<table width="100%"><tr><td style="vertical-align: top; width:50%; padding-right:10px;"><div style="text-align: justify;">6:45 pm.<br/>An engine growled low, barely audible above the pouring rain that drummed on top the roof of an old  1987 Dodge pickup truck. The trailer behind it rattled like any other would and the navigation system, that to all due credit had been the perfect guide just hours earlier, now played like a broken record. <span style="font-style: italic">'Rerouting... Rerouting... Rerouting...'</span> Though annoying it made Bo chuckle for it was a fitting chorus to today's symphony. Still, it didn't take him long to give into frustration as he pulled one hand from the wheel and turned off the device. <br/><br/>Without warning the radio was interrupted by a piercing static sound that made its way through the truck like a lightning bolt. Shock coursed through his chest and down his shoulders as Bo involuntarily gave a jerk at the steering wheel. He could feel the tires slip, pavement making way for soggy soil as he tried to correct the mistake. Behind his truck and in response the trailer swooned dangerously and pulled them further onto the slope that found itself next to the road. Not caring much for disappearing in between the tree's and into the gaping darkness to his right, Bo did the only other thing he could do. His short, brown leather boot stomped down on top of outer right pedal and a grinding sound rose up out of the back of the truck as the vehicle slid along a few more feet before coming finally coming to a halt. Bo had never suffered from high blood pressure, not medically at least, but if they were to test him at that moment the results would've gone through the roof.<br/><br/>The clock on his radio told him it was only 6:54 pm, not late enough for dusk to start settling in, but the dark clouds that loomed in the sky didn't seem to care much for the proper order of day and night. He opened the door and crawled outside, taking a moment marvel at how far his boots dug into the dark brown earth. Truck and trailer,- the latter looking a little lopsided,- seemed to have fared no different, positioned at right angles to each other they looked to be rather reluctant upon having to move any further. Even if he could manage to prevent the tires from sinking deeper into the mud, one of them would topple over and fall down the slope. It was clear to him that he needed help. The old cell phone he had,- one that had neither color nor touch screen,- beeped tauntingly,  capital letters boldly stating 'No Signal' as if it was playing some form of sick joke on him.</div></td><td style="vertical-align: top; width:50%; padding-left:10px;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Bo reached over the driver's seat and pulled out a duffle bag and a cowboy hat. <span style="color: #879f85">"If you find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is to stop digging."</span> He murmured, it was an old saying he had learned from his grandfather. The thought of having to sleep in the truck at night didn't bother him and it might have been a better idea to wait out the storm, but he would have to get out and find someone eventually. With the weather they were having he doubted anyone else would venture outside any time soon and the last place he had seen someone was a good few miles back. Having made sure his truck was properly locked he decided to press forwards, theoretically if he was to follow the road it should lead him somewhere useful, or so he reasoned.<br/><br/>7:15 pm.<br/>After a while he noticed a small path, concrete pavement making way for a dirt road that had the potential to confirm his theory. Bo rubbed his arms, more out of habit than against the cold. He didn't usually bring coat, today had been no exception and even though he did wear the cowboy hat and a pair of faded blue jeans with a bootcut, it provided little protection against the rain. In all honesty and with a little bit of exaggeration, it felt as if more water was in the process of soaking him to the bone, than there was falling out of the sky. Even when squinting his eyes he could see no further than 50 feet through the frog-strangling weather that obscured his vision, when at last he could see the outlines of a building. It seemed he still had a bit of luck left after all. <br/><br/>As Bo got closer he did a quick inspection of building, at first glance it didn't seem to be suited for habitation  yet that conclusion was betrayed by the vehicles that found themselves on the 'property'. Moving towards the entrance he noticed Apollo first, a smile edged the corners of his mouth while he took place next to the man. His eyes scanned the entrance hall and the people that were gathering in it, making note of the register counter he concluded the building had once served as a hotel. With emphasis on <span style="font-style: italic">'had once'</span>.<br/><br/><span style="color: #879f85">"Lovely weather we're having, don't  you agree?"</span> Bo's voice held a deep ring and a light Texan accent. The sentence was directed at Apollo more than anyone else, but it wasn't an attempt to exclude others, frankly, it was because the man was closest to him.</div></td></tr></table>