Trashed by the Hillbillies

It’s never easy.

The pickup truck vibrates. I slam the gas, commanding this hunk of junk up the mountainside.

“Piece of shit. Shoddy rental…” I mumble, voice drowned out by the radio’s bubblegum pop music.

Yeah, it’s never easy. Life as a mining executive sends me all over the country, and unfortunately, the last few miles are always rough. Why can’t we dig these things near airports? Or maybe near beachfront resorts while we’re at it.

But no, the earth’s treasures are always hidden…stuffed in some of the country’s dirtiest, nastiest places.

I never thought I’d have a job like this, but after chaining myself to a $150k loan for a Harvard MBA, I wasn’t picky. The mining company was the highest-paying offer. Doesn’t matter I don’t know shit about rocks. I just gotta be good with numbers. Gotta juice these hills for all they’re worth.

And the industry has been good to me. My husband and I have a nice place in NYC. We spend our summers cruising on Fire Island. They call me Queen Coal. Biggest queer east of the Mississippi.

I clean up well though. Once “professional mode” gets switched on, you’d never know I’m a cocksucker. It’s a skill gay boys acquire when raised in hostile settings. We become chameleons, and on trips like this, my scales morph from bright pink into a drab shade of charcoal.

Yep. I’m straight as an arrow today.

Heh.

But goddamn, this truck is fucked. Dude at the rental place really scammed me. The engine sounds like it’s about to burst into flames.

“C’mon. C’mon!” I slam the gas to the floor, staring up at the hill crest.

The engine shrieks and the pop music blares. Sweat beads in my armpits. Just a bit further…a bit further…aaaand…

Made it!

Ascending the hill, a magnificent, verdant valley unfurls. Deep green trees blanket the expanse, the treetops fluffy like cotton candy. Hills roll, unbroken and unblemished, shaded by pale clouds in the sky. Appalachia…one of North America’s hidden gems. It’s a pristine, unspoiled wilderness.

Well, except for the mines that pad my bank account.

My foot leaves the gas while I take in the majestic scene. It’s almost spiritual—like entering another world. Far in the distance, the clouds grow dark and gray. Is a storm coming? Looks rough.

A horrifying noise shatters the calm.

The engine squeals and grinds before it pops, sending a shudder through the entire vehicle. Flames spew from under the hood while black smoke billows.

“Holy fuckin’ SHIT!” I slam the brakes and turn the truck off…but there’s no point. It’s unresponsive. It’s dead. “Piece of junk!”

I snatch the keys and kick the door open, stumbling onto the cracked asphalt. The truck lies motionless, puffing smoke like a corpse during cremation. A foul smell rises while I race to the tree line, squinting into the distance.

There’s nothing and no one. It’s one thing to be in a rural area, but it’s another to be in absolute wilderness like this. I might as well be on Mars.

Panic sets in. Looks like I’ve barely got cell service. Thank god. Maybe I can call the company and get a tow truck sen—

“Paw! Get a gander at this’n!”

I look up. Did I just hear…?

“Hot damn! We got a barbeque! Right’n time for supper!”

Figures burst from the trees, causing me to flinch. A dog leaps into the street, panting and wagging its tail while its owners howl and point at the truck. I stand frozen, horror setting in while I stare at shotguns in their hands. Hell, they’d be scary even if they weren’t armed. Their bodies are weapons. Tanks.

One of them makes eye contact with me, blue eyes sparkling and blond hair fluttering in the breeze. His thick arms are coated in freckles and knots of muscle. Beefy pecs hang through his torn t-shirt, guiding my eyes down to camo pants tucked into heavy hunting boots.

“Didn’t see ya there, friend!” He waves, flashing a cute, snaggletooth grin.

“H-hey…” I force a weak wave, fear melting away.

“Well now, guess every truck needs a driver.” His friend looks my way.

Shorter but no less athletic, he’s got long arms with damp hair poking out the pits. It matches the wild black locks poking from his John Deere baseball cap. His stubbled face is slender like a fox, and his wifebeater is two sizes too small. A pizza grease stain streaks down the stomach, forcing me to look at his abs. Holy shit. You can see them through the fabric. Dude’s lean as hell.

“Name’s Wes!” The blond jogs over, waving his gun. “An’ this here is Buster.”

I flinch at the weapon.

“Oh. Sorry.” He smiles, cheeks barely rosy.

“We don’t get many city folk ’round these parts.” Buster jogs in close.

“What? How’d you…?”

“It’s obvious.” He looks down at my designer sneakers.

“Wes! Buster! You best get over here before I—” another voice echoes from the trees. “Goddamn! Fetch the hot dogs!”

An older man explodes from the forest, just as mystified by my smoldering truck. A wide grin spreads under his frizzy brown beard, a black hole where a front tooth should be. A round beer belly sags in his overalls, but his arms are nearly as beefy as the bros’. Shirtless, his pecs stretch the denim straps. Dude was a beast back in his prime. I can tell.

“What?!” He notices me, smile vanishing. It’s like he’s looking at sasquatch. “What’s a city slicker doin’ out here?!”

“It’s really that obvious…?” I look down at my clothes.

“What’s yer name, son?” He trots over, shock morphing into concern.

“T-Truman.” I look up. “Had a rough time getting up here. Truck didn’t make it.”

“Pfft. That little thing is barely a truck. You gotta go big in these parts. Bigger is always better.” He reaches out for a handshake. “Well, Truman, the name’s Billy. My daddy was Billy and his daddy ’fore him. We know automobiles. We’ll get ya fixed mighty quick.”

“R-really?!” My eyes light up.

“You bet! But not until after supper. How ’bout you come back and let that thing burn out. Wes an’ Buster can haul ’er to town in the mornin’.”

“Heh.” Buster puffs his chest. His wifebeater nearly splits in two.

The pair approaches my still-smoldering truck and pushes it to the side of the road. Their biceps swell and harden like bowling balls. Fuck. They’re a pair of wild boars. Maybe I should be cautious, but the longer I watch, the more my fear melts into something dangerous…

Curiosity.

“You folks live around here?” I straighten up and run a hand through my hair.

“That’s right, Mr. Truman. Got a fine little town down in the valley.” Wes jogs over and beckons to the forest. “I’ll show ya! We was just about done huntin’.”

I glance at my truck, a strange desire to call for help bubbling in my stomach. I shouldn’t leave. I shouldn’t go into the woods with strangers. If I phone the company, I could have a tow truck by morning. I can sleep in the car.

I can stay safe.

But Wes hesitates, locking into my gaze with his brilliant blue eyes. I don’t know why, but my feet move.

I follow.