[8: it was a game, or it started out that way.]

The dust settled onto the hood of the truck as the wind finally died down.

Jake stared at the truck, again, trying to figure out how to get it out, buried well past the axle in mud. 

His girlfriend, Jessica, sat in the passenger seat, and was glaring at him through the dust-streaked windshield.

It was a game, or it had started out that way. Driving through the puddle as fast as they could, making a spray of muddy water fifteen or twenty feet high. The last time through, he’d gunned the engine, and Jessica had laughed, he looked at her and ... let his foot off the accelerator mid-puddle. The engine died right there, and the truck sunk in past the axles.

Then had come the windstorm. The calm sunny midday was replaced by howling winds, and with it had come dust and sand. He’d stood out in the worst of it, grabbing ropes and tie-downs from the truck, trying to link enough together to attach to something to pull the truck out with.

No such luck, there wasn’t enough to reach the trees, and pushing or pulling the truck out by hand was impossible with that much mud. 

He’d cursed, getting sprayed with fine sand and grit until he was raw. His boots were caked with thick mud, smelling of decay, the winter’s debris left to rot in the mud after the melt-out.

“Well. That could have gone better.”

Jessica kept glaring at him and didn’t say anything.

He finally gave up and pulled the tangle of straps and belts off the front bumper and threw them in the back of the truck in a wad.

“I think we’re going to have to walk out.”

She kept glaring at him icily.

“Come on. Let’s go. The wind’s finally gone.”

He went to her door to lift her over the mud puddle.

As he lifted the handle and she pressed the lock down, and he saw his door lock, too.

Then it started to rain.