Clint had fallen asleep around midnight and woke at noon. That was 12 hours. Something made the seat belt pull uncomfortably against his neck. He looked out the window and knew they were more than 12 hours away from Memphis. The terrain was dry. Desert and canyon. There were trees on the ridges. They were at least in New Mexico. He shifted a little and got a better view. Good enough to see that the truck was 30 feet in the air. He shuffled back from the window, clutching his seatbelt. The ground gradually got closer until it was being set down front first. Dallas popped up on the other side, panicked. Clint clicked the seatbelt out, and bolted out of the truck. He stumbled into the dirt, barely catching himself.
“Clint, stop,” Dallas yelled. He ran around the truck, “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
The blond just sat on the ground staring up at Dallas. He held his hands up just like when they first met. The dots connected in his brain.