The monsoon gale was relentless, tearing apart the redwood trees that
dotted the sweeping curves of Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park. Traffic
was minimal, with only a few drivers braving the hundred-year storm that
assailed the Santa Cruz Mountains that day.
Mount Herman Road
The storm was brutal. John Nord squinted through the moving windshield
wipers; his brows drawn with tension. The visibility was close to zero. He
was clenching his jaw, angry at how the wipers were not quick enough, even
at their fastest.
The rain came down in sheets, thundering on the roof of John's faded blue
Taurus Wagon. His car swerved on the deserted but slick curves of the
road, the winding asphalt reflecting the wagon's headlights at him. The
midday sky was heavy with dark clouds, the torrential rain blinding every
driver on the road.
The world beyond the shelter of John's car was pure chaos. The noise of
the storm hemorrhaging through the car’s windows. Even though the windows
muffled the sound, John was fully aware of the creaking as the redwoods
bent under the pressure of the wind.
Felton Empire Grade Curve
The roadbed spiraled around consecutive two hundred and seventy degree
turns while clawing another one hundred feet of altitude; sheets of rain
pelted the road and hillside.
The wind whipped redwoods side to side, and the raging gale edged up in
pitch and fury. Massive trees groaned in protest. Branches snapped in the
wind, the redwood needles adding to the hell that poured down the Felton
Empire Road curve.
The sound of heavy wind in an evergreen forest had its own fierceness.
The high-pitched growl of trillions of needles scratching the air mixed
with the guttural low-frequency strain of heavy timber, stretching to
survive, foretold doom. A large branch slashed across the road and down
the cliff along the side of Felton-Empire Grade.
The roadway rose two thousand tortuous feet from the foot of the grade.
Hurricane-force winds lashed and moaned from the forest above the pavement
as it twistingly ascended through a nasty corner. No one should be out
driving, but John had no choice.
Mount Herman Road
“This is Santa Cruz classic rock. It is a wonderful day to stay indoors
with another classic from Yes, Owner of a Lonely Heart.
The DJ's voice crackled through the radio. The song’s instrumental began
to bleed through the speakers of John's car. The riff of the electric
guitars was easy to hear, even over the noise of the heavy rain. The blue
wagon sped away from the Highway 17 exit. Mount Herman Road wedged itself
between the competing strip malls of Scotts Valley. John ignored the
discordant symphony of horns behind him, protesting his driving.
John focused on another vehicle that zoomed in and out of the midday
traffic ahead of him. The black sedan he followed sped past cars on the
four-lane highway, snaking through the rush of traffic as John stepped on
the accelerator in anxious pursuit.
The DJ's voice broke into the song's flow.
"Folks, we have a breaking story. A national weather alert for the Santa
Cruz Mountains, torrential rain for the next six hours, and a landslide
warning. Back to Yes.”
“Move yourself,” the singer belted.
John's eyes darted to the signboard above, making a mental note of how
soon Mount Herman Road would leave Scotts Valley behind. The sedan sped
forward smoothly, unaffected by the torrential rain. John's faded blue
wagon whizzed past five more cars, jumping ahead of traffic before the
stoplight turned green.
The road began to narrow as the chase continued, the four lanes shrinking
to one going uphill. John scanned ahead for the sedan, squinting through
the downpour.
He spotted the dark sedan pulling past a fuel tanker truck beginning its
slow ascent uphill. John gritted his teeth in frustration, staring at the
sedan fast disappearing in the rain.
“Never thinking of the future. Prove yourself,” the song
continued.
In his rush to catch up with the sedan, John almost missed the tanker
changing lanes. He winced at the wrenching sound of metal against metal.
The scrape was a sickening contrast to the rock song. Still, his car sped
forward. John straightened up in his seat checking the damage his wagon
had sustained.
The hauler had clipped the Taurus, taking the right turn signal with it.
John veered right, narrowly escaping a collision with an oncoming logging
truck. As he returned to his lane, the logger angrily sounded his air
horn. The headlights behind him were blinding, the truck's beam set high.
“You are the move you make.
Take your chances, win, or lose.
See yourself. You are the steps you take.
You and you, and that's the only way.”
The downpour got heavier as the road narrowed. The wind and rain had
increased to hurricane strength. Branches snapped, and mud oozed over the
road. Sludge began covering the inside lane as the howling wind increased.
Inside the Taurus, John, a rough handsome man in his thirties, ran a hand
through his blonde hair, puffing out his cheeks as he exhaled. His gaze
darted frantically to the mirrors, checking his position on the hill. His
heart still thundered from the near-death experience of almost totaling
his wagon into a logging truck. He was feeling the strain of the
high-speed chase.
John sped after the dark sedan. It was the only thing he could do. His
hand fell for his phone as he kept his gaze on the road, glancing down in
time to see that it would not turn on no matter how many times he pressed
the button on the side.
“Shake…”
The car veered sideways again as John's eyes darted around for the car
phone charger. The charger he kept on the dashboard slid off onto the
passenger side floor, out of reach.
John grunted, annoyed. The charger thumped against the soft makeup case
his fiancée had kept there. He glanced down to see a nail file and cuticle
clippers peeking out from the case. The passenger side was a mess of
clutter, as if the woman who sat there would return any moment, gather her
things, and pass John a smile and a wave as she headed off to work.
A Sutter Healthcare security pass slid out from her purse on the floor
beside the case. John's throat tightened at the sight of the face staring
back at him from the badge.
The sound of the truck horn faded into the downpour. John swallowed
sharply, dropping the phone in his lap while pressing down on the gas,
willing his car to speed up.
“Shake yourself…”
The rain hammered down on his windshield. John turned up the wipers'
speed, clearing the windshield for a millisecond before the view returned
to a blur of rain and the heavy wind. The redwoods bent whichever way the
wind pleased, and the thunderous crackle of smaller trees falling and
branches snapping leaked into the safe shell of John's car.
The redwood trees moaned as the rain blew sideways, cracking as nature
continued its violent assault. Muddy rivulets trailed down into the
roadway.
"You're every move you make.
So, the story goes, owner of a lonely heart.”
The narrow path had turned into a steep incline. As John urged his car up
the slope, the faded Taurus battled against the wind and rain. He
tightened his grip on the steering wheel, knuckles white as his jaw ached,
his fiancée's face flashing before his eyes.
He had to make it.
"Owner of a broken heart.
Owner of a lonely heart.”
John let out a heavy breath as his faithful Taurus pulled through. The
windshield cleared again momentarily, and John's eyes widened at the sharp
curve ahead. The slick roadways would make it impossible to make it
through in one piece. John clenched his jaw, determined as he turned the
wheel, whispering a silent prayer as he felt the rear wheels slide on the
turn slewing off the road entirely for a moment.
John held his breath, his heart stammering as the wheels floundered,
barely staying on the road as he entered the town of Felton.
“You've been hurt so before; watch it now.
The eagle in the sky.
How
he dancin' one and only, you, lose yourself.
No, not for pity's
sake; there's no real reason to be lonely.
Be yourself.”
The blue wagon slid to a rolling stop at Gramhill Road as he caught his
breath. The chase had started taking a toll on him, but it was up to him.
John's head whipped toward the right, gaze zeroing in on his target. The
dark sedan was speeding away, unaffected by the storm. John stepped on the
gas, shaking his head, his car rocketing away in pursuit.
“Give your free will a chance.
You've got to want to succeed—owner
of a lonely heart.”
The blue wagon crossed Highway 9 onto Felton Empire Grade at a breakneck
speed. The car veered left and right; John was understeering to get his
vehicle under control. John caught his breath as his car straightened. He
felt the tension in his shoulders, the steady ache that increased with
every passing moment. A battered green pickup truck on Highway 9 spun out
of control at the light. Most drivers were pulling their cars onto the
side of the road at awkward angles, not wanting to drive in blinding
dangerous conditions.
John slammed his fist on the steering wheel, willing the car's exhausted,
faded, battered remnants to push its limits for one more charge. He fought
to steer left, the road both turning and rising as it curved uphill and
steepened. John felt like he may as well have been chasing that sedan on
foot. Steering the distressed Taurus was no less than a marathon.
The faithful wagon journeyed onward, the song's chorus continuing as the
trees on either side had started to canopy the road John was on, supplying
a temporary respite from the assaulting rain. John exhaled; his relief was
short-lived as he took in the approaching hairpin curve.
“After my own indecision, they confused me so.
Owner of a lonely
heart.
My love said never question your will at all.
In the
end, you've got to go.”
The rock song continued as John sped forward. No turn could scare him
enough to stop his pursuit. Just then, a giant redwood branch fell onto
the road. Spotting it in time, John avoided it, but the road ahead now
seemed impassable. The wind whipped branches off strong redwood trees and
laid them out crossways on the road. But John refused to slow down. He
pushed the Taurus to its last limits, sweat beading on his forehead.
John muttered a silent curse as a branch landed heavily on the roof of
his car.
Up ahead was a sharp turn that veered left, then right, with fifteen
miles an hour posted.
“Look before you leap—owner of a lonely heart.br>And don't you
hesitate at all - no, no.”
As the song faded into a guitar solo, John stared at his next challenge:
the hairpin corner.
The roadway snaked through a series of turns. The rain softened the
shoulder of the mountain opened to a ravine below. He steered a centerline
through the extreme right hairpin as the pavement descended into the
Redwoods. The water poured down the hillside in torrents that became
gushing creeks.
John Nord nodded to himself, determined. He slammed his foot down on the
pedal as the dark sedan sped seamlessly toward the turn, disappearing
around the turn raising wakes of road water.
“Owner of a lonely heart.
Owner of a lonely heart.
Much better
than a
Owner of a broken heart.
Owner of a lonely heart.”
The road straightened slightly out into rhythmic curves. The wagon
strained against the weather, the rasping sounds from the engine a sure
sign of the price the chase cost the wagon. The straining engine mirrored
John's mental state, the faded Taurus manifesting the intensity of its
driver's panic, fear, and determination.
John floored it. The chorus of the song repeated, inching toward the end.
“Sooner or later, each conclusion,
Will decide the lonely heart.
Owner
of a lonely heart.
It will excite; it will delight.”
The song faded into silence as John approached another yellow
fifteen-mile-per-hour sign leaning to the left. The storm bent the pole
planted into the ground. The road spiraling up to the left, the slick road
ahead had large cracks across the surface, promising him a harrowing
experience.
“It will give a better start.
Owner of a lonely heart.”
The music faded, John's panic winning out as he braked hard for the
hairpin turn. The wagon dropped into the large crack in the road, jerking
his body as the sun visor popped down. John felt the jolt run through him,
his head slamming back against the headrest.
"Don't deceive your free will at all.
Don't deceive your free
will—owner of a lonely heart.
Don't deceive your free will at
all,
Just receive it—"
John sighed, gritting his teeth, reaching over, switching off the radio.
The blue wagon drifted through the hairpin curve and raced around the
sweeping blind turn as the rain saturated hillside mud slipped down into
the valley. The dark sedan disappeared while John, caught in the
unforgiving road collapse, slid into the abyss.
In defeat, John pounded the steering wheel.
“And I thought I had it made.
***
Excerpt from MILD MANNERED MEN by Walter Horsting. Copyright 2025
by Walter Horsting. Reproduced with permission from Walter Horsting. All
rights reserved.
Meet the Author:
Simarron isn’t a detective, he’s just a centaur with a clipboard and a nose for trouble. He left his homeland to get a professional job in the city as a magical safety inspector. However, his new life isn’t quite as he imagined it to be and his fellow housemates at Slant Row Boarding House (which is definitely not haunted) are shadier than an enchanted forest.
