Cowboy from the Future Read Online Free PDF

Glamping Tours the worst TripAdvisor
review in the history of the internet.  Just as soon as she got home.
    And
she was going to get home.  Surely, they’d noticed she was missing by
now.  Her coworkers would alert Becky-the-glamping-ranger, who was leading the
group.  Becky would call the police or the FBI or the fucking Mounties or
whoever was in charge of saving nice girls from wherever-the-hell Addy was
stranded.  Brave men in uniform would burst through the door, arrest all those
people downstairs who were mean to her, and she’d give a heartfelt interview to Dateline about her ordeal.  It was just a matter of time before all of
this was a bad memory.  Very, very soon, someone would show up to rescue
her.
    Only
no one showed up to rescue her.
    On
day three, Addy was worried.  What the hell was going on?  One minute she’d
been trudging through Yellowstone, looking at Strickland Geyser, and thinking
it looked an awful lot like a certain part of the male anatomy.  The
next, it was erupting with a huge quake, knocking Addy off her feet.  She hit
the ground, slamming her skull on a rock.  When she opened her eyes, she was in
goddamn Tombstone .  Minus a very hot Val Kilmer.
    Clearly,
hitting her head had caused this.  Clearly, she’d suffered some kind of brain
damage and this was all a coma-induced dream.  Clearly, she would wake up very,
very soon, and forget she’d ever hallucinated such a nightmarish place.
    Only
she didn’t wake up.
    On
day four, she was desperate.  Addy spent the whole afternoon crying, praying, and
staring at her iPhone, willing more bars to appear.  Her battery was dying and
she hadn’t had a signal since she fell.  Maybe even before that.  National Parks
didn’t get great reception, so the phone had been going in and out the whole
trip.  Why didn’t she pay for one of those plans that promised reception everywhere? 
Wasn’t it worth fifty extra bucks a month to get reception everywhere?  Maybe
then she wouldn’t be trapped in some icky, dirty, future place.
    Not
that this was the future.
    No
way.  There was a very logical reason for the people downstairs being dressed
like space cowboys.  And for their bizarre language.  And for the lack of
modern conveniences.  And for why no one had heard of even the most basic
technology.  There was a simple explanation for all of it and she was
going to think of one very, very soon.
    Only
she couldn’t think of one.
    By
day five, Addy was resigned.  She huddled under a threadbare quilt and
listlessly watched Mount Rushmore out the window.  She was possibly in a state
of shock, because every drop of her concentration was now centered on
cataloging the damage to the presidents.  The National Park Service would not
happy.
    Washington’s
nose was gone.  Very Sphinx-like, but not an appropriate look for the Father of
the Country.  Part of Jefferson’s cheek had fallen away, providing a rooting
spot for odd red vines.  They obscured most of his features, adding a shocking
splash of color to the white granite.  Lincoln was buried in dirt and snow up
to his beard.  It seemed like the angle of his face was acting like a natural
funnel for debris and it piled up beneath him.  Only Roosevelt was unchanged. 
Good for you, Teddy.  Tucked back farther than the other three presidents, his
toothy grin would probably last for another countless millennia.
    Because
centuries had already passed since those stoic faces were carved.
    In
her heart, Addy had to admit what she’d suspected from the beginning.  This was
actually happening.  It was actually happening .  It wasn’t some
elaborate joke.  No one was coming to rescue her.  She wasn’t going to wake
up.  She wouldn’t think of another explanation.
    She
was stuck in the future.
    Like
really, really far in the future.  Where things had gone to hell and no
one knew what a credit card was.  She was marooned in this crappy, dreary, dystopian
nightmare, wearing her