Somewhere Along the Road, Atton's USA, Thursday Evening

It had taken a collective effort spanning several days and a great deal of grim combat, but the Thursday afternoon after they had left New York City was the day the band succeeded in wrangling the van keys from Jack’s tight grip and into Trent’s hands. Jack, annoyed, swearing up and down he wouldn’t speak to any of them again, had climbed into the back of the van and promptly fallen asleep.

And there he remained for hours, curled up beside the instruments, the road and the impact of several days’ driving and playing keeping him firmly tied to sleep. By the time he woke up, the sun was sinking down behind a seemingly infinite horizon, casting vivid reds and yellows against the fading blue skies, and the van was still.

What had happened?

( Sh, sh, it's fine. )

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