Filmed with dogs

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Charlotte Dayton's beautifully sculptured face turned into a scowl as her car coughed again, sputtered, and died.

"Damn it!" She looked at the gas gauge for the tenth time. It registered the same three quarters of a tank. She pumped the pedal and turned the key in the ignition. The motor whined and refused to start.

"Balls," Charlotte muttered, giving up. She opened the door and climbed out of the car, glancing around. "Damn, why did I listen to George? Taking this stupid shortcut!" She talked to the wind as it tousled her thick red-hair.

Reaching inside the car for the latch, she unlocked the hood. She hauled the hood up with a grunt and peered inside.

She shook her head and straightened up. As she stood with hands on her hips, her eyes scanning the deserted area, she spotted a large house about a quarter of a mile down the road.

"Shit! It's the last time I listen to you, George," she said, annoyed, as if he were there. Her face grim with determination, she trudged down the road to the lone house. After a phone call, she would be on her way… again. In no time.

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