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Mojave 733-9969
Mojave 733-9969
Mojave 733-9969
Ebook20 pages19 minutes

Mojave 733-9969

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George and Stephanie are taking a road trip. But when they come across a mysterious phone booth in the middle of the desert events take a strange and deadly turn.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherJohn Gibson
Release dateJun 17, 2015
ISBN9781311520593
Mojave 733-9969
Author

John Gibson

John Gibson is the author of several short stories. He is fifty-three years old and lives in the north-west of England with his long-suffering partner Sue and their two pet rabbits Dominic and Doodle.

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    Mojave 733-9969 - John Gibson

    Mojave 733-9969

    by

    John Gibson

    All rights reserved

    Copyright 2014 by John Gibson

    ‘Jesus Christ! Can you not even read a fucking map!’he exclaimed reaching over and snatching the Rand McNally California Road Atlas out of her hands.

    Stephanie Tyler made no reply, she simply turned her head away and stared fixedly out of the side window. There was nothing to see but scrubby brown desert, it stretched away to the distant horizon where the jagged saw-tooth mountains of the Mescal Range delineated the boundary between land and sky. She was starting to regret having agreed to this trip. It had been her husband’s idea of course, another of his little hare-brained schemes. Though in fairness, it had sounded like it might be fun.

    They’d set off from their home in Modesto that morning. George had been in high spirits, singing along with the likes of Charlie Daniels and Billy Ray Cyrus as they’d cruised along the Golden State Highway with the radio tuned to KKGO (‘Go Country 105’).

    It had all been pleasant enough at first, fun even. They’d stopped for lunch at a nice little Italian place in Bakersfield before pushing on to Mojave National Park. It had even been tolerable when they’d turned off the highway onto the twin-lane black-top of the Cima Road. But for the last ten miles they’d been bumping along an unpaved dusty single-lane track.

    She’d banged her head on the ceiling countless times as they lurched along the pot-holed and rutted lane. The constant joggling motion of the car

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