And. I will tell you about the rabbits first. This happened way further on in my adventure, soon after I crossed back over the Czonaloqkos border at the river.

Not far after crossing the Centennial River there is a small general store, the last stop before you reach the junction at the East Highway that leads down into The Basin. That will be after a long long day of desert ahead. Well it’s called Last Stop but is not quite the last stop. There will be a few rest areas on the way and a small gas station at Half Way. I go in for bottles of water. That is the reason for the store, helped by several billboards that warn of the perils of being out there in the desert without water. One of the reasons anyway.

The other I learn is the rabbits. A shelf of books that warn of the dangers from the rabbits out in the desert is next to a display of stuffed rabbit toys. Along the wall behind there are adult-sized rabbit suits for sale. And a sign above the door as you leave says There Be Rabbits! Yes, this will be desert. Real desert after crossing the river. If you think LoneStar has desert you need to go to The Coast.

No one lives anywhere close to this desert after you cross the River until you get to The Basin and if you ever were to survive this journey you understand why. Very much of nothing. Sun. No water or trees. Ranges of blue mountains layered in the distance you know no human has ever visited. And there are rabbits here, though you might not see any on your trip. But you have heard the stories of what can happen. If you stop the car on the highway there will be rabbits looking at you. You dare not wander off. If you stop at a rest stop you will see rabbits surrounding the rest stop edge looking hoping for a weak person who might wander off alone. At night your headlights pick up reflections of the eyes of rabbits who line the highway. Sometimes you don’t see rabbits at all.

This is worse because you know they are out there. You hear stories of how they endanger cars. They have a ruthless strategy where a small group will run across the roads in front of your car hoping to cause you to crash. And then the others pounce. Other times they run at your car by the dozens from an angle from the right front and jump over one after another. And just when you think that it is over more come from the left front. This happens at night. All to get you to stop. Or these are the stories you hear anyway.

There is the well-told story about the man some years ago who thought he could reason with the rabbits and persuade them to leave the cars alone. He read all he could find about how rabbits live, interact, and communicate with one another and spent months observing and interacting with rabbits held in zoos. The keepers finally said enough when he tried to dig a place for himself that would connect in to the rabbit warren. When he believed he had learned all he could he bought several changes of rabbit suits and loaded up his bright orange truck and trailer with carrots. He said his goodbyes to family and friends and hopped out to the truck and drove off to live amongst the rabbits.

And there is reason to think he had some initial success is establishing contact. Several travelers reported seeing him off a distance from the highway in his rabbit suit speaking and gesturing to groups of rabbits seated in semi circles. The rabbits seemed to listen as they munched on carrots. As far as travelers could tell he would be pantomiming hopping and jumping and also the actions of drivers, positioning his hands as if he was holding a steering wheel turning it one way then the other.

He would shake his head indicating yes and no. He would run by as if holding the steering wheel and wave to the rabbits. Then he would go over to where the rabbits were and wave back. Soon though, the sightings of him stopped. Sometime after the last sighting several travelers who had stopped to explore found the trailer overturned, empty of carrots. He or his truck has not been found yet.

I don’t know what happens when the rabbits get you. It is better not to know I think. After over half a day of driving I have not seen any yet though. I do see a sign for the gas station at Half Way ahead Hop on In and get Gas! I drive in myself. The small store there is called The Hutch. The man that helps you wears a large rabbit suit. It has oil spots here and there. He hops around silently as he puts gas in the car, checks the oil. He has had to make his accommodations with the realities of power here locally.

And as I pull out back on the pavement I see one at the edge just where the dirt road meets the highway. A large old rabbit watching me, making note of my leaving. In the desert you are alert or you die, though this is the only rabbit I have seen so far. The daylight will be coming to an end later and the sunsets in the desert can be beautiful. I thought I would stop for a while and walk around, enjoy the silence and solitude. Take a little walk around and explore some of the gullies. Carefully. See what might be lying around.

As long as I know the layered ranges of mountains are opposite of the highway I will not get lost. I just go back opposite of the mountains and I will find the car eventually. So after several more hours I pull off to a clearing by the side. I rest holding the steering wheel in both hands and stare out at the landscape. No rabbits I can see. Well I better get out and start exploring before the sun starts to set, and not just sit here holding this steering wheel.

It is much scarier thinking about this than doing it. It is actually pleasant exploring these gullies. I find small washes where the water ran after the infrequent rains, some with wildflowers. The air is fresh and clear to breathe. The vegetation smells pleasant. It is wonderfully silent. I see occasional pieces of junk. All seem to be from the ruins of abandoned cars and trucks. Most rusted, but a few pieces that seem more recent. Fenders, a hood, a door, all with traces of faint orange paint. I go over a small hill to another gully. There is even a small stream still running here.

I notice some movement over in an area by the stream shaded by a large desert bush. There are several rabbits, a larger old whiskered fellow, surrounded by maybe a half dozen who are younger. I quietly turn away not to disturb, or upset them. A breeze that comes up sounds almost like a voice. It stops me. I think I hear ‘are you looking for your countryman?’ The sound is coming from the direction of the rabbits. No! Really! I look back at the rabbits and the old fellow seems to be talking to me. I move back a little closer and hear him again ‘are you looking for your countryman?’ I shake my head and say something like “oh no!” And quickly turn my head from one way to the other to see if there is anyone else, or anything that would see me talking to a rabbit.

‘That is part of his truck’ the old rabbit continues, pointing at another faded orange fender. ‘He did a lot of good here, taught us much, until he…,’ then the old rabbit starts chattering in his language with the younger rabbits. I think these must be his aids or counselors. One does several back flips. Two of the others look at each other, rolling their eyes in exasperation. The old rabbit then nods his head in understanding and continues ‘...until he flipped out.’ “Oh” I said. Some of the younger rabbits are looking at me to be sure I understand. A few smile to themselves shaking their heads.

These seem to be nice guys. ‘Over time’ the old rabbit continues ‘his his teachings became…’ He consults his counselors again for just the right word. More rolling of the eyes. One makes a sound then quickly covers his mouth. Another covers his ears. A third movers his hand back and forth under the bush. The old rabbit says ‘under, hear, noise? The counselors stop him when he repeats under,’ so he says ‘un….’ Then ‘un – hear?’ One of the younger slaps his forehead in frustration. ‘Oh unsound’ the old rabbit has the right word now ‘his teachings became unsound.’

Most counselors nod in satisfaction. “Is he dead then” I ask. ‘Oh no, very much alive I’m afraid’ the old rabbit continues. ‘He fell in with a gang of young radicals, incorrigibles. They have started attacking people again who stop. I don’t think they are operating in this area, but maybe you should get back to your travels before it gets dark.’

Well maybe all the counselors aren’t nice guys. I see there are more now. I notice one is looking at me with hostility. His coat seems to have been dyed red. And several more in red appear beside him. So I say a very polite goodbye and start with an increasing pace back towards the highway away from the distant mountains. The gullies seem steeper now. I climb up one and find another even steeper.

I don’t remember them just like this. I pretty much have to claw my way up the sandy slopes as I slide back down. All at once I am knocked down from one side. I see a rolling truck tire continue on past me slowed down by the impact. I look up and see the hostile red rabbit standing on the top of the ridge his arms folded in satisfaction.

All of a sudden just below me in the gully I see a group of screaming rabbits coming towards me. All are dyed red. In their midst is a crazed man with a shaved head and tattered rabbit suit. His face had red markings. He is holding a truck steering column with the steering wheel attached ready to swing it like a weapon. He is pointing at me screaming ‘the horror, the horror!’

I run as fast as I can up the gully. But I can’t get much movement or traction with my feet. I slip back on the sand. Soon the crazed man is on me forcing me down with steering column holding the wheel on my chest. Down below I can feel the crazed rabbits pulling at my feet. I can’t move my feet freely to kick at them, much less start back up the hill. I hold the steering wheel in the center trying to push it away from my chest. Now I hear a shrill sound that won’t stop. The wheel is banging my head. I can’t breathe.

I look around. It is dark. I can’t feel anything. I still hear the noise. I see a windshield just in front of me. They are going bury me under the truck windshield! I am still holding the steering wheel. I am not dead because I still hear the noise. But otherwise it is quiet. Nothing happens. Then things clear. The windshield is my car windshield. I am holding my steering wheel. I stop pushing and the horn stops blowing. I think a moment. It was all a dream! It was all a dream! My feet can’t move because they are wedged under my brake and clutch pedals. I have a bruise on my forehead and a bloody nose from banging my head on the steering wheel.

I scream to myself “It was just a dream!” I am breathing hard and open the door to get more air, then close the door quickly. I do not get out of the car before I pull away and continue on the highway. I make sure the doors are shut and locked. It is starting to get dark. After several more hours I finally make it to the junction at the East Highway. I made it through. I stop at a rest stop to clean up. I have sand in my shoes and dirt spots on my clothing. How did I get these?

Would you like to know where else I have been?  We will go back to the very start now.

[This is an excerpt from Willson's Journal by Thomas McDonald, available on Amazon.]