Not in Kansas. Nebraska.

It was just after midnight when Flantoo entered the longest, straightest, stretch of road in North America. The full moon cast a deathly pale about the land, one could almost see for miles. As he changed the song on his iPod he wondered how this desolate land would look in the daytime.

Not used to being able to see for more than a mile in his mountainous Montana, Flantoo was feeling a bit of Agoraphobia, and unaccompanied on this particular expanse of interstate made him lonely. He wasn’t completely alone; his dog was asleep on the seat next to him, snoring rhythmically to the motions of the vehicle.

But he was safe. Stuffed into the small space between the seat and the center console was his .45 pistol. On the floor behind him was a shotgun, loaded with 10 rounds of alternating double-ought-buck, and steel shot slugs. And not that it would come to it, but his M1A1 was in the back of his SUV, loaded ready to go.

The only other light that Flantoo could see was the occasional yard light, miles away on some distant farm. A small beacon of light to reassure that this empty state of corn fields and miles and miles of grassland was still yet occupied by someone.
It had been almost an hour since he had seen another car.

Having made it through the treacherous abandon of Wyoming with his SUV loaded and pulling his motorcycle on a trailer, the trip was going from boring to wearying. A loneliness that makes one feel like an astronaut. A loneliness that makes one wonder if you are the last person alive on the plant. Has some great calamity wiped all humans from the face of the earth? Am I just so far from civilization that I have yet to acknowledge that I am the last Man to tread his weary SUV upon the great roadways that will never be built again? A loneliness that makes one excited to see a billboard.

Staring off into the distance, piloting his SUV by unconscious thought, the endless miles were passing by like heartbeats, never remembered or missed, an automatic function that continues whether one is cognizant of the fact.

Some miles ahead, an eternity from here, Flantoo could see the flashing lights of emergency vehicles. As the minutes passed, and he crept upon the lights like covering the distance between stars, he could see that there were more than one law enforcement vehicle ahead. He began to slow.

Flares marked the road, and formed an angled lane, urging the driver into the left lane where one cop car sat on the shoulder, parallel to the road, and the other, perpendicular.

From dim light of the headlights, fighting to be swallowed by the darkness, he could see two highway patrol officers with shotguns resting on their shoulders, commanding him to stop with outstretched hands. The strobes blinding him with every flash, he complied, and brought his SUV to a stop. The trailer holding his bike rattled and creaked as it was not giving up the fight of being stopped.

There were two other officers that he hadn’t seen; they surrounded his vehicle, intently peering through the tinted windows with their flashlights.

Remembering the firearms in his vehicle, a light glaze of perspiration formed on his skin as he lowered his windows. His dog was still fast asleep at his side.

Expecting a barrage of questions from the officer who stood by his window, Flantoo was surprised to notice that he wasn’t the only one nervous. The officer seemed on edge, anxiously glancing out into the darkness. Before the officer could speak, Flantoo began a speech he had practiced since he had left Montana.

“Sir, I have several firearms in the vehicle. Some of them are loaded, but they are all in plain sight.”

It took the officer a few seconds to register what was said. He relaxed his hold on his shotgun. “Good! Somebody’s prepared!”

Flantoo attempted to hand the officer his license, but the officer held up his hand.
“We’ve had some Tusken Raider’s attack some motorists earlier tonight.” The officer looked around nervously again. “We’re just letting all travelers know-“

Flantoo laughed, cutting the officer off.

“This isn’t funny!” The officer asserted. “We’re letting all travelers know. Don’t stop for anyone. If you see a wreck, or someone on the side of the road, do not stop. Keep going. You should be safe by the time you hit Lincoln.”

“Did you say Tusken Raiders?” Flantoo was laughing in disbelief.

“Yeah.” The officer replied. “Tusken Raider.” He held his shot gun above his head shook his arms, making the iconic noise, ‘Awooo oh oh oh!”

“You’re serious?” Flantoo asked, now sure he was a part of some “Super Troopers” prank.

“Deadly.” The officer rasped. The officer stepped back and motioned with his arm, “Move along. Don’t stop for anyone.”

Flantoo tried to respond, unsure of what to ask, but the officer repeated his command, and motioned with his arm again.

Putting the SUV in gear, and slowly pulling away, the trailer squeaked as if it was pleading not to move. He half expected the officers to protest, explaining their joke, but they all returned to defensive positions around their vehicles. Flantoo grabbed his phone from the center console, and flipped it open. No service. Only in the flattest state would there be no cell service.

His dog awoke and looked around as if to ask, ‘Are we there yet?’ Flantoo petted him and ruffled his ears. “You hear that buddy? Tusken Raiders!” He laughed at the absurdness.

Once again, the miles turned into eons, and the interstate continued off into infinity, only to be revealed a foot at a time by the headlights. Time no longer had any meaning. Here, distances were not measured in miles, but in hours.

As if awoken from a dream, Flantoo was jerked from his complacent groove behind the wheel as he suddenly realized there were headlights in his rearview mirrors. At first thinking it was the police chasing him, he grew alarmed as the headlights began to swerve on the road behind him. The lights were gaining on him.

His dog began to bark, but it was just background noise now, pushed to the far bellows of his consciousness along with the telephone poles and mile markers that seemed to randomly pass by.

It was a car, and a large one, like a Ford LTD or a Cadillac, and it crept up to him like a lion peering through the grass. Settling in behind him, the car seemingly attached to the back of the trailer, it began to weave back and forth, as if the headlights were peeking out on either side of the trailer.

Flantoo gunned his SUV, and it leapt away from the car behind him. Following suit, the car roared to life and quickly closed the gap Flantoo had created. Hesitant to damage the trailer, and his precious bike safely strapped inside, Flantoo was tempted to slam on his breaks.

Flantoo went on the defensive. Pulling his .45 pistol from in between the seats, he racked a shell into the chamber, and gave the breaks a quick tap.

The car behind slammed on the breaks and swerved to avoid rear-ending the trailer. The older car’s breaks locked up, and the car went fish-tailing on to the shoulder of the interstate, kicking up clouds of dust.

Frantically looking over his shoulders like a fighter pilot, Flantoo was keen on keeping on the defensive, and keeping the car from ramming into him. He likened his bike in the trailer to a child’s seat strapped to the top of a minivan.

Veering in and out of the rumble strips, the pursuing car blasted to its previous position of drafting the trailer. Suddenly the car was alongside the trailer, almost colliding as it floated in Flantoo’s blind-spot.

There was an eerie calm, like the moment when it suddenly stops raining, or right before a nuke hits and suddenly the car was alongside the SUV, just inches from Flantoo’s window.

It was a piss yellow four door Chevy. 30 years of rust and dents pot-marked the sides of the car like the face of the moon. A hub cap shot off like a flying saucer and disappeared into the darkness. Almost like they had been there all along, the occupants casually looked from their vehicle like kids in a minivan watching traffic go by.

Ragged face wraps like bloody gauze used to wrap up mummies flapped in the breeze and long robes caught the wind like curtains. Black and silent goggles and breath masks protruded from the wrap like insect eyes. They held wicked jagged pieces of metal, long pipes, and scavenged spears. These were Tusken Raiders.

One had quickly climbed out of the back passenger window and now stood on the trunk of the car. The creature’s iconic war cry was lost to the wind noise, but it’s effect was still heard as the Tusken Raider shook his spear above his head in rage.

Flantoo fired two quick shots into the front wheel hoping to blow the tire and send the car careening into the ditch. The +p rounds lit up the night like a camera flash, and the explosion from the gun made the occupants cower for a moment. His dog was now cowering on the floor.

Flantoo felt the weight shift and the trailer bounce and the Tusken Raider leapt from the roof of the car to land somewhere in the trailer. A string of obscenities flew from Flantoo’s mouth and he wished the Tusken had gotten hurt when he landed.

From the eerie red glow from the back of the vehicle he could see the Tusken flailing around. Another Tusken Raider was now on the roof of the car, and this one was judging the distance to the roof of the SUV.

The creature leapt into the air, and everything seemed to happen in slow motion. It’s greasy hands almost touching the SUV, the Tusken Raider was stretched out in the air like a diver. Flantoo jerked the wheel to the right and went onto the shoulder. The creature hit the pavement with a sickening wet sound right where the SUV was milliseconds before. The trailer hopped in the air as the outboard tire ran over the creature, and the other Tusken Raider was thrown ass-over-teakettle in the back of the trailer.

The other occupant of the car voiced their anger. Flantoo could hear their shrill screams and the din as they beat their weapons on the sides of their car.

Pulling the SUV back onto the road, Flantoo was now alongside the car again. A spear was thrown, but it clattered to the ground uselessly and disappeared into the night.

Flantoo emptied the rest of his magazine into the car. Six more thumb-sized pieces of metal pierced the car at 600 feet per second. Glass and pieces of metal filled the car like a mist. He didn’t know if her had actually hit any of the occupants, but the car seemed out of control as it swerved into the ditch.

Looking in his mirror, Flantoo could see the car veer back onto the road, it’s headlight searching like predator for its prey. The trunk had come open and was flapping up and down with every bump, the passenger door was open and he could see legs dragging on the ground. He got the shotgun from the back seat and racked it, resting it out the window on his arm.

Just as quick as before the car was alongside him again, though there was no longer anyone hanging from the door. Flantoo couldn’t tell how many more Tusken Raiders were in the car still. He joking thought maybe they were all lined up in the car to hide their numbers.

Controlling the wheel with his knees, Flantoo fired the shotgun at the driver, he could see the creature duck and flinch and the wail of a report that it was wounded. He fired one more shot at the driver, but there was no witness of its effect.

Pumping in another shell he fired at the front wheel again and it exploded in a mess of thread and rubber like black spaghetti thrown from an airplane. The car, losing its ability to stay straight nearly clipped the trailer as it spun out of control.

It went sideways in the road, and Flantoo watched it roll from the rearview mirror.

Like a slow motion Michael Bay stunt he watched the vehicle roll on it’s axis down the interstate. With each revolution, doors would fly open. Trash and rubbish, bit of things, bits of Tusken Raiders were thrown from the vehicle. Glass flew in the air like confetti, and the muffler sent a shower of sparks as it vanished into the night. The car faded from existence into the red glow of his brake lights.

Screaming to a stop, Flantoo jumped from the vehicle and walked a tight radius around the trailer. He could see a crumpled mass of Tusken Raider’s robe next to his motorcycle. His dog began to bark from the open door.

“It’s a trick..” He said to no one in particular, “…get an axe.”

Like a horror movie villain, the Tusken Raider jumped up, its stick raised over its head. It only managed to get out one ‘Arwooo’ before he ate a pound of steel balls fired from Flantoo’s shotgun. Flying with the impact, and out of the back of trailer the crumpled Tusken Raider landed in a heap on the ground. Flantoo ran to the mass of robes lying in the dull red light of the trailer, and put one more shot into what he thought to be the creatures head.

There was a moment of silence where Flantoo thought he could relax. That was quickly brought to a halt as somewhere down the road, off into the darkness, he could hear a Tusken’s war cry. He ran to the back of his SUV and opened the hatchback, and tossed the shotgun inside. Dramatically pulling his M1A1 rifle from the vehicle, he chambered a round as he walked to the back of the trailer. He dropped prone on the ground, aiming his rifle down the interstate, ignoring the abrasions on his elbow and knees.

He heard the “Arwoo oh oh oh!” again from the darkness.

As the minutes passed, his eyes adjusted somewhat to the night. He thought he could see the dim headlight of the wrecked car off in the distance, pointed towards the ditch. He began to second guess himself, and he thought he heard sounds. The tension was building.

Seeing movement, he adjusted his aim. He heard the war cry again, much closer. Movement again.

A trident of flame sprouted from the barrel. A glowing meteorite of death streaked through the heavens. A concussion kicked up dust into the air like a helicopter.
So close, but so far off into the darkness, a bullet the size of an index finger traveled 1,700 miles per hour and impacted the Tusken Raider’s chest.

Flantoo heard the dull thump as the body flopped to the ground.

He waited.

After what seemed like an hour, Flantoo got to his feet and stalked down the highway. He could see the wrecked car lying on its side, indistinguishable as to what make and model. Essential components to the car’s function lay scattered over an area the size of a house. At his feet lay the body of a Tusken Raider with a hole through it’s chest. He could see the head, canted to the side, tattered wrappings encasing the creature’s visage.

What were these creatures?

Flantoo knelt to the ground and began to unwrap the head.