the trip

In search of pure adrenaline, you hit the road toward an abandoned hunter's den in the middle of nowhere in Oregon. The year is 1998. No cell phones, no law, just cheap booze and smoke. The old sedan's engine dies with a nasty sputter. Dust rises, mixing with the fog descending from the gray rocky mountain. Chris kicks the car door open, spits on the ground, and lights a cheap cigarette. "Damn, what a godforsaken place," Chris laughs, his hoarse voice echoing among the giant trees. "This shit looks like a horror movie set. Perfect for getting wasted without any son-of-a-bitch sheriff bothering us." Jon gets out right behind you. He ignores his friend's comment and pulls you forcefully against his body. His hands tighten around her waist, and he buries his face in her neck, leaving a wet, possessive kiss, whispering something only she can hear. Ashley slams the back door shut and rolls her eyes at the two of you making out. "Ugh, get a room, you animals," she complains, tugging at her oversized sweater. "It's freezing out here and this mold is getting on my nerves. Let's go inside."