by Mark Tufo
A thought occurs and I search the terrain, concentrating ahead. Rather than the bug reaching a boundary or being called, what if it had halted because there's something more badass ahead? It’s not the cougar running past you that you should be concerned about, but rather what it is fleeing from in the first place—and why it's scared enough to run past another predator without giving a second look.
My initial worry is that the demon I’ve now fought twice has somehow materialized ahead. I’m not in any condition to be involved in yet another fight. Not that I’m ever in any condition to fight that fucker. I should really have kept my mouth closed at the cave, not that I’ve found in life that I have that kind of constraint. I tend to keep the little man in my head very busy and on constant alert.
There’s nothing I see ahead or even in the area. I’m approaching the scorching zone of heat that we passed through on the way in and the temperature is increasing, too hot even at night. Without observing any threat, I slow, but keep motoring down the road. We made it through the hot zone with the soldiers without our tires melting, but will that still be the case on the return trip?
As I travel onward, I ponder my next move. As far as I can figure, I have a year until I return. That’s assuming I don’t get pulled into another dimension and unable to make it back. That pretty much means I’ll have to avoid being in the vicinity of Valhalla. I had originally thought to make my way back to the town and hang out, but that idea is scrapped for two major reasons. One, I would again draw night runners to the town, and the second, I’ve encountered a majority of the dimension jumps around that area. Plus, I have no idea which town I’d arrive at. When I left, it had been reconstructed without any citizens. So, that plan is a no-go from the beginning.
That leaves the question, where am I going? Wherever it is, it will have to have available supplies; that means either going it alone in the wilderness where there’s prey and water or heading towards some form of civilization. In the back of my mind is still the need of a helicopter. Trip had said that we’d need one. I’ve managed to get two so far, but I have the feeling its true purpose hasn’t arrived yet. So, that means yet another trip to some military base, as that’s the only place I’ve seen them.
With a year to go, I can’t very well find one immediately and steal it now. That’s a long time to stay hidden with something as large as that. I’m sure the owners won’t take kindly to it going missing and will search tenaciously for it. Especially if it’s a military one. They tend not to give up easily. Maybe the whisper meant a year in my world as a reference…maybe time is different in this hell hole. That’s something else I’ll have to figure out. For now, I need to make it through the hot area without losing my ride in the process. The best bet for accomplishing that is to drive through the night.
Adrenaline fading, I’m tired beyond belief. A demonic battle, a day in this heat, killer bees (literally), and the stress of escaping have knocked me out. Add to that and the fact that I can’t remember the last time I slept. At some point, my reserves will empty and I’ll be forced to rest. I’d like to be near the cold zone by the time I pass out. I seriously doubt this truck has an AC system. I mean, what military vehicle has one—other that those required for computer cooling purposes. But I do have heat, so I’ll be able to better survive the cold, if I reach it.
As I drive through the night, my mind drifts. I wonder if the events that occurred in my world aren’t associated in some way with these fading worlds. Was my world on the edge of chaos and whistlers about to descend on it? Was that happening right now? Will my world be spun off into nothingness? Those thoughts are terrifying and make me want to be there right now. If Mike and I were indeed placed here to save the worlds on the verge of vanishing, will we eventually return to our homeworlds to face a crisis there?
The darker it gets, the more I begin to question my own existence. Was I already there to do that very thing when I was snagged away and placed in Atlantis? If I had remained there, would I have eventually come across Mike and BT? And, seeing there are doppelgängers of ourselves in at least two other worlds so far, where was Mike in my world? Speaking of, where the hell is the Mike of this world? Does Trip have doppelgängers in any of the worlds? I haven’t come across any sign of his twin in either of the places. Perhaps he’s an original. My mind spins with the possibilities.
The adrenaline has completely subsided, leaving me drowsy to the point where my eyes are starting to close on their own. I don’t see any sign of the cold zone ahead. It’s also heated up to where sweat is again pouring down my face and adding to my sleepiness. The air coming from the open window is dry and hot, but the movement still cools the cab somewhat. I reckon it’s over a hundred degrees, and by over, I mean by a substantial margin.
I don’t know how much longer I can remain awake, but, I can’t afford to pull over and rest. If I do, then I won’t wake until the sun has risen and then have to deal with even greater temperatures. The truck is my best hope for remaining alive and I can’t force it into a situation where it becomes inoperable. I can’t imagine having to walk the distances we flew to get to the building, especially through the freakish weather patterns.
The fuel gauge reads just over half, so that means I should have around 150 miles available before I have to find either a source of fuel or another ride. I should be grateful; 150 miles is 150 miles I won’t have to walk.
I slow to a stop. I’m hesitant, as it’s still night and there could be runners around as well as a host of other creatures, but I have to stretch my legs. I have to do something in order to remain awake. The truck stops with a hiss of brakes. Leaving it idling, I step out into the heat. I choose to keep the vehicle running, afraid that if I shut it off, it might not start again. It’s not that it’s running rough, but I just don’t want to chance it.
Hitting the road, I stretch my back and walk to the other side. The night is clear with no moon of any kind. Stars twinkle overhead, crisp like can only be seen in the desert. Staring upward, it seems as if I could reach out and touch them. I try to identify constellations, but nothing looks even vaguely familiar. Alien world, alien sky.
All around is darkness; the heavens above seem more alive than the land. Other than the head and taillights of the truck, there isn’t a light to be seen in any direction. I’m completely alone in this foreign world and I shiver, despite the heat. I stare at the heavens, wondering if any of those pinpricks of light are close to my world, close to the kids and Lynn. Are they out there somewhere? Or am I alone in an entirely different universe?
I fiercely miss the kids and her. I’m really trying not to think about them much, as it only brings heartache, and I’m already depressed enough. However, in moments like this, quiet, dark—when I have time to think—they filter in. As much as I’d like to be with them now, I’m truly glad they aren’t here. These worlds are a mess, worse even than my own.
I force myself from those thoughts and look down the road to both sides. There really doesn’t seem to be any destination along this road at all. It stretches away straight as an arrow with the only feature being that Taj Mahal-looking structure I fled from. There doesn’t appear to be any towns, yet it had to have been built by someone. Unless this entire place is a simulation of some kind and it was placed here for the entire purpose of leading to the building. But I imagine it has to have a starting place…unless it’s some kind of giant loop. It wouldn’t be the first time I found myself arriving back where I started. I guess I’ll see, as my plan is to travel its length as long as I’m able. At least it gives me a way to reach the building next year, as there aren’t any other landmarks to guide me…providing some reset doesn’t take place.
The heat is stifling, but I now feel more awake and clear-headed. The idling vehicle behind is a reminder that I should be moving on. Plus, the enveloping heat makes me want to reach colder environs as soon as possible. Preferably before night ends.
Before heading back into the cab, I’m curious as to what the d
rums in the bed hold. My hope is fuel, but I’m not hedging any bets on that end. Luck hasn’t really been with me in this world. Although, I’m still alive, so perhaps it has.
Walking to the rear, something in the wheels catches my attention. I look closer and kind of wish I hadn’t. Wedged between the dual wheels of both axles are crushed and ravaged bodies of night runners. At least, that’s what it looks like. The mass of torn flesh and broken bones isn’t really recognizable. It’s just a jumble of meat and bones and the miles on the road hasn’t done it any favors. Each set of dual wheels is the same.
The mess will have to be taken care of, otherwise there is the possibility that it could damage the vehicle. Searching the truck, I come across a box mounted to the frame. Within are variety of tools and I take out a large tire iron. Returning to the rear wheels, I plunge the hooked end of the device into the clog of flesh and bones. It’s tough, as the remains are wedged in tight, but I eventually manage to pry some loose. Chunks fall to the ground, some with wet plops. Larger pieces finally loosen with juicy squelches, falling on top of the chunks I’ve already removed. It’s absolutely disgusting, and I’m barely able to hold back blowing some of my own chunks onto the pile.
I’m not sure which is worse, the long ropes of intestines or the other internal organs as they slide to the surface of the road. The bottom of the truck bed, above the wheels, is sprayed with all matter of gore stuck to the undercarriage. I work from one set of wheels to the other, dislodging the repulsive mess. Finally finished, I wipe the tire iron off in the sand and stow it.
I hop into the bed of the truck. I try to move the barrels, but find they’re way too heavy. On top is a small opening onto which a cap is screwed. That turns easily, and I smell fuel inside; it's like French perfume to me. I guess luck is with me after all. There hadn’t been many vehicles that were still viable, but I’m sure glad I chose this one. Replacing the cap, I hop down and double check that the fuel in the truck’s tanks smells the same as what’s in the drums. A further search and I find a hand-operated fuel pump that fits on top of the barrels with a long tube attached. I’m no longer restricted to the mileage of current fuel level.
With a little surge of energy, I give the rear wheels a wide berth and hop back into the cab. Grinding into first gear, I start off down the road again with the clear stars sparkling overhead.
I have to stop every hour in order to stretch, an attempt to stay awake, if not alert. During one of the stops, I fill the truck’s tanks from one of the barrels. In the heat, I barely have the necessary energy and finish on the verge of collapse. I would take some of my stay awake pills, providing they’re still in my pack, but at this point, I crossed over the danger zone for their use some time ago. If I don’t come across one of the cold zones soon, I’ll just have to take my chances resting in the heat.
There’s only the hum of the wheels on the road, which is covered in places with drifting sand, and the headlights stabbing into the night. I don’t really need the lights as I can already see in the dark, so, in order to draw less attention, I contemplate turning them off, but the line between thought and action is now a wide gulf. It’s all I can do to keep the big vehicle on the two-laned highway.
I’m driving at a moderate speed in order to minimize wear by reducing the friction of the tires. In this heat, they’ll wear quickly and the tread could separate. The constant drone of tires and the endless stretch of road is making me zone out. The events of the time here in this world are a blur inside my head; the alien creatures now seem like figments of my imagination. There is one still conscious part still alive: I feel bad for abandoning Mike, and every mile I put between myself and the building makes me feel worse. I know that there wasn’t really much I could have done to help, as I couldn’t have remained in the area for much longer. Perhaps I should have gone through the door. If it was misery incarnate, then at least we could share that together.
BT? Well, I feel for the guy…I truly do. But I don’t know him. He’s just some guy that Mike brought to the party. The good thing about this whole mess, and maybe it’s not really good, is that I know there is a location that may or may not lead me out of here. I thought maybe the cave where I met the demon would have led somewhere, but that didn’t turn out so well. If that Taj Mahal structure isn’t the endpoint, then maybe there are clues ahead as to where one might be. The bottom line, I guess, is that I have something tangible to focus on, something to plan around.
The sky behind me begins to lighten with the approach of a new day. I feel like a lump of clay with my limbs held on by stretched rubber bands. The breaking dawn reveals something ahead, but in my foggy state of mind, it takes me a few moments to realize what I’m looking at.
There’s a line of gray that stretches to the left and right for as far as I can see. Above this leaden barrier, billowing clouds rise high with pale yellow highlighting their tops in the growing sunlight. The yellow changes to white, and the landscape grows brighter as the first rays of the sun make their presence known. I’ve nearly arrived at the cold front and not a moment too soon.
Even though it’s still hot and I went through most of my water during the night, I feel some of my lethargy diminish. I know that the extremes waiting for me under the storm clouds won’t be any easier than the heat has been, but it’s a change that I’m looking forward to. I’m certainly not clothed for such a cold environment, but I’ll finally be able to get some rest.
Tracing the line of the gray wall with my eyes, I see that the distant terrain has changed in the night. To both sides, tall ridgelines rise above the desert. I recall a different landscape when we were in the helicopter heading toward the building. Where are the trees we crashed through? Either I missed a turn somewhere in the night, or there’s been a drastic change in the countryside.
The ridges are angled to my line of travel, so the nearer I get to the cold front, the larger they are. It seems like the vast basin of the desert might be coming to an end. Now, what that means is anyone’s guess. With stormfront clouds ahead, I’m not able to determine whether the mountains join up or if the desert becomes a wide valley and continues on.
The sun breaks over the horizon, instantly filling the sand plain with sparkling glare. Just as darkness comes quickly in the desert, so does the light. The gray barrier in front is a wall of fog; the towering storm clouds are edged in white from the light. The interior is a mass of roiling, darker grays.
I slow, as I can’t see much past the divider, which runs in a razor straight line separating desert from storm. The last thing I want is to crash headlong into something just beyond. I nose into the wall and hear a loud, continuous hissing. It’s a thin veil of steam created by the vast temperature differentials.
Large rain drops plop on the windshield while the back end of the truck is still in the scorching heat. The steam barrier is only a couple of feet thick. All hope of finding a temperate zone in which to rest is lost as I am immediately immersed in the cold zone. If I stop here, in the buffer, where I might find some relief, then the back end of the truck will still be in the extreme heat. That will mean the wheels might melt, not to mention the fact that there are barrels of fuel in the back. With the searing heat of the day, there exists the real possibility of the petrol drums erupting from overpressure and exploding. The ignition of a thousand gallons just a few feet away is not ideal.
The cold quickly cools the truck and the rain drops begin freezing on the windshield. For a brief moment, I feel the relief from the heat, but that is short-lived as the extreme cold sets in, covering me like a blanket of ice. I crank the heater, the blast of warm air melting the frozen water forming on the windows.
With the downpour, visibility is limited. I’m rather surprised that there isn’t area flooding or a rush of water nearby. Of course, with the cold and the raindrops freezing, there isn’t really a chance of flash flooding. But oddly, there also isn’t a deep layer of ice, which I would expect from the continuous freezing rain.
I st
op the vehicle but leave it running. For one, I need the heater, but also, the battery might rapidly drain should I cut off the electrical flow. Plus, the coolant might freeze. Mike and I were able to make it in the open before, but this front seems colder than the one we encountered.
The heater wins out over the cold, providing a nice sanctuary against the frigid temperatures. Although I hate to sleep without some early warning system, I don’t have much of a choice. I’m about to go into shutdown mode.
With the heavy patter of rain hitting the truck, I lie down across the bench seat. Staring at the ceiling and rain-streaked windshield, I ponder my options for the long-term. There are three things that must be the cornerstones of any plan I come up with. One, I must be near a supply of food and water. Two, I have to return to the building in one year. Three, I must return with a helicopter.
I think about how to bring all of those elements together, discarding one idea after another. The sticking point lies with obtaining the helicopter. At some point, I’ll have to locate a military base, so that has to be included in any plan. Now, if I’m able to find one, it will have to be located near a town or wilderness area capable of sustaining life or I won’t last very long. If it is near a town, I’ll have to become a part of it without drawing attention. That means I can’t just stroll in wearing what I have. That’s also assuming that this part of the world doesn’t go through a reset. Considering what I’ve witnessed so far, the odds of that happening in a one-year span is low.
As I know the sun has just risen, I glance at my watch. I need to figure out how long the days are in this dimension of reality. If they’re twenty-four hours, then I can use my timepiece to determine when a year has passed. That would make things a bit easier. If that’s the case, I will just have to assume that a year is 365 days, as seasons just aren’t a thing here. I quiet my mind, try to rest. One thing at a time.