Exit 23

October 17th, 2003. 11:39 PM. I-90 Exit 23 Rest Stop, Montana.


You've never seen a snowstorm like this. October in the Montana mountains can be bad, but for hours now it's been a virtual white-out. The snow must be at least fifteen inches deep on the highway, and the weather's showing no signs of breaking.

It's close to midnight now, but you've been stranded since sundown in a small interstate rest stop, waiting for the plows to come through so that you can get back on the road. A handfull of motorists share your predicament, plus a couple of rest stop employees who have stayed on to serve coffee and food for the duration of the storm.

Each of you has places to go and things to do, but for now you're all stuck here. No one's driving anywhere tonight, and no one's coming to get you out.

You're all gathered in the donut shop, the warmest place in the rest stop now that the restaurant has closed for the night. You've passing the time with a paperback novel or a magazine, or chatting with the other motorists.


Other than yourselves, there are eight other people at Exit 23:

Sat by himself, over in one corner of the donut shop, is a balding business executive of about 50, wearing a good suit and conservative overcoat. He's working his way through a stack of newspapers, filling out the crossword in each.

Sat together at a table to you left are a short, stocky lady truck driver wearing a sheepskin vest over a flannel shirt, and a young man with South Asian or Indian features. You've gathered from snippets of their conversation you've overheard that he runs the gas station.

Leaning his chair back against the shop's counter is a long-haired college student with tinted glasses, an Army jacket, and a sketchbook filled with Gigeresque drawings. He's absentmindedly sketching to while away the time.

Standing behind the shop's counter are two women. A matronly waitress of about sixty years who runs the donut shop, who you've heard people call "Mabel", and a pretty teenage girl who runs the register in the convenience store. She's closed up the shop for the night, and stands chatting with Mabel.

A big, beefy truck driver in a cheap parka and black baseball cap sits at a table close to the shop door. He's got a big jug of coffee, several donuts, and a large pile of fishing magazines.

A teenage kid with long hair and an apron who does the short-order cooking in the fast-food restaurant moves back and forth between the shop and the amusement arcade towards the back of the rest stop. He stops to talk with Mabel and the teenage girl every so often, before heading back to the games.

BJ sits in his corner of the shop nervously drinking too much coffee and playing games on his gaudily-coloured cellphone. He advances a stage and pauses to take a sip of hot coffee when the cell beeps loudly at him. He startles, spilling coffee on his polo shirt. He curses silently but the words are clearly mouthed. Shaking his head, he pulls on the hem of his shirt to examine the damage for a moment and then starts to head for the washroom. After a few steps, he doubles back and grabs his last bite of jelly doughnut. A glob of red jelly impacts his red polo shirt, but at this point, BJ merely shrugs and heads off toward the washroom again, licking his fingers.

As BJ approached the restroom, the door swung open, bumping into him. Emerging from the washroom was a dark-skinned young man in a grey hooded University of British Columbia sweater. He had chiseled good looks and curly black hair, that was currently shaved fairly low. Behind black horn-rimmed glasses, caramel eyes widened, as he realized he had almost barrelled into someone. "Oh snap! Sorry, man," he apologized, grabbing at the door's handle. "Guess I should watch where I'm going, huh?"

After apologizing again, he steps out of the way and heads back into the diner. Straight for the door, to see how the world outside of this lonely pits stop in Montana was progressing.

Not so good.

"Loving this weather," he remarked sarcastically at the swirling gusts of white that danced in the frigid air. He sighed. If he was lucky, he'd be able to get home just in time for the start of classes again. Turning away from the windows, he looked around at the other patrons for a moment, trying to figure out each person's deal. "I must be real bored," he scolded himself, as he strode over to the counter, flashing the waitresses a toothy dimple-filled smile. "What do you have that could warm me up... Mabel?" he asked, taking a moment to read the woman's name tag. "Something without caffiene, hopefully."

Benjamin Two Crow

A cold blast of air swirls into the donut shop as the front doors of the rest stop open. A thin young man in a heavy winter coat hurries in and pushes the doors closed against the winter storm. The man is obviously of Native stock and has the grace and confidence of someone accustomed to outdoor life. The patch on his coat and his revolver identify himas a federal Park Ranger.

Striding into the main room the young man clears his throat. "Huhmm. I was able to reach the State Police for a few moments on my radio. It doesn't look like the plows will be thru for quite some time, probably not till morning. I just thought you all would like to know. Thank you."

He saunters over to the counter. "Hi Mabel. Coffee please, black."

Nick walks over to the counter and stands beside the ranger. "Could you make that two, please?" He turns to the ranger. "All night, huh?" He sighs. "I can only sleep comfortably in my own bed. Looks like I'll be pulling an all-nighter, I guess..." He extends his hand in the direction of the ranger, waiting to shake his hand. "Hi. I'm Nicholas. But you can call me Nick."

Benjamin Two Crow

Ben eyes the newcomer with thinly veiled suspicion (the automatic reaction of his people when confronted with gregarious white men). After sizing Nick up for a moment he seems to come to a favorable opinion, and extends his hand. "Benjamin Two Crow. I'm afraid it's a bad one out there. Best settle in for a long night."

John is sitting at a large table that is fully covered in various books and papers. Directly in front of him is a notebook, to which he occasionally adds another couple of illegible scratches. and arrayed around this centerpiece are, clockwise, a large textbook entitled Explanation and Analysis of Midwest Native American Myths, held open by John's left elbow; a couple of photographs of archeological finds and cave paintings; a plate with a half-eaten bagel on it, another textbook, which stayed open under its own weight, entitled Numerology in Ancient Societies; and perhaps most incongruously, a stack of fantasy paperbacks.

It was this last that currently occupied John’s attention; he would go for a minute or two reading and chuckling softly to himself, and then start guiltily and jot a few things down, and then consult the numerology book, and maybe grab another from the stack, which all seemed to be by the same author. The current page was mostly blank, with a few notes at the top.

#’s- 17 (cyclical, New World)
Animals

17 rare- (elves-tolkien-norse/irish-check!)

Ancestor worship

Origin myths- old gods, new gods
(Usurpers) (head of power structure)
Anthropomorphic &/= petty

He put a post-it note in his current page as a bookmark, put it on the top of the stack, and took a bite from the bagel. He stared contemplatively out the window. Hmm. It’s snowing. It’s been a while since I’ve seen decent snow. Mostly rains in Portland. Boston, now, they get some snowstorms. Wonder how this compares. He turned to the book he had his left elbow on, found his place, and began reading, occasionally taking notes or flipping back to read old ones, again completely oblivious to the world around him.

The donut shop: (everyone apart from BJ)

You're sitting in the donut shop, when the lights flicker. "Oh, great." mutters Mabel - and then the lights go out altogether. Somewhere on the other side of the rest stop you hear a door slam open, followed by a vicious blast of freezing cold air that somehow finds its way over to where you sit. The wind howls like something alive, scratching and clawing at you with an icy grasp.

Without even thinking about it, you abruptly realize that something is horribly, terribly wrong. Then you hear an awful racket from the direction of the rest rooms - violent blows, choking cries, breaking glass, and finally one more high-pitched scream that makes your blood run cold.

The wind howls again, more doors slam... and then the room becomes still again, except for the distant whistling of the storm outside.

"What in heaven was that?" Mabel says in the darkness.


The washroom: (BJ)

There's a couple of other people in the rest room with you. The balding business executive is using the hand-dryer, and the student with the tinted glasses has just followed you in, and is trying to wash ink out of the elbow of his sleeve. You guess he's lent just a touch to hard on the box of fountain pen cartridges you saw on his table.

You've just locked the door on one of the cubicles, when the lights flicker... then go out altogether, leaving you in darkness. Seconds later, you hear the sound of the washroom door being smashed open, and an icy wind tears into the room, howling loudly. From outside the cubicle, you hear the sounds of heavy blows, breaking glass, and someone choking violently. Finally, you hear one more terrifying high-pitched scream, then the room falls quiet.

"I take it this doesn't happen much?" Daunte asks into the darkness. He tries to remain unflappable, but then he could almost sense that something weird was going on, and then he really got nervous. With the sounds of a ruckus coming from the bathroom, the young law student looks over in that direction, stifling a curse.

"I can just smell the litigation in the air," he notes, to no one in particular. He's curious about what's going but also a bit fearful for his life, in case it's some crazy with a gun or something. He figures that the Park Ranger is required to go check out the incident, and he's probably got a gun, so he waits for the man to step forward, and follows behind.

Benjamin Two Crow

"This is just what we need." Ben, calmly sets his coffee down. "Mabel, do you have a flashlight or some matches close at hand?"

Damn...my floodlight is in the Jeep.

If Mabel has some light, Ben will wait and use it to find his way to the bathroom. If not he will stumble in the darkness as best he can.