by Robert S. C. Cutler

Created on: June 26, 2008

Wasteland

The heat from the sun cast a mirage of water on the horizon. Travis Green studied it with curious thought but not much more. Boron, California was far from being on the edge of civilization and he was far from being lost. The Mojave Desert was expansive and desolate, but not in theses parts. Edwards Air Force Base was just across the road and highway 58 wasn't too far either. His reasons for being out in the intense heat of a mid-August day were simple: He needed a right rear lens for his '98 Escort and it had to be cheap. He, along with his new buddy Frank Sajack, peered through the chain link fence at a vast sea of metal. The collection of smashed and crumpled cars looked more like a playground than a junk yard to the two Airmen. Travis thought he would have no problem locating what he needed.

The young men walked casually up to the gate and found it locked. A rusted sign with the word "Open" painted in faded red hung neatly just above a chain and large padlock. At least a hundred yards from the gate was a small shack with an equally faded sign that simply read "Office."

"This is bull, man!" Sajack complained. His North Jersey accent was thick and un-mistakable. "Its twelve noon on a Saturday and this place ain't even open!"

"Maybe there's a junk yard in Lancaster," Travis sighed squinting in the sun.

"That's like an hour away, Green. I wouldn't even waste the gas if I were you."

"Yeah, but my fix-it ticket expires Monday. If I'm caught driving my car on base, the First Sergeant will have my ass," he fretted.

Not one to be denied, Sajack scaled the fence and was quickly on the other side before Travis could protest. "Come on, Green! Don't be a wussy!" he challenged running toward the office.

"What about dogs? These places usually have vicious dogs."

Sajack ran around in circles whistling and calling for some imaginary dog. "See...no dogs! Now get your dumb butt in here so we can find your part."

Travis gave in to the peer pressure and grabbed his tool bag out of the trunk. Unlike his friend, he was skinny and woefully out of shape. His foot got caught up on the top bar, spilling him to the dusty ground. "Dude...you're so slow!" Sajack laughed. Travis dusted himself off and jogged over to his friend laughing at himself.

"There's some Escorts parked over there...behind the flattened Taurus," Travis pointed out. "Man, I hope we don't get caught," he fretted again, taking out a couple of screw drivers.

"Don't be such a worrier, man! If they do catch us in here,

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