4:47 p.m.Hallstrom is just finishing up his detail shots as Platt and Chen eye each other warily, brushing themselves off and nursing their wounds. Missy sips water and demurely admires the SL65 key fob she found lying at the pavement's edge.
"Where the hell are those guys?" Hallstrom wonders aloud. "The sun's going to be down in half an hour."
5:01 p.m.The G-Wagen is still stuck. "It's OK, we're OK," Bidrawn growls as he throws the tranny back into drive and guns the accelerator. The G55 has ceased to move either forward or backward, but now pirouettes counter-clockwise in agonized mute slowness. There's mud all over it, fist-sized wads of the stuff plastered to the roof as though they fell from the sky. And at this point I think we're pretty much screwed.
"Nah, we're OK," Bidrawn insists.
5:13 p.m.One half mile away we can see Hallstrom and the rest of the crew arranging cars in the waning sunlight. It looks beautiful, even from our vantage point, the immediate surroundings of which look more and more like the swamps of Tolkien's Mordor. I have to pee. We throw the mats on the ground as a makeshift walkway across the muck. Bidrawn loses his boot on the first step, curses, and starts digging for it. I contribute a few inches to the water level and feel much better.
5:42 p.m.Hallstrom is nearly finished shooting by the time get there. It feels like we've been walking for days and Bidrawn is especially cranky because he never found his boot. He sits down, picking bits of broken glass out of his foot with a Leatherman tool, and sets about fashioning a shoe out of an old milk carton.
7:58 p.m.We finally get the G-Wagen winched to dry land. We ended up less than two yards from solid ground, but the tow guy insists it's going to be tricky. In six minutes the G55 is back on hardpack and the driver wants $280 cash. Bidrawn waddles over, hands him a fistful of money and disappears into the night. We can hear screaming in the distance. It's either him or a Chupacabra. We'd probably be safer with the latter.