It was a calm summer day in Rye, Colorado. The little mountain town was quiet and alive all at once. Birds sang and deer grazed in the open pasture. A few houses merely existed at the end of long dirt roads.
Traffic was sparse on the winding highway passing Main street. The few town folk out would wave at one another in passing. It was always 20 degrees cooler than in town, so Rye made for a relaxing getaway.
A white Jeep blaring music that was more bass than music, barged in on the seemingly permanent serenity of the mountains. The Jeep sped down the highway passing locals driving at their leisure, its windows vibrating with the loud music. Oncoming cars waved, but the driver of the Jeep didn’t reciprocate. A clear sign he wasn’t from around here.
The Jeep sped up to the turn onto
