Ain't No ATM in Coward

“The loneliest road in America, so what do you think, honey? What should we check out?”

“Don’t you remember Stan? We came this way years ago on our way to Reno for our honeymoon. Let’s see here.” Stacey looked at her smartphone and began searching google maps.

“Hmm, hey, listen to this. Coward, Nevada, is just a bit off the main road, maybe 20 miles away. Let me see what Wikipedia says. Coward, Nevada population of 150 by the 2000 census. Ha! I must not even bother with it anymore. That’s been 20 years. First founded in 1900 due to a copper mine, the first town BBQ event in 1979, and, ahh! Damnit!”

“What? What is it?”

“I just lost service. It should be the next road going off to the left in a few miles. I say we go check it out. Come on. Historic Coward, Nevada ghost town! Sounds right up my ally.”

“You do have cash with you. These little off-grid places often don’t deal with cards.”

“Stace, how long have I been traveling? I got $200 in my wallet and ten crisp Benjamins tucked into my belly belt. We’re good.”

About 5 minutes later, the couple spots a desert road turning off to the left. A rusted-out sign full of bullet holes points toward a dusty road to their left. They slow to take a look before turning.

“Wow, that sign has seen better days. Barely even hanging there. The road looks rather sandy and rocky, though. What do you think? Think our little SUV can do it?”

“Let’s do it, Stan.”

Stan shrugs with a smile and turns off onto the desert gravel. They notice a signpost on the right side with the sign lying face down on the dusty ground, and a few tumbleweeds have collected on top of the sign.

“Stop, Stan. I want to check out that sign.”

Stan stops the car, and they hop out. The air outside on this mid-summer day is stifling dry and hot, and the breeze feels like a blow dryer aimed at bare skin. Stacey goes over to the sign kicking tumbleweeds aside. While starting to reach down to flip it over, she hears a rattling in the nearby brush.

“Whoa, honey, you may want to back away from there.”

“What? What is that?” Stacey looks over toward the sound in the brush and notices a rattlesnake coiled, shaking its tail vigorously. “Ohh! OK. Sorry, Mr. Snake. We’ll be going now.” She backs away slowly, and they both climb back into the car.

“Whew, that was a close one! One way to start our little side adventure, huh? Shall we continue, Stace?”

“Yeah, you bet. I hope this place has a bar. I could use a cold beer.”

The couple drives off; the wind blows the dust off the sign, which reads, “Coward, Nevada. If you don’t live here, please move on.”

After a few miles of driving down the desert road, the couple comes into a valley that reveals a rustic mining ghost town. The buildings look almost like a Hollywood set from a western; most are boarded up or crumbling from dilapidation.

A mining cart trace runs the length of the town. The trace looks like a ski lift; only the cars are buckets of rusty iron once used for hauling ore. The tram line runs from the beginning of town on the right-hand side of the main street, making the lowest stop at a barn structure on the right. The tram line continues through town and exits into the hills beyond the last building, which is a Church.

Metal buckets hang on the cables spaced about 50 feet apart. They are not moving but are swaying slightly in the desert wind.

Just across the street from the barn with the low-hanging carts is a two-story wooden structure with a sign above the main entrance that reads, “Coward Inn and Saloon.” Parked out front, an old 1970s Ford truck converted into a wrecker appears to be in use.

“Jesus, look at this place, Stan. Gives me the heebee jebees!”

“Ole Papa Jupe is reporting us in right now, Stace!”

“Shut up with The Hills Have Eyes crap! Just pull up by that wrecker, and let’s see if we can get a beer in that Inn.”

Stan parks the SUV next to the wrecker, and they both hop out. Stacey immediately pulls out her cell phone, looks at it, shakes her head, then pushes the camera app and aims up a shot looking down the main street of town.

“There’s no service here, Stan,” she shouts above the wind as she aims the cam at the town and takes a photo of the village with the dust and tumbleweeds blowing through the street.

“These shots look so cool, feel like I’m going to see the man with no name appear at the end of the street at any moment.”

Stan belts out a whistle of Ennio Morricone’s, The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, “Yeah, wouldn’t expect any phone service. Weird, how empty this place is?”

“It’s a ghost town on the loneliest road in America, Stan; what’d you expect, Disneyland? Hey, it looks like a cool old church at the end of town where the tram buckets start to go up into the hills; see if I can zoom in for a good shot.”

“No, just figured there’d be a few people checking it out like us.”

Stan starts walking toward the Inn when the door bursts open. A mid-aged pot-bellied man wearing a bowler cap and a gamblers vest appears in the entrance.

“Hey there, folks! Welcome to Coward, Nevada. Why don’t you two come on here and knock that dust off your throats with a cold brew.”

Stan jumped from being startled by the man blasting onto the scene. Stacey was zooming her camera toward the Church and thought she saw movement; then the booming voice startled her as well; when she looked back at the screen, she just saw the wooden Church and tumbleweeds. She took the shot and walked toward Stan, heading toward the Inn entrance. Once she got next to him, she whispered into Stan’s ear.

“I swear I saw some figures near that church, and it looked like they were dragging a body.”

“What? You sure about that, Stace?”

The barkeep comes up to them, “Something wrong little lady? You look on edge?”

“No, just seeing things in the dust, I think.”

“Hey, that ole desert will do that to you out here; you folks have probably been traveling awhile. Get on in here, and ole Joe will pour you a couple of cold ones. Brewed right here from our spring water.” Joe ushers them into the Saloon and peers past the door behind them, making some hand gestures toward the outside before closing the door.

Inside the Saloon is a picturesque scene from an old western tv show with a large wooden bar with a long walled mirror, gambling tables, and chairs litter the floor with a staircase ascending to inn rooms upstairs.

Stan and Stacey move up to the bar as Joe comes around the other side, picking up two glass mugs and wiping them down with a towel; he begins pouring beer from draught while speaking to them.

“This place was a movie set back in the 70s, but not much anymore. Not as many westerns these days, and even so, they got other sets they use now. Still, we get folks coming by. I bet you guys are here because you heard about the BBQ days, right?”

Stacey began to respond about seeing something about the BBQ on Wikipedia just as the door explodes open and a very tall, lean man wearing priest clothing donned with a black cape and an enormous brimmed black hat. His right hand contains a tall staff with a crucifix of Christ at its terminus.

Just behind him outside, Stacey and Stan could see their SUV being pulled off by the wrecker truck that was parked outside.

“Hey, our car!” Stan shouted as he jumped up.

“Don’t you be worried about that!” Joe, the bartender, shouts.

“These are two returning sinners then, Joe?” the deranged priest belted out as he started across the dusty floor toward Stan and Stacey.

Stacey got up and started toward the priest in an angry fit. The priest pelts her in the stomach with the crucifix end of his staff, then quickly brings the staff around her neck and, settling behind her, bringing her into a choking position with the staff at her throat and him secure behind her. The priest towers over her by a good foot and a half.

Stan starts at the priest. The priest pulls out a large Bowie knife with his free hand from beneath his cape.

“I wouldn’t advise that sinner, or your little heathen bitch her may get judged prematurely,” the priest glared through dark eyes of coal as he held the knife in front of Stacey’s face just forward of his hand, gripping the choking staff.

Stan stopped in his tracks. Stacey was crying and pouring snot as her face pulsed red from being partially choked. Every time she tried to struggle, the priest would tighten his choke hold and lean back, lifting her off the floor and causing her airway to be completely cut off; this would stop her struggles immediately.

Stan held up his hands and went into a submissive cry. “Look, I’ve got money. Money solves everything. We can pay our way out of this; no one has to know anything. We’ll take our car and go and pretend we never came here.”

Joe, the bartender, chimed in, “Hehe. hehehe. Well, Pastor ole funny boy here says he’s got money. Well, whew wee! We ought to up and give ole city sinners here the roost! Your fancy credit, faggoty debit cards, and demon digitile techno coins ain’t shit here, boy!”

“No, no, no. I have cash,” Stan said as he reached for his waist belt. Before he could get his hand down to his waist, Joe was behind him and popped him over the head with a big glass mug. Stan felt like a truck hit him, and for a moment, all went dark as he hit the floor like a sack of grain.

Joe bent over Stan’s prostrated body as blood was pooling out of the back of Stan’s head. He reached into Stan’s pocket and pulled out his wallet. Stan began to cough and babble incoherently as he was coming back too.

“Let’s see what ole city sinner brought to pollute our good community. Let’s see here, well I’ll be. Pastor, there is cash here. Whooo hooo! A whole 200 dollars! Well, shits, fire boy, we can all retire now!”

Joe throws the money up on the bar and continues searching Stan’s wallet.

“Hahaha. Hehehe. Ole, here’s them fancy cards. They’ll be of good use for our ATM! Not! Ain’t no ATM in Coward! Hahaha. Hehehe. Well, looky here Past, my, my, my.”

Joe pulls out a couple of pictures of Stacey that was crammed into one of the inner pockets of the wallet. The pictures are a couple of nudes of Stacey posing while blushing. Joe holds them up toward the priest’s face, who looks on as if being aroused by them, then converts to a face of disgust and anger.

“See what the devil is bringing into Coward. For generations, they’ve tried. Even let them movie folks have their way with the town back then. Know what fornications they brought? Well, we fixed them, didn’t we Past? We sure did. Us, Pa, and the blessed that are now gone. But we had us a God glorious BBQ we sure did!”

Stan began lifting his head, “You assholes, that’s my stuff! Look, I got more….”

Joe struck him in the back of the head again, and Stan was out.

“We had about enough out of you, city sinner. Jacob! Jacob! Get your heathen ass in here.” A scrawny young man wearing just overalls and boots appears from a back room. “Help Past take this piece of trash on the floor and that harlot onto the Church for prepping!”

The next thing that Stan remembers is sitting in a dim candle-lit church as he heard prayers and sermons being chanted around him. He heard Stacey next to him and looked over at her, noticing that he and her both were naked. Stacey was crying with a gag tied around her mouth. As he tried to speak, he saw that he was gagged and bound. Out of the shadows, a figure in robes appeared and bent down in front of them; it was Joe.

“You all need to be quiet in the Lord’s house,” Joe said as he stretched out his hand open palm up towards Stan and Stacey’s faces. A small pile of white dust was in his palm, and they both cringed: darkness soon followed as he blew the dust into their faces.

The next moment they came too, they realized they were tied and gagged in one of the mining carts. The cart was half full of garlic-smelling water in which they were partially submerged, still naked with vegetables floating all around them. Stan’s gag had gotten soggy and somewhat fell out of his mouth, and he propped himself up enough to see above the cart rim. It was now the dark of night.

“Oh, God. Oh, dear God, Stacey!” Stan could see the cart making its way up through the town toward the hills behind the church. At the end of the line, he could see a massive bonfire with shadowing figures dancing around. He noticed lightning flashes in the distant background. He looked down at Stacey, who was shivering in fear and madness.

“I think we are the BBQ!”

Within a few minutes, the cart began making its way past the church and toward the burning pyre ahead. Stan could hear whoops and chants as the cart glided towards its final destination.

“The Lord has sent us some more sinners, and tonight family, we give him a sacrifice, and he provides us sustenance!” Cheers and the beating of pots and pans followed.

Then out of now where, there was a blinding flash and a boom that shook the very ground. Stan crouched up just in time to see a giant lightning bolt shatter the tower supporting the cart system next to the bonfire. A brilliant flash of spark and explosion seemed to light up, go out, and light up again several times. Multiple figures near the burning pyre were engulfed in flames. A couple of bodies lay motionless on the ground. The struck tower fell over, bringing the cables and other carts, including the one Stan and Stacey were in, tumbling to the ground.

The cart and its contents spilled all over the desert rocks. Stan and Stacey's cart was partially up the hill and roughly 200 feet from the bonfire. Stan’s wrist binding came loose during the spill, and he quickly untied his ankles while checking on Stacey, squirming around with a slight laceration on her forehead. He untied her, and she promptly threw her arms around him, sobbing in a moment of relief.

The priest soon appeared at the top of the hill above them. He saw Stan and Stacey splayed out on the desert floor, spreading his arms wide and lifting his staff crucifix high as he pointed toward them. “Get Them!”

Just then, another bolt of lighting came from the dark cloud above, striking the crucifix dead on. The Christ glowed like some atomic-charged artifact, and the priest’s clothing burst into flames as he howled out in agony. The bolt of lightning intensified, and the crucifix began to melt. As the surge of power faded into darkness, the burning corpse of the priest fell to the ground in smoldering embers.

“Wooo hooo! Yea! God bless the sinners!” Stan shouts out. “Hey, Stace, look down there. It’s our car! Come on; maybe the keys are still in it.”

Stan and Stacey make it to their SUV, the keys are in the ignition, and Stan starts to go for their luggage to get some clothes.

“What are you doing, Stan? Please, let’s get the fuck out of here. I’ll go naked to Reno; I don’t care as long as you get me away from these creeps.”

They jump in naked and send dust flying as they gun it back down the dirt road they came in on. No sign of anyone coming after them. They make it back to the main road, hang a left toward Reno, and Stan pushes down the gas.

“Stacey, next time you want to see something historic. Let’s go to the city museum, and let’s stay where they accept faggy cards and demon digitile techno coins.”

Stacey leans over to Stan’s shoulder and kisses his cheek. “My dear, I couldn’t agree more.”

Back in the ghost town of Coward, a smoldering figure crawls into the Coward Inn and Saloon. Smoldering in burnt robes and pained with cooked skin, Joe pulls himself onto a seat.

“Jacob! Jacob! God damn infidel. Bring your Uncle Joe a beer. We got some plannin to do.”