The Sands of Borrowed Time

by Jeffry Winters

  Keep him in front. He can’t do anything from there, Daniele thought. He heard the bike behind accelerate; it’s engine crackling into overdrive. He could see it move up his right-hand side in the side mirror, the barrelled gun moving across, aiming at the SUV. The biker in front slowed, his head looking back towards him as he tried to move down his left-hand side, the rider’s denim jacket flapping in the wind. Daniele hit the brakes hard, the antilock system juddering in response. The motorbike to the right whizzed past ahead, his shot way off the mark. Both motorcycles were now in front of him. Daniele stopped the SUV as quick as he could. The bikers slowed and turned. Daniele hit the accelerator hard again; the SUV surged forward. He could see both riders hurtling towards him, a crossbow and gun now aimed right at him. The arrow left the bow silently as if in slow motion. He could see it flying towards him; he swerved, but it still hit the windscreen to his right, shattering the screen, embedding itself in the passenger seat. It was about three feet long. He heard a shot, a thunderous explosion as the bullet left its barrel straight into the front light, its glass spraying up his side of the car. He grabbed the arrow with his left hand, its metal hot from the Sun. At first, it didn’t budge. He mustered up all his strength, the steering wheel now free from both hands, yanking it out from the chair, and in one swift movement threw it out the window at the rider that came down his right side. It was a perfect hit in the face, both rider and bike somersaulting through the air, both eventually rolling across the ground before coming to a sorry stop. The other biker that came down the left side turned, stopped, and looked down at his fellow rider. Daniele sped on, glancing at the scene in his rear view mirror until it got lost in the shimmering heat, a mirage reflecting nothing but the road. Daniele’s heart was racing. He could hear the blood thumping through his head, the sweat running down his forehead feeling warm. His mouth was parched dry. He drove the SUV off the road and across into the desert plains, the vehicle thumping across its dry cracks, Daniele bouncing in the seat until he could see the road in his mirrors no more. He drove in a daze until it was dark, not knowing where he was and stopped. He sat there in the dark silence, listening to his heavy breathing, feeling the sweat run down his head and torso. The air was cold and still, his sweat was starting to chill him. He stepped out of the SUV and onto the desert floor, finding a dead tree trunk to sit on. He looked, surveying the damage to the SUV. It had survived, the damage being superficial, mostly broken glass. The windows and front lights took most of the hits. He needed some weapons, he thought, if he was to stay alive. He bedded down for the night in the back seats of the SUV, sleeping uneasily, wondering where to go next, if there was anywhere to go.

  Westward Bound

  The day had been uncomfortably hot. Parched dirt had billowed all around her for most of the afternoon, winding through the air in gusty torrents. The prairie had been barely visible through the turbulent haze of the golden storm as she walked westwards along the road.

  Again, nothing new to see today, 14-year-old Skylar wrote in her diary, the pen slipping through her sweaty fingers. I am still walking west towards the coast, across this barren and desolate wasteland. The dry, dusty storms are getting stronger by the day. It is clear that there is nothing and no-one for miles around. I haven’t seen a soul for months now. God bless everyone.

  Skylar put the diary down by her side and took a deep sigh. She had lit a fire to bunk down next to for the night. Her straight, uncut hair wavered in the breeze as she sat watching the flames grow stronger, its raven strands glistening from sweat that stuck to her unwashed face. Her emerald-green eyes reflected the fire as it crackled gently before her in the cold night air. Skylar was one-year-old when the star exploded, shaking the Earth as its deadly rays scorched the atmosphere. Orphaned at a young age by bandits who had raided her parent’s home, murdering them, she fled and had been wandering alone ever since. Fending for herself against nature and man, a spirit of independence bred from fear. As she stared into the fire, hot and cold shivers alternated through her body as she felt the heat from the fire on her face and the freezing night air on her back. She hoped she wasn’t getting sick. The wind had calmed in the absence of the baking Sun, and the sky was now clear. She looked up at a moonless sky, its profound darkness making the colourful ring around the twinkling, dead star even more potent and beautiful.

  A strange glowing eye; a red pupil with a rainbow iris watching over me in the sky, she thought.

  She opened up a can of fruit and hungrily guzzled down the whole tin, the fruit and syrup still warm from the heat of the day. She could smell the sweat on her skin and feel it running down the side of her body, triggering cold shivers. She stared into the flames, their hypnotic dance making her sleepy until she finally drifted off to sleep.

  The next day Skylar continued her trek westwards, her bag heavy on her shoulder. Her skirt flapped in the rising breeze as the Sun breached the horizon, sending its penetrating rays into the soil and onto Skylar’s back. It felt pleasant after the cold night, but she knew it would become unbearable within a few hours as the heat intensified, her legs becoming exposed, which were already sore and grazed from the warm blowing soil. She had been travelling for weeks, replenishing supplies from abandoned homes and shops, whatever she could get and able to carry, living off tinned food and bottled water, several years past their sell by date, suggesting that the homes and shops had been abandoned for some time. She knew it was risky to eat food in such a state, but there was no other choice. There were many risks. Every day was a gamble, the dice of fate being thrown at every degree of the Sun’s daily journey across the sky. The night was not much better; cold, but the friendship of the fire helped you through. Water was scarce. Skylar mused that she could not remember the last time she had washed. Hygiene was becoming an additional risk, not to mention unbearably uncomfortable. Ahead she could see a bridge coming into view. The centre portion had fallen to the ground below, leaving its twisted, skeletal cables protruding into the air. As she approached, she felt nervous and exposed; anybody could be hiding down and around the bridge, she thought. Eventually, she got there, her senses primed for the slightest stimuli and walked cautiously onto the bridge. The road was cracked and uneven, leaning towards one side, leaving in her a peculiar, queasy feeling as she walked across it. She got to the broken edge, holding onto a twisted cable, trying to contain her dizziness and looked down into the dry, cracked riverbed below that weaved its way down towards the coast in the distance. There were a few cars that had fallen with the centre of the bridge. Their windows had shattered in the plunge and their metal shells deformed from the impact as the bridge had hit the riverbed below, breaking into several parts. The door of one was open, the dehydrated wrinkled remains of the driver hanging halfway out, his bony head protruding through its taut and yellow skin where birds had attempted to pick off the dead flesh, the darkened skull’s, eyeless sockets staring upwards. She felt little emotion; she had seen so many deads as she called them, of all ages. The deads, she had observed, would mummify quickly in the dry heat of the day, their faces looking strange without any life in them. She looked ahead, across the broken span. There was a city with a coast behind it, just barely visible through the gusts of blowing dust. She would have to walk back and climb down the river bank to get across towards the city. As she turned, the Sun blinded her eyes. She instinctively held up her hand to her forehead to shield them. There were bound to be bandits lurking there deep in the city, she thought. Best be careful. She had initially decided to climb a flanking hill so that she could get a good look at the city’s streets. She had binoculars with her, which had been a great help on her journey to check things out from a distance. She had found them in an abandoned camera shop many months previously and had considered carefully whether to take them with her or not. They were quite heavy and also took up precious space that could be used for food or water. She had wanted many times to dump them when the going got tough; when she felt weary. But her faith in them had grown, they
had been a valuable asset many times, and again they would pay off she thought. She scrambled down the embankment with a sense of excitement within. She had walked for many weeks without much change, and now a large city lay in front of her; a chance for many opportunities. She told herself to remain careful, though. Other people could not be trusted. She walked past the broken segment of the bridge and up the embankment on the other side, leaving the dead and departed behind without a prayer, their hopes terminated long ago. The Sun was now on her back as she climbed the embankment, her legs already tired from the long walk earlier in the day. The soil was so warm she could feel it through her shoes. The dust smelt dead. The journey to the top took almost an hour; her mouth becoming parched, and her bones beginning to ache. Her clothes were soaked through with sweat, clinging to her body and leaving her legs sore as they rubbed against her skin as she neared the summit. She sat on a rock, her throat hurting as she breathed in the dry, dusty air. She coughed a little as she took out a bottle of water from her bag, her arms shaking with fatigue. The first gulp felt good, releasing the feeling of dryness. She looked down towards the city. The enormity of it seemed daunting. She had been raised briefly on a farm next to a small town, what was called a village perhaps. There was a grocery store and several houses; that was all she could remember about it. The city, lying before her in comparison was incredible. The windows of the tall buildings sparkled in the Sun. Many were broken, but the structures themselves stood proudly, mostly unscathed. She took another gulp of water, careful not to drink too much. There were probably more supplies in the city, but it's quality, and whether it was safe to get some was still questionable, so she had to remain level headed, just in case. She looked at her legs, burnt from the Sun and wet with sweat. Little river-lets had formed down her thighs, washing away the dust, forming light, sweaty lines down her flesh, ending in tiny beads of grime. She reached into her bag and took out the binoculars. They felt heavy in her weak hands. As she peered through, she focussed the lenses on the city ahead. The buildings on closer inspection looked more damaged than she had initially thought. Most windows were broken, and some of the frames had been blown inwards. The roads were littered with cars; all still, like time had frozen. She could not see any activity or signs of people. The blast she thought had been substantial. It looked like no one stood a chance. Skylar recalled her dad talking about the supernova. How the blast came without warning, an event that had changed everything in an instant. He described how an enormous shockwave hit the upper atmosphere, reverberating down and across the heavens, flattening everything at first, but becoming less effective as it weakened, travelling around the globe like a wave of tiring death. The Earth rung like a bell, strange sounds echoing through the atmosphere for months afterwards, many saying they were the trumpets signifying the end of days. Gamma rays produced colourful light shows in the night sky that can still be seen, often to this day. The epicentre was Northern Europe, where destruction was thought to have been total. Australia and the West Coast of America faired a little better, the Pacific and Poles mostly unscathed initially, a shame as the most populated areas were hit the worst. And that is where she had travelled to, the West Coast. Daytime temperatures had risen considerably over the ensuing several years while night-time temperatures had plummeted. Many believed the Earth had tilted on its axis, along with the moon. However, it was a pretty safe bet that the thin ozone layer of the Earth had been destroyed in the blast. The daytime Sun scorched, and many people succumbed to skin cancers and cataracts within a few years afterwards. She further surveyed the city, looking up and down its grid-like streets. She felt a lump in her throat. She thought she caught a glimpse of something moving in the corner of the binocular field as she moved the field of vision across the city. She moved back towards where she thought she saw it. There was nothing. Then she tried to follow the line of sight to where she thought it was moving to. Again, nothing. She continued to search. The streets were deserted, like on a sleepy Sunday morning. She put the binoculars back in her bag, exhausted from looking. She ate some tinned fruit and corned beef, washed down with half a mouthful of water. She would have to go to the city tomorrow, she thought, as she was desperate for more supplies.

  The Sun was beginning to set behind the city, falling beyond the water in a magnificent blaze of red, leaving a gentle, orange glow behind it. The wind quickly died down as the air cooled. She would need to light a fire soon, so collected some dead wood. She sheltered amongst some rocks further down the other side of the embankment, out of sight of the city. It was like a small cave overlooking the opposite valley. She had not seen anybody today, but it was best to be on the safe side, the flames and smoke could attract unwarranted attention. As the fire flared up, the heat felt good on her skin as she felt her muscles ache with every heartbeat. She lay down on the rocks and stared out of the cave towards the supernova rising in the East. A dangerous beauty is rising in the sky, she contemplated, its first strike devastating and now it's continuous emission of gamma rays into the Earth was like rubbing salt into our wounds. It's scintillating ring of colours, like a circular rainbow, looked harmless hanging in the night sky. You could forgive it for its beauty as its red eye winked back at you. The smell of the burning branches was a welcome change to the stench of the dry, stirring dust of the day. Many believed that since the supernova, people experienced deeper and more intense sleep. They thought the cosmic rays penetrated deep into the brain, affecting the mind and its thoughts. Skylar didn’t believe it, but she did dream at least once a night, she thought. She closed her eyes and could see and feel the dancing flames through her eyelids. The calming effect made her fall asleep quickly, her breathing deepening.

  She could feel the cool water all around her, swirling in hues of orange and red. She swam effortlessly through its swirling currents, not knowing where she was going, her blurry vision sharpening. She felt she needed to rise to the surface to breathe, but quickly understood it was not necessary; she could breathe anyway. Everything was effortless as she swum, the hues of colour dissipating until the water was crystal clear, illuminated by a star above like the Sun perhaps, but in a dark sky, unlike the night, it's warmth comforting. There was a faint roar behind her. She tried to turn, but everything went dark.

  She awoke as her head slumped forward. As she sleepily raised her head, she could see that the fire had reduced to tinder that blazed and hissed when a breeze entered the cave. The supernova was high above the entrance, its radiance shining downwards in a cool green glow.

  She shook her head to throw off the last remnants of sleep. There was a dull roaring sound in the distance, vaguely perceptible at first, but soon it was unmistakeable. She could hear motorbikes and imagined the long plumes of dust that they must be leaving behind across the prairies. Then there were the echoes of men shouting and arguing. Skylar felt worried. She needed to know more, for peace of mind. She got up, her stiff knees reluctant to cooperate and walked nervously out of the haven of the cave and towards the exposed summit of the hill. Her sweaty clothes felt uncomfortably cold in the freezing night air. She slowly looked over the crest of the hill, her body shivering uncontrollably from cold and nervousness. She could see the beams of motorbike headlights streaming through the darkness of the night. There were three males and one female. As they neared the edge of the bridge, they stopped, switched off the engines, and dismounted. They stood near the broken edge, in front of the headlights, peering down, and each lit a cigarette, passing a lighter amongst them. There was chatter, the context of which was inaudible. The bikers all had long hair and wore thick leather jackets. They had no helmets. All were unkempt; their long hair matted in places, the girl’s long ponytail had become unknotted towards its end, leaving the flailing ends wavering in the breeze. Skylar glanced towards the city. It was quiet, but towards the coastal end there were some lights, their reflection reaching out into the dark ocean. Maybe their home, she thought, or maybe the city had numerous inhabitants. Skylar felt uneasy as she lo
oked towards the group. She desperately needed supplies, but they seemed a dangerous obstacle. She pondered what to do, her heart heavy. She would have to sneak into the city, she thought. It was big, and if these were the only inhabitants, the chances of bumping into each other would be small. But what if there were more. The men and girl then returned to their motorcycles and kicked the engines into life, turned and rode back towards the city, their thunderous V8 engines reverberating their presence long after she lost sight of them. Skylar walked back to the cave and relit the fire. Its warmth was immediately reassuring. She could not sleep, though, both from fear of being found, and worrying what to do. There was not much cover into the city, apart from the dry riverbed. It could be used, she thought, but then it didn't afford her much sight being deep beneath the road. If anybody came to the edge and saw her, it would be too late, she would be too exposed, and there would be nowhere to run. She lay there looking out at the green glow from the supernova through the flickering flames of the fire. Maybe it was best to go at night. She could lie down in the dirt if she saw anybody coming, using the dead fallen trees that had washed downstream as cover. The riverbed was also uneven and could afford some refuge. It wasn't as if anybody was looking for her. She pondered a way in without being seen, her eyes growing heavy until see fell asleep again under the gaze of the supernova.

  The Scars of Freedom