "My name's Tom, I got lost across the 402. I think I made a wrong turn somewhere. Do you know how I can get back onto the main roads?"

But the man didn't appear to be listening. Looking over his shoulder for a second, he turned back to Tom before asking more questions. "Why aren't you wearing a mask? Aren't you afraid?"

"Afraid?" Tom shook his head, puzzled. "Why are you wearing masks? Is there something I'm missing here?"

The man looked at Tom, his eyes unreadable under the gas mask, his expression hidden. Stepping back, he appeared to be observing the SUV. "What is this? Some sort of mechanized tank? Are you with the Germans? Where is your gas mask?"

"I'm German, yeah - I mean, my parents were born in-"

Before he could continue, the man reared back. Turning around he ran back into his house, shouting something unintelligible. Tom stared, utterly confused, and a little frightened. This place was weird.