Disclaimer: Power Rangers is not mine. The original characters are. I'm not making money from this.
2.
Hudson sat in the shambles of what was once his cockpit. He wished he were better at this particular type of repair work so he could do it himself instead of waiting for someone else to get around to it.
It would sure make things go faster, he thought.
He tinkered with a few things before finally giving up. Out of the corner of his eye, Hudson spied something familiar. It was the primary control panel from the center console. Skylar had just been working on it before he left.
Something about a burnt out relay, he remembered. Their conversation replayed in his head again for about the fifth time. He already had a number of questions lined up and ready to be asked, if he could remember them.
"I coulda fixed it, but I failed." What the hell is that supposed to mean?
Hudson had decided that he would give Skylar one more chance to explain before he took matters into his own hands to find out exactly what the cryptic revelation meant. Another statement had caught his attention as well, "How'd we get here?"
In the past few weeks, he had had an ample amount of extra time to give questions like that some extra thought. It was not always so terrible as now. Hudson smiled as he thought back to the beginning. Everything was less complicated then, and a lot more fun. Even after that fateful day three years ago, life was still good.
What changed? And when? Hudson wondered.
Three Years Earlier
"Yes, dad, it's fine," Hudson insisted with unbridled attitude. The old, beat-up, pickup the eighteen-year-old piloted rambled down a deserted highway through the scorching August heat of the southwest.
"I added oil the last time I stopped for gas AND I put water in the radiator," he reassured his father. "Don't worry, I got everything under control. I'm not a little boy; I can take care of myself now. I'll call you when I get in, okay? – Alright …Love ya too bye. "
Absently tossing his cell phone into the passenger seat, he rolled his eyes. Hudson grunted at his father's questions– ones he considered to be belittling and pestering. He kicked the radio back up, singing along at the top of his lungs and tapping the beat on the steering wheel.
The youth had been on the road for fifteen hours – leaving very late the night before and stopping to sleep a few hours at a rest area in the wee hours of the morning huddled in the cab of his truck – with several hours left on his journey. Reared from the suburbs of the Midwest, this bright-eyed-and-bushy-tailed-a-little-green-behind-the-ears-I-think-I-got-it-all-together-upstart was headed to a desert-y oasis city life.
The heat was intense. It only worsened as morning turned into early afternoon. A sudden, unexpected wave of heat shortly following Hudson's phone-conversation soon had the young man dripping with sweat. It took little time for him to realize the worst had happened.
Hudson groaned. "You gotta be kidding me," he complained aloud. Picking up the phone, to his dismay, he speed dialed his father.
"Hey Dad, the A/C's broke."
There was silence only the other side.
"Dad?" Checking his screen, he saw he'd lost the call and there was no service. Probably not any for miles either, he guessed. "Great."
Hudson rolled down his window and peeled off his soaked tee. The latter task took remarkable skill while driving stick. Wearing only an A-Shirt and cargo shorts in a mobile convection oven, he continued through the sweltering heat.
Mirages shimmered off the blazing asphalt in picturesque waves. The bright rays of the sun beat down with unrelenting intensity. Downing his last bottle of sports drink, Hudson was literally drenched with sweat. He hardly believed how hot it was.
I gotta stop at the next gas station or rest-stop.
He had not seen any for miles, nor had he seen any signs. Not even any road signs or mile markers, but it was an older highway.
I can't remember the last car I saw, hmm, he pondered, oh well.
A nagging pain in his left arm caused him to glance at it. Resting on the door over the retracted window, he saw a brightly colored red forearm. A nasty sunburn had happened much quicker than Hudson could have imagined. He usually tanned well, and burned rarely. He pulled it out of the direct sun and cradled it to his now bare chest.
Driving on, he hurried to the next exit, but none came.
Over the din of the radio, Hudson thought he heard a noise. Flicking the switch, a distinct hissing sound became quite clear and then, as if on cue, he felt the vehicle slow.
Oh no, now what?!
Hudson pressed down the accelerator, to no avail. His slowing continued. The gas-gauge showed a third of a tank yet left. The temperature was obviously running hot and oil pressure was a little high, but still within circumstantially acceptable levels. The rear-view mirror showed thick, black exhaust.
Peeking out the window and in his side mirrors, his worst fears were realized. Two lines of black marked his path behind him. The rubber on his tires was moist with their own liquid: His tires had begun to melt.
"It cannot be that hot out there," Hudson insisted aloud, banging on the steering wheel.
In reply, a strident bang interrupted the silence as the truck rocked and veered left. His front driver-side tire had popped. An earsplitting explosion followed as the other three burst. Hudson barely maintained control of the truck. He brought it to a rough stop.
"Four Blow-outs?!" Hudson inquired out-loud in disbelief.
He thrashed about dramatically while he unbuckled and then tumbled from the truck, yelling unclear obscenities and invectives. He slammed the door behind him. Instantly, the soles of his thongs were melted by the blazing heat of the asphalt. The inferno Hudson had stepped into was far hotter than he could have fathomed. The sheen of sweat coating his brow and torso steamed, evaporating in seconds.
Out of the frying-pan and into the fire, he mused. How he was able to joke – even in his mind – at such a dire moment, Hudson was unsure. Reaching for the door, the inside of the truck obviously the lesser of two evils, his hand met hot metal. His fingers were scorched.
Cradling his burnt appendages, he high-stepped away from the truck and the black top. Every painful contact with the ground was unbearable for his charred feet. The plastic shoes had melted onto his soles. Each second out in the blazing sun scalded his bare skin. Hudson's voice was unintelligible, crying out in agony unimaginable.
His vision white-hot, he tumbled to the ground. The flesh on his legs met searing-hot asphalt and his back blazing hot gravel. His cargo shorts catching fire as the gas tank of the pickup erupted was the last thing the burnt young man remembered before blissful blackness overtook Hudson.
Somewhere in the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range
Fresh powder covered the already deep snow pack with a perfect layer of bliss. Evergreens – heavy laden – stood intermittently in groves. The white peaks reached high into a crystal clear sky. The air was biting cold, although not unbearable. Winter recreation had yet to reach this serene snow-scape.
A spray of snow followed in the wake of a lone snowboarder. Blond strands peaking from beneath his white beanie and earbuds peaking from beneath his hair, the boarder slowed his descent and swerved to a quick stop at the top of a rise. Dressed in full snow gear, he removed his goggles to take in the view. Several miles northwest was one of the larger lakes of the region. Its glassy surface covered most of the basin created by the mountains filling his view.
The vista was breathtaking, as was the silence.
Swoosh!
An arc of snow covered his vision; he tumbled backwards in surprise. Coughing up snow and frantically wiping his eyes, the sound of giggling gave him a full explanation. Gathering the white from his face and chest, he tossed a snowball in the direction of the laughter. The mirth ended abruptly.
His eyes now clear, the boarder saw a tangled mess of pink and white and ski poles. A very surprised face popped from the snow. The young man could not stifle his laughter as the new-comer untangled herself – which was no easy task because she was nearly hysterical.
Her fuzzy, orange, and pink earmuffs were askew so that one muff cupped her forehead and the other disappeared into her snow-matted, shoulder-length, brown hair. She nearly succeeded in regaining her footing when her laughing turned to snorting and chortling. All balance and control was lost and she toppled back into the drift.
"Skylar, help me!" she begged helplessly.
He guffawed aloud and leaned back on his elbows, his board still buried. Comfortably propped, Skylar waited patiently.
The younger girl flailed for a few minutes to free herself before finally giving up. When it was clear she was completely stuck, he opted for mercy. Skylar kicked his board up out of the powder and planted the edge firmly. Rising from his elbows, he shifted his weight from his rear to his legs. With arms clutched closed to his body, Skylar lurched up onto his feet.
Probably not how the pros do it, but… he mused.
He crab-walked over to her. Collecting the poles and using them to steady himself, Skylar reached down and grabbed an arm. She untangled her skis and managed to recover her balance.
She was still laughing.
"Can you believe it's September, Marie?" He asked, returning the ski poles.
"I know!" she concurred, "so much for rock climbing."
"Meh," Skylar said as he shrugged his shoulders and gestured at all the fun there was to be had around them, "oh well."
He took in a deep breath appreciating the cold. It would be plenty warm soon enough, as he would be leaving for school in a few days to the arid southwest. Skylar, his family, and a few friends of theirs had come up to the mountains for a weekend vacation before he took off. They had planned on some fun in the sun at the lake along with a little rock climbing, one of his and Marie's favorite recreational activities. A freak snow storm had taken them all by surprise. Although early in the season, it was not completely unheard of. So, they made the best of the blizzard.
"Got your camera?" Skylar asked.
She nodded and fished it from her jacket. He took it from her and snapped a picture of their snowy selves with the fantastic view as their background.
"Another one for the scrap books."
"Come on," Marie said, "we gotta go. Kody an' Sara an' Brent are already waiting at the bottom for us. We're having dinner with mom and dad at six."
Skylar nodded as he donned his goggles and beanie. He waited a moment as he watched Marie gracefully shoop-shoop down the slope ahead of him. His kid sister, by just shy of three years, was one of his favorite people. Skylar was definitely going to miss her when he went away. He knew the transition was going to be tough for Marie, but she hid it well.
Slipping his headphones back in, he reached inside his coat for his mp3 player and clicked to his favorite playlist. Skylar lithely returned to his downward path; Marie was already out of sight. With tunes blaring in ear, Skylar could not hear the thunderous roar following him.
The avalanche overtook and buried him.