The Graveyard - part I

This is based on:
http://www.placehacking.co.uk/2011/12/15/military-infiltration-boneyard/

It’s hard to say when this all started, but I can tell you this – drugs were involved. We were near Victorville, which is near Barstow, which is where Hunter S. Thompson was when he first saw the bats in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, the opening scene of the book. The bats were not real in the sense that there were not huge creatures swooping down on Thompson’s car as he drove to Las Vegas, but rather a drug induced illusion brought about by a mixture of illegal hallucinogenic and other mind/body altering remedies (remedies - would that be the right word?).
In celebration of the fact that we were close by, maybe within 500 miles, Hank thought it a swell idea to ingest “a little something” as he called it. I was not keen on the idea. We had been driving non-stop for fourteen or sixteen hours all in a frantic rush to “get there.” I had failed to ascertain exactly where “there” was or why we had to hurry to arrive. I was however content to drive, switching on and off with Hank, the difference in our driving styles is the difference between a long slow rolling blues tune and a jack hammered heavy metal screech band anthem of mayhem. I liked to settle in to a rhythm, set the cruise control and move a few miles an hour over the speed limit through the passing countryside. Hank on the other hand felt it imperative to reach the horizon at light speed. I was sure he was going to grab the sun visor and rip it off its stanchion as he “used the force” to make the jump to hyper-space.
Hank had reached in his pocket and pulled out a small metal canister. The kind you might keep breath mints in. It was round and crimped around the edges. When he depressed the domed top in the middle the thing clicked and sprang open. There were several round blue pellet shaped pills in it. He took one out rolled it between his thumb and forefinger and popped it in his mouth.
“Ah,” was all he said.
Moments later he was beside me on the bench seat of the boat of a junker car we had purchased in Indiana when his truck had run into a "problem," as he put it. I’d call it a phone pole, which allegedly happened to dodge a squirrel the size of a Mac truck. I had somehow failed to see this animal even though I was sitting in the passenger seat and watching the road the whole time.
Riding shotgun with Hank can be a bit chaotic at times.

I had hoped to get a little shuteye before it was my turn to take over, but when Hank is running on adrenaline, which is most of the time, life takes on a series of jarring movements interspersed with staccato comments.
“Son of … Did you see that? What’s wrong with people? … Look at that idiot…”
With each comment came a cutting of the wheel to one side or the other, possibly with a jamming on of the brakes or a quick violent punch on the accelerator. The affect was to keep my head and body in a constant state of externally induced spastic motions, which when you are trying to sleep, is not the most helpful thing. When I could take no more I'd yell at Hank. “My turn.”
To which he’d reply, “What? I just got started.”
“Yeah, I know. But I can’t take it. At least not now.”
He’d promise to be good so I could rest. This would last for 15 or 20 minutes then the vehicle would jerk to one side or the other – either I’d hit my head against the side brace of the car or I’d find my body plummeting toward the gap between us. Needless to say, whatever near state of sleep my body had been in, it was no longer. After that happens enough times your body is in a wary state and fails to trust that you are going to go to sleep. Once we were in the high country and the road straightened out the jarring lurches came less frequently and I had actually been able to get some rest.
I was halfway through my shift as driver when Hank swallowed that blue pill. The next thing I knew he had slid across the bench seat and was close enough to me to be my date in a remake of an old hot rod movie. He pinched my nose shut and said, “Here, take this.”
I opened my mouth and to say, “No.”
But he popped the little pill in my mouth and then, taking his hand off my nose, which was a good thing; besides not being able to breathe I could only see the road’s center stripe through my left eye, the rest of my view being blocked by Hank’s arm. He held my jaw shut by squeezing down on the top of my head and pushing up from the bottom of my jaw.
“Let it dissolve in your mouth Bryce-baby.”
Hum humming batard I tried to say, "You fucking bastard," but with your mouth clamped shut things don’t go as planned. I relaxed into it What could go wrong?
We had been riding beside a chain link fence for miles. Every so often there was a U.S. Government shield on it with a warning about trespassing.
“Here, pull over,” Hank said releasing my head.
“What?”
“Pull over. This is a good spot.”
I was feeling a little light headed from whatever he had given me, not to mention tired. It seemed like a swell idea to pull over and rest.
There was a slight dip in the road. A gulley ran out from the fence and under the road.
“This is perfect,” said Hank.
I had switched off the car and closed my eyes, “Yeah, perfect. Good night.”
“Not yet cowboy, there's something I want to show you. Come on.”
He had gotten out of the car was looking at the bottom of the fence near the gulley. I had a bad feeling about this.