The American Southwest seemed to go on forever.
"Are we ever going to get there," Roxy groaned from the back seat of the minivan.
"I can't very well make the road shorter, can I," Jetta snarled from the driver'sseat. She had to shout to make herself heard over the dirt road throwing gravel over the bodywork.
"Maybe somebody who knows how to drive on the right side of the road should be doing it," Roxy snapped back.
"Shut up, both of you," Pizzazz hissed. "I'm trying to navigate." There was a rustling of paper as Pizzazz wrestled the map around in the front passenger seat.
"We've been going for hours," Stormer yawned from the back seat. "Where are we trying to get to again?"
"The damn airport to get back to L.A.," Pizzazz snapped. "Any damn airport! This whole thing is a fucking disaster!"
Stormer winced and tried not to call attention to herself. That morning they'd been turned loose by Jem and the Holograms. Softie that she was, Jem hadn't turned them loose in the empty desert, but at one of the Western railway towns they'd been touring, which had a car rental. Pizzazz had slammed plastic and they'd headed out onto the back roads with a map, some jugs of water, and their kit crammed into the back. Stormer wasn't sure why they'd brought all their instruments at all; they'd come out here to mess with the Holograms' concert, not play one themselves. And yet Stormer herself had insisted on bringing them. She'd supposed that somewhere along the line, she'd hoped it'd be about the music, not just obstructing their rival band. Maybe they could crash one of the concerts and...
"Finally," Pizzazz cried, jolting the others.
"Finally what," Roxy whined.
"Highway," crowed Jetta, and the van lurched as she veered onto a new road, and the rumbling rattle and vibration of back roads turned into the subtler vibration of paved road. The tension in the van abated somewhat. Within a couple of minutes, Roxy started to snore, and Stormer pulled out her notebook and started up again working on some lyrics. She wasn't even sure what time it was, but it felt really late.
"Have we got enough gas to get...anywhere," she asked anxiously after a while.
"Of course we do," Pizzazz said in that particular certain way that meant she wasn't sure at all.
"I haven't seen a bloody exit in over an hour," Jetta said tightly.
Roxy snored again, loudly. And at first, Stormer thought that was what had done it. Jetta swore explosively and the minivan swerved, the brakes screeched louder than Pizzazz, and they lurched to a halt.
"What the hell was that," Roxy said fuzzily. "Forget what side of the road you're supposed to be on?"
"You scared the," Stormer started. She leaned up between the front seats, readjusting the flower behind her ear. "What the fuck?"
The curse slipped out of her against her usual inclination, but the cause was extraordinary. The highway had been painted, not with the standard white and yellow lines, but in a big, elaborate painting! Like a mural laid flat on the ground. It looked vaguely Latin American in motif, reminding Stormer of the concerts they'd played in Mexico.
"What kind of highway do you call this?"
"It's a big desert," Roxy said slowly, "Lots of time to go all-out on graffiti if you wanted."
"Where the fuck are we," Pizzazz said, frantically unfolding the map again, then there was a loud ripping and the temperature in the van dropped noticeably.
"Wait, is that a sign up there," Stormer asked.
Jetta carefully put the car back in gear and crept forward. It was really dark out, Stormer thought. The headlights made a pool of light in front of the van, but not far. Not far at all.
As it turned out, though, she was right. There was a sign. It had been vandalized too, the paint scraped off, leaving bare, scuffed metal, except for at the bottom where it said Exit 15, and an arrow pointing up and left.
"Okay, an exit," Roxy said, "To where?"
Roxy was still slow to process the written word. Where the metal had been scraped bare, somebody had painted words in spray paint: it just said 'NOOOOOOOO!'
"That's...a little weird," Roxy opined at last.
Stormer glanced up at Pizzazz. She stared fixedly at the mutilated sign, then shook her head and said, "No-good excuse for vandalism. No style at all."
"Think wherever that is has a gas station," Jetta said pensively.
"Better check it out," Pizzazz said.
"I thought you said we had enough," Stormer said, with knowing weariness.
"We do," Pizzazz lied insistently. "But it turns out Jetta's too dozy to drive, so let's see if we can find a motel!"
Admittedly, that was a good reason too, and they found the exit, and turned off the weirdly painted highway and onto the regional road. It didn't take long before they arrived on the edge of town.
"Thank goodness," Stormer said.
"Anybody else hungry," asked Roxy.
They parked outside the first building that looked open. The Moonlite All-Nite Diner, so named by the neon sign, was more or less deserted, except for some transient type with a hood hovering at the edge of the pool of light around the door. The Misfits stuck close together until they were inside.
The fluorescent lights made Stormer blink. The diner was deserted. Somewhere a record - it sounded like Huey Lewis but she couldn't place the song - was playing over speakers. She squinted sleepily up at the menu board, but her face went from sleepy to bewildered:
Strawberry Pie: 2.50 a slice
Strawberry Pie (invisible): 2.75 a slice
Oatmeal: 2.00
Blueberries, salt cubes, cured salmon: .50
Turkey club sandwich with fries...
"Why is invisible pie a quarter extra?" Stormer asked automatically.
"Cured salmon," Pizzazz said flatly.
"Sounds like a bloomin' ripoff to me!" Jetta put in.
"Uh," Roxy said, nodding. Someone had come out from the kitchen to the bar counter. She was young, probably in her first job. You expected nervousness from someone like that, but not the chalk-faced terror currently being sent their way.
"What're you looking at," Pizzazz demanded.
"I...I haven't seen you before," said the young woman. "Are..." horrified realization dawned. Stormer thought she might faint as she whispered, "are you...Them?"
"We're Them alright," Pizzazz said boldly, "And we're here, and we're hungry. Pie, all round!"
"Visible pie," Jetta added pointedly.
"Okay, okay," the girl said frantically, "Anything! I swear, I didn't do it on purpose! I'll get your pie!" And she bolted into the kitchen.
"Is she tripping," Roxy wondered, frowning.
"Who cares," said Pizzazz, "Let's eat and then find someplace to stay."
The girl almost fainted again when they asked after a motel, but she managed to choke out that the Red Rum Motel was a place of 'no subversive intent whatsoever' and that seemed to be good.
The pie was the kind that you only ever craved late at night, but Stormer felt she'd need a few more drinks in her to really appreciate it.
The hooded figure was still hovering outside. Roxy cussed him out for being a creeper, but he didn't react. At all.
It had been a long, long time since the Misfits had been far enough down the food chain to stay in the shag-carpet, peeling wall-paper, slightly grimy type of motel the Red Rum turned out to be. Pizzazz, Jetta and Roxy waited while Stormer ordered the rooms. But as she reported back, brandishing the Misfits company credit card, she said, "We've got a problem, guys. This is going to max out with these rooms!"
"So what," Pizzazz demanded.
"So," Stormer said irritably, "You didn't give us time to grab our own cards - or much cash - before we went haring off after the Holograms! We haven't got enough left over for gas or food!"
"Can we figure out how to fix that in the morning," Jetta whined.
"Yeah," Pizzazz said, yawning and stretching, "Don't worry your head about it, Stormer. We'll figure it out after some sleep."
"I suppose," Stormer sighed, "we can always play a few songs and pass the hat at a bar or something."
"That's the spirit," Roxy said cheerfully. "Bring a little rock to a town like this? We'll make a mint!"
The rooms were old and while technically clean enough, still had a dingy feeling. Stormer felt a weight lift - slightly - as she got into the little room by herself. Whatever obstacles tomorrow might bring, maybe they would at least look easier after sleep.
She was twitchy though; that poor counter girl at the diner, that creepy hooded figure, the messed up highway, and the stale air of this place, on top of all the drama and exhaustion was getting to her. And the possibility that they were going to get stuck here with no money was...weirdly exhilirating. Toughing it out, making their way, giving that creeper at the diner the scare of his life, Misfits style!
Now, there was an idea for a song, she thought. She grabbed her notebook again and went to work, suddenly inspired despite - or maybe because of - her fatigue and anxiety.
There was a radio alarm clock on the bedside table, and she switched it on, looking for music. Some boring easy listening song was just wrapping up, and she waited for some station identification to let her know what the station's angle was as she jotted some notes.
A light beat struck up, and it turned out to be the opening for a radio program. Over the synth chords and cymbal beat, a smooth, deep voice started speaking.
"Are you inspired? Is your mind filled with ideas? What ideas? Who have you told? Where did they come from?"
Stormer's hair fairly stood on end.
"Welcome to Night Vale!"