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PARTIAL SUCCESS...
Your tenacity and dog-headedness already got you into this mess. As much as you want to call it a night and get some quality sleep in a real bed, you know that you only have so much time to salvage the situation with your truck. You're not even positive if it's in a good enough shape to make it back to the main roads, but damn if that'll stop you from trying - after all, a fourty five minute trip by truck is going to be a hell of a lot longer one on foot, and you might actually be able to get cell service after a certain point.
With that in mind, you climb back into the driver's seat and throw your flashlight into the passenger's once you click it off. You slide the key into the ignition and give it a tight turn, your heart beating as you listen to the cranking of the car's engine...before it <span class="mu-g">hums to life</span>. Hot damn, she's not dead yet!
"Thank you, sweet baby Jesus." You mutter a prayer, gently slapping the wheel victoriously.
With that, you pop your second U-turn of the night and start driving back the way you came. You drive with a bit more urgency than before, unsure when the truck will die on you, and by the time you hit the 30-minute mark you're feeling mighty fine about your choice. Of course, such hubris is not without its consequences, it seems. The truck begins to sputter and stall mid-drive.
"No, god damn it! You gotta be shitting me!" You hit the wheel in anger this time. Fifteen minutes, you were that close to getting off this piece of shit dirt road! You're not even sure how long it'll take you to make the rest of the distance on foot. You're not even sure you want to try as much at night, that's something you'd qualify a man as insane for doing.
Such thoughts are exactly why you're simultaneously startled and bewildered when you see a man's silhouette walking up the dirt-and-gravel path. His features become clear soon enough, revealing him to be a bushy-bearded geriatric with thick clothes well-suited to the night's chill. His complexion is tanned, his face wrinkled, and his skin showing more than a few sunspots and freckles. You would bet good money that he works the land for a living.
"It looks like you've got yourself into a right mess, son." The old man speaks up as he steps in front of your immobile truck.
You roll down the window and lean out of it halfway to squint at him. "You're not wrong." You admit. "But if you don't mind me asking, why are you out here in the middle of nowhere at this god-forsaken hour?"
He scoffs, waving the question off with derision clear on his face. "You're the one who came barreling through here not too long ago in your rustbucket. I know that it's a secluded area, but you shouldn't be causing such a ruckus so late at night, you know." He admonishes you.
You feel your face heat up with a mixture of indignation and embarrassment. "I didn't realize there'd be neighbors so close. Sorry for waking you, Mr..." You lead.
