The pickup truck bounced down the gravel road, the cloud of dust coating it and obscuring its color.  Chelsea pulled over to the side of the road for the hundredth time to look at her map. In spite of the fact that the windows were tightly closed, there was dust on everything. She could feel it in her eyes, her nose and her long, blonde hair. She was hot, thirsty and tired. The dull headache behind her eyes wasn’t getting any better, either. She just wanted to get there. Visions of a warm, sudsy bath, her favorite book and a large glass of iced tea, or perhaps a scotch on the rocks, flitted around in her mind.

“It can’t be too much further, Hank,” she told her black Labrador Retriever, who was curled up on the seat beside her. He looked up briefly, and then put his head down...

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