Colton, Nevada

Colton is a ghost town in the middle Nevada’s of the Great Basin.  Under normal circumstances, I would have never been aware of this fact, but two years ago when my Honda Civic broke down driving north on Highway 93.  After seven years as a Las Vegas dealer at one of the major casinos, I saw things I did not wish to be a part of any longer so I decided to head back east to be closer to my own family.    

It was when I noticed a rise in my engine temperature gauge that I began to worry.  With the outside temperature in the triple digits and no shade anywhere in sight, I began to worry a bit since there was no phone service registered on my cell phone.  I had heard of people who became lost out here in the great empty and as I looked around in all four directions all I saw was emptiness. Not a single thing out here there wasn’t a single living  over three feet tall offering no shade and no landmarks I could easily identify.  

Opening the hood, steam poured out of my radiator.  I should have had that checked, but it was too late now. I let gravity take over as the hood slammed shut.  There was nothing I could do at the moment, so I began to walk along the side of the road hoping someone would drive by and see the predicament I was in.  

With the luck that only I seem to come in contact with, an ancient Ford pick up was headed in the direction of my outstretched thumb.  With a loud clunk and hiss, the truck came to a stop casting the only shadow in this sunbaked basin.

“Howdy.” He was dressed in worn overalls and gray sweat soaked sleeveless undershirt.  His hair was the color of his t-shirt and he had a bristly unkempt beard. “Are ya lost?”

“Nope, my car overheated.” I pointed in the direction where I had parked my car.

“Yup, I saw it back there.” He chuckled, “My name is Otis Wrangle I live up yonder.” 

“Good to meetcha, Otis, I’m Brett Fabergast.” I nodded.

“Hop on in if’n ya wanna stay in the land of the living.” He jerked his head to the side.  I climbed up on the running board which went out in the 1950s and sat on the bench seat without seatbelts. “I live up ahead in Colton.”

“Colton?” I shrugged as the truck sputtered into the road.

“Yeah.  Ain’t a lot of folks know it. I think we have about a hundred citizens wanderin’ about.” He snickered.

“What do folks do out in this neck of the woods?” I asked.

“Whatever it takes to keep from drying up and blowin’ away.” He moved a well-chewed toothpick to the other side of his mouth as we bounced along the uneven two lane road. “There are a few silver mines in these parts, but most of them have run dry by now.” 

The terrain was hilly, but drab and lifeless as far as I could see.

“Up here is my place.” He pointed at a rusty old trailer and some rusty barbed wire with an above ground well that appeared to serve his needs. “Ain’t much to look at, I knowed, but it is the way I like it.”

After ten more minutes, we rode past a sign declaring, “Colton, NV. Population 103.”  There was a jackrabbit painted as an afterthought in the corner of the worn wooden sign.  The only thing that would even suggest habitation were a half dozen quonset huts with ATVs and Harley hogs parked in front of hitching posts in bad need of repair. 

“Let’s go say hello to Marvin.  He’s got a bus that can get you to the next town.” Otis pointed to a blue bus like the soldier boys used to drive to the strip to lose their paychecks before finding their way to jail. Their first sergeants would come early the next morning to bail them out. It was funny to watch them get read the riot act before being brought back to the base. 

We walked into the dark quonset hut with a sign mashed into the aluminum side reading “Marvin’s Place.”  Otis parked his truck near the broken hitching post and got out.  I followed him.

“What the hell do you want?” I heard a growl come from a dark corner.  There were about four worn pool tables, a highly polished bar, and a jukebox playing some Hank Williams ballet about some cigar injun.  

“I broucha a tourist.” Otis ambled up to the bar and sat on one of the stools.

“You know even cockroaches die in heat like this.” The dark man mumbled as he put a mug filled with beer on the bar. 

“I ain’t no cockroach, Marv.” He took a sip of the beer that left a beer-mustache on his lip fuzz. 

“Coudda fooled me.” He sniffed.  That’s when I noticed Marvin’s empty socket that used to house an eye. His skin was covered with some sort of scar that was hard to see in the dim lighting. “Whacha name?”

“Bret, Bret Fabergast.” I sat next to Otis and Marv put a mug of beer in front of me.

“I’ve never been to Colton.” I let my head swivel around noticing that we were the only patrons in the place.

“Ya won’t be sayin’ that like ya were happy about it.” Marv glanced at Otis who snickered. “This place ain’t on any of the tourist maps.  Where are ya from, Brett?” 

“I was a dealer in Vegas.” I took a health swig of my beer.

“How do you like that, Otis?  We got ourselves a real live celebrity from the big city.” Marv howled with laughter.  I must admit this did not sit well with me at this moment considering my car was sitting on the side of the road a few miles back. 

“I’m just a dealer.” I groused. 

“Sure, sure.  You must be lost to be comin’ ‘cross Colton.” Marv winked at Otis. “In case ya hadn’t noticed, there ain’t a lot of folks waiting to ride the roller coaster.” 

“Roller coaster?” Otis hooted before finishing off his beer. 

“Used to have one a while back.” Marv shook his head.  He put his hand on the bar to wipe down a few wet spots on his shiny oak bar, but that’s when I noticed he was missing a few fingers on his mangled hand.  Turning my head, I saw that Otis was also missing a few fingers on the hand he was using to hold his beer. 

“Someone had a dream that Colton would be the next big thing.” Otis handed Marv his empty mug.  Marv took the mug and poured beer from the tap behind the bar.  

“Years ago they found a big vein of silver.  Folks rushed in to get their claim.  Paid a fortune for a few acres of desert prime.” Marv wiped off a few mugs as he shook his head. “That’s the problem with wild-catting, there ain’t no guarantees.  Now a lot of saps got stuck with the inflated land prices.”

“Were a lot of short-sighted buffoons, that’s for sure.” Otis echoed what Marv had said.  “Hey, is your bus still running?” 

“Yeah, why?” He shrugged.

“He needs a ride.” Otis pointed at me with his beer mug.

“Where to?” Marv asked, leaning on the bar.

“Provo?” 

“Yeah.  Cost ya a fifty spot.” He looked at me through his remaining eye.

“Kinda steep.” I swallowed.

“Ya wanna walk it?” He leaned closer and I could smell the liquor on his breath mixed with something that had started to decay. 

“No, I would be grateful for a ride to Provo.” I shook my head.

“I’ll saddle her up and we’ll leave at sunrise.” Marv removed a pack of cigarettes and lit one.

“Why wait until morning?” I asked.

“Have you walked in that sun out there?  Folks have died standing out in it.  Besides there is that dust.” 

Otis shook his head frantically.

“What dust?” I asked.

“Nothing…forget I said anything.” He shook his head. “Like I said, we will leave at sunrise.” 

“Morty will have a room ya can stay in.” Otis pointed.

“How much?” I asked, still feeling the sting of the cost of the bus ride. 

“Two bits for a rack.” Otis nodded.

“Twenty five cents?” I could not believe my ears.

“Sure, that’s two bits, ain’t it?” He shrugged.

“Where is this Morty guy?” I asked.

“Two buildings over.” Marv pointed. 

“You serve chow?” I was delighted by the cost for a bed.

“Sure.  Gots some grub.” Marv nodded.

“Be careful sometimes the medium rare steak can turn out to be a rat.” He snickered.

“You hush your mouth.” Marv pointed a threatening finger at Otis. 

“Ha-ha.” Otis laughed.  

“Wind’s blowin.’” Marv noted.

“Gets kinda thick out there.” Otis tossed a quarter on the bar, “Play some real music, not this sad-sack shit.” 

“Don’t be bad-mouthin’ Hank.  He  is the root of the tree.” Marv shook his head.

“Elvis was the king.” Otis threw his head back. 

“That white trash?  Are you pullin’ my leg?” Marv blew air through his teeth at the outlandish suggestion. 

“Hank was from Oklahoma, weren’t he?” Otis mocked, “Give me some of that deep fried Southern okra any day of the week.” 

“You are one sick puppy.” Marv dropped the coin into the jukebox and the sound of “Hound Dog” filled the confined room.  

After a few more hours of drinking and feasting on one fine piece of meat, I hobbled over to Morty’s place where the thin man behind the desk greeted Otis, “Hey whacha need?” 

“Got me a tourist who needs a bed for the night.” Otis yanked his thumb at me.

“Sign here.” He slid the ledge in front of me with a pen jammed in the fold.  I did as I was instructed. “So…Bret, place is pretty empty, so choose whatever rack you want.  Some of the mattresses are a bit lumpy.”

Otis coughed and said, “His vehicle is about ten miles down the road.  It overheated.” 

“Sorry to hear that, Brett.” He said when I noticed a large hole where his cheek should have been.  It began to make me wonder what the hell had happened to misshapen everyone who I saw in Colton, granted it was only three citizens so far.  Then on a second look, I saw Morton DeGammas was missing some fingers like the other two. “I cleaned and vacuumed so there ain’t no dust.”

“Dust?  What is this about?” I was feeling a bit irritated at this secretive talk of dust.

“It ain’t nothing.” Otis shook his  head, “Back a few years ago we had a bad dust storm that did a lot of damage to the town.” 

Morty kept his mouth in check, but the sharp look in his eyes was enough to cut Otis in two.  His opaque black eyes had a glint in them that was downright spooky.  

All of the mattresses were lumpy in my opinion, so I joined Morton on the front porch where he sat smoking cigarettes in the moonless sky where light was hard to come by.

“So Brett, where are you from?” He asked from a black shadow that completely concealed him except for the orange glow of his cigarette.

“I am going back east.” I found an empty chair.

“Wise.  If I could leave this place, I would.” His voice was heavy with regret.

“Why don’t you?” I asked.

“Can’t.” He let his head loll back.

“What do you mean, you can’t?” I asked.

“There are reasons…reasons I hope you will never find out.” His voice carried an ominous tone that sent a chill racing down my spine. “None of us are allowed to leave Colton.  None of us who survived.”

“Survived?” 

“It’s a long story.  Otis doesn’t think we should be tellin’ outsiders…tourists.” He snickered, “But one day it ain’t gonna matter.”

“Tell me.  I promise I won’t tell no one.” I held up my hand in order to make a solemn oath. 

“It is a secret that belongs in Colton…nowhere else.” His voice was as quiet as a whisper as he tossed his cigarettes into the desert. “This place has so many stories.  Too many to tell.”

“What about the wind?  Everytime someone mentions it, Otis shuts him up.” I was a bit baffled by this.

“It’s the reason they won’t let us leave Colton.” He stood up, “I need to be getting some shut eye. You will be gone in the morning I’m told.  It’s been good meeting ya Brett.  You bes’ get some shut eye soon.  Marvin drives a wicked bus and that road out there ain’t very smooth as it is.” 

“I wish someone would tell me what’s the big deal about his place.” I complained.

“No, no you don’t.  Take my word for it.” He shook his head as he walked inside.

“Provo or bust.” Marv said as he started up the bus’ engine with a thump and a jolt.

“I’m going to catch a bus from Provo.” I announced as we jerked ahead.

“I would think about getting another vehicle.” Marv put the bus into gear as we drifted out into the two lane road.  As the sun peeked over the jagged horizon, the bus was the only vehicle I could see for miles and miles. The engine ground a bit when he shifted gears.  It didn’t matter since we were the only living beings on the flat endless road.  I could just about see Provon from our vantage point.  

The basin looked as if God had taken a scoop right out of the mountains.  Heat waves had already made the rocks and stones appear as though they were in motion. Out there in all of that empty space, not a single living thing dared lift itself beyond the lifeless rocky dirt.  

“Do yourself a favor, Bret, don’t come back to Colton. Don’t tell none of your people this place even exists.  One day soon Colton won’t even exist.  We will drift off into history.  Not a single one of us will be missed.  History does that to folks you know.” He shifted gears as we picked up speed, “No sir, doncha look back.  There’s been plenty of regret come walking though Colton.  Plenty of regret. Colton will be best served once it no longer exists.  Take my word for it.  Don’t look back.  Whatever you do, do not look back.” 

I did not listen to his warning and like Lot’s wife in the Old Testament looking back on the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah , I did look back and what I saw I will never forget as long as I live.  On an old wooden sign was hand painted this warning, “DANGER!  Nuclear Testing Site Ahead.”  In the corner three yellow triangles surrounding a skull were hand-painted.