Unforgettable ~ A Jared Leto/MARS Fanfiction

23-Lanie

The glowing lights of the Flying J Truck Stop rise like a welcoming beacon in the night, an oasis for the road-weary amidst the endlessly desolate, snow-covered landscape of Eastern Montana. I pull my Jeep into the huge, brightly illuminated lot and search for an out of the way space to park. I locate one quickly, one that's probably avoided due to its distance from the building and the lack of bright lights overhead. 

The fact that it's unlit suits me perfectly, however. I pull into the space and park, anxious to get out and get blood flowing in my legs again. I pull up my hood against the frigid breeze, and hurry toward the restaurant attached to the truck stop. I'm more than ready for a bite to eat and some coffee. The temperature is near-zero and while I'm hardly dressed appropriately for it in just a hoodie and jeans, I'm not terribly affected. After the winter I've just spent in warm, sunny Southern California, I was afraid I'd already de-acclimated, but fortunately the cold here in the northern states hasn't really bothered me.

I've made damn good time so far, considering the fact that I've mostly avoided the interstates and stopped to change plates in every state I cross. My Jeep currently sports Montana plates from a totaled-out 2015 Wrangler I found in an unlocked and unguarded scrapyard at the edge of some shithole town just over the border. The body style of the wrecked vehicle was similar enough should an inquisitive state trooper decide to run the plates. But I haven't seen many cops at all on the trip, another bonus of avoiding the main freeways. The Montana plates will be swapped out tomorrow morning after I cross into North Dakota, and then once more after I cross the Red River into Minnesota.

I stretch my arms over my head as I cross the lot, reflecting on the journey thus far. Three days of zig-zagging across the country on secondary roads, some of which were snow-covered and treacherous in higher elevations the further north I went. The trip sure would've been a whole lot easier if I'd kept to a more direct route on well-traveled freeways, or if I at least had my phone's GPS to map my way rather than the physical maps I'd relied on instead.

A whole lot of things would be easier if I'd kept my phone. But that is precisely why I'd gotten rid of it after one final conversation with Flora DuSchene. My course was set then, and it's still set now. No going back.

Still, I've sometimes felt—not regret, exactly, or any pressing urge to turn around since leaving L.A. But something pricked at me. A tiny thread of what-if mindfuckery, I suppose. I felt it as recently as this morning, when I woke up in the roadside motel near the Montana border. But, as I've done each time the temptation threatened to overwhelm my good sense, I ignored it and pressed on. I can't give in to second thoughts or second chances. My actions set my course, and there simply is no other option than to keep going.

But I can't help wondering about the fallout I've left behind.

I follow the restaurant hostess to a small table for two. It sits in front of a hallway that leads to the restrooms, the trucker's shower area, and I also have a fairly unobstructed view of the trucker's lounge. A handful of drivers are in there, some eating, some doing paperwork, one playing pinball on a rather dilapidated-looking machine in a back corner. The remaining few are looking at their phones, and a couple of guys are watching the local ten o'clock news on the big TV mounted on the far wall.

I order coffee and a burger basket from a redheaded middle-aged waitress who looks as exhausted as I feel. I'm glad I can include meat in my diet again without guilt or recriminating looks from anyone. My first meat purchase was a package of tempting-looking buffalo jerky that I chewed on while driving through Nevada. It was delicious, and the unsettled stomach I'd had to contend with for awhile afterward was worth getting some easy protein and iron.

While waiting for my meal to arrive, I keep my eye on the news broadcast. I can't hear the television over the pinball machine or the clattering of dishes and conversation around me, but I can see the screen. I'm mostly interested in the weather report, because before sundown some heavy gray clouds appeared in the horizon to the northwest. Blizzards here in the northern plains can be crazy brutal, resulting in frequent road closures, and I need to be prepared for the possibility that my carefully planned route may have to change.