Maude Muldoon, a spirited woman with freckles and wild auburn hair, wipes her brow and glances at the map sprawled across the passenger seat. Her blouse clings to her back, the fabric damp from sweat, and her bare legs stick to the cracked vinyl. The city behind her feels distant already, swallowed by the haze rising off the road. With a determined breath, Maude shifts into gear, aiming the Ford westward toward San Diego and the promise of her sister’s cool, ocean-breezed home.
The summer sun is merciless, painting the world in harsh contrasts—blinding white clouds above, shimmering mirages on the asphalt below. Maude drives in just her blouse and white panties, desperate for relief, but sweat beads along her arms and neck regardless. She sings softly to herself, the radio long silent, her voice swallowed by the roar of the engine and the cicadas thrumming in the fields. Each mile pulls her farther from civilization, the gas stations and diners thinning to ghostly memories.
Dust devils twist across abandoned main streets lined with boarded windows and sagging porch roofs. The car’s engine rattles with a new urgency, making Maude clutch the wheel tighter and peer ahead for any sign of life. Her hope flickers when she spots a faded sign for a service station, but the pumps are rusted, the office door hanging open to the wind. Maude mutters, "Come on, old girl, just a little farther. Don’t give up on me now."
Maude sighs and rests her forehead on the steering wheel, her skin prickling with exhaustion. She slips on a pair of old denim shorts, the fabric rough but comforting, and steps out into the brittle air. The world is eerily silent except for the distant shriek of a hawk and the soft hiss of cooling metal. Determined, she grabs her water bottle, checks her shoes for holes, and sets off along the shoulder, wary of the dangers lurking in the shadows.
She startles at a sudden rustle—a rattler coiled beneath a tumbleweed—then skirts a fat tarantula scuttling across her path. Sweat stings her eyes, and her tongue feels thick in her mouth, but Maude presses on, hope burning in her chest. Each abandoned building she passes offers no help, only echoes of lives long gone. Still, she keeps her chin up, muttering, "There’s gotta be someone out here. There’s always someone."
She wipes dust from her cheeks and positions herself by the roadside, thumb outstretched and smile ready despite her ordeal. A distant rumble grows louder—a truck’s headlights cutting through the dusk. Maude squeals, unbuttoning her blouse to reveal more of her charms.
The truck stops, and a young, handsome, muscular driver opens the passenger side door and says, "Am I going your way?" Maude steps in, her chest heaving now, glances at the driver and replies, "Yes...oh yes!" squeezing his thick muscular thigh gently.
