Her father warned her this would happen. Hair matted, clothing torn, she mustered her remaining strength to take in her surroundings.
It was a world of concrete. There was no dirt to be seen, only line after line of white markings. A thread of rigs parked in a row gave the impression of a metallic wall -- but was it keeping her in or the others out?
A breeze washed over her, causing a chill and reminding her that her skin was damp. Beyond the rigs, she could see a structure -- a rest stop?
As she struggled to her feet, she noticed a figure, close to the ground, running toward her.
Defeated, she sank back to her knees muttering to herself. "Well, I hope it likes ketchup".