by Ben Archer
Five minutes later, I find myself fiddling with the navigation again. This straight road is not a good release for all my built-up nervous energy. Luckily, the abundant amounts of information on this screen could keep me entertained for hours. According to this, the Colony we’re coming up on is strangely named “Blue.” Not “Fort Blue” or “Blue Waters” just “Blue.”
It appears to be more of a trading post than a place where people would actually live. There are a few stores, a general council, and governor that are all on Rat and Crow’s payroll. In fact, there are so many corrupt officials that it reads like a Christmas list. Everything you could ever want to know: access points into the small city, population breakdowns, distribution points, and more. Much more.
It holds my interest until the next place on the map shows up. Only a few short miles away is the climax of everything we’ve worked towards ─Titan Valley.
For the vast amount of information they have on Blue, there’s absolutely nothing on Titan. No extra info, no notes, nothing at all. It’s a blank area with a name. I don’t believe they were very welcomed there. Then again, I doubt we will be either.
Rounding the crest of a particularly tall mountain reveals the intimidating size of the problem to come.
The city in the distance is a modern steel jungle, sprawling confidently across the desert floor. A concrete labyrinth that’s been constructed of low slung buildings resting at the feet of a soaring goliath. The astonishing tower cuts a harsh shadow across the entire valley. The rising three sided building, literally, towers above everything else.
There’s been a constant nagging doubt in the back of my mind, “Are we going to the right place?”
Not anymore.
The gnarled piece of rubber in my hands is a direct result of that revelation. The former steering wheel is also the reason why our truck has rolled to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road. This must be my brain telling me not to go any further. Doubt is rushing in and I’m sinking fast. I can’t even operate a simple door handle. When the stubborn thing finally opens, I clumsily pour myself out of the truck.
I’m chewing air rather than breathe it.
My jelly legs can barely remain upright.
Our situation has never been clearer. I’ve known all along what we were doing, where we were going, but it’s never been real… until right this second. That concrete mammoth is the period at the end of a sentence. I don’t know if there will be another, but this one has come to an end.
Quinn Chapter 12: City of Black and White
There are no walls surrounding the city. Nothing to keep us out except the nervous sensation creeping down my spine. It lays low in the valley and every road converges at the soaring tower. It seems that out here this place really is the center of the world.
Hayden is still slack-jawed drooling back over in the car. For once I would welcome a stupid joke to break up the nauseous swirling in pit of my stomach. I consider hopping back in the car and turning us around. We could stay lost in the desert and he would never know! Except that won’t change what’s going to happen here eventually.
We’ll be back.
Titan will still be here.
My eyes are so consumed by the towering colossus that they never even see the car come up from behind us. It obviously didn’t see us either, but the thunderclap is difficult to miss. The unexpected impact is a sucker punch that shoves me down into the gritty sand. I get to watch from the ground as the small car launches over our truck in one direction, while its front wheels go I another. Swirling tornados of flames follow both.
In the midst of it all is a narrow blur shooting directly out of the windshield of our car. The missile soars for 50 feet, skips down the pavement another 100, bounces a few more times, and skids along the solid concrete for a painfully long amount of time.
Hayden eventually stops, but the other car continues flipping end over end into the desert. It drips pools of fire every time the front end smashes into the ground. My body refuses to move while watching it all unfold. My monster simply won’t let me go towards any of it. It refuses to release my body until it suddenly sees the whites of Hayden’s eyes.
He’s awake!!!
After that it only takes seconds to reach the delirious man mumbling, “Wha.. wha… blar… enough… yeah.” The side of his face is missing long strips of skin and pooling blood on the right side.
“Hayden! Can you hear me? Hayden! Talk to me!”
“Ye… almost. ‘cough’ …I can hear you…’cough’ … please stop shaking me.” I hadn’t realized that I had been shaking him like a Christmas present the entire time. I restrain myself long enough to shout, “It’s just so good to hear your annoying voice again!”
“Th… Thanks?” With a quizzical, bloody brow raised halfway up his forehead.
There’s enough skin left on the road to see the exact spot where he landed. I try pressing a shirt against some of the deeper cuts, but it only makes him shout louder.
A small explosion serves as a reminder of the other car that bounced off. I have to pause all my exuberant fawning to follow the trail of busted metal and flames out into the desert. It’s a long, gut-wrenching walk, and at the end of it I’m absolutely devastated to find how mangled the other car is. Even the color is hard to make out now.
Fire is already chewing on it, and the overwhelming smell of gasoline is a clear sign it’s only going to get worse from here. The front and back have completely broken off, with only the passenger section remaining, and it’s been twisted in every direction at once. It’s deflating, although not surprising to see. Nothing should be able to walk away from this.
That’s why the sound coming from inside it is so shocking.
I scream through the flames and get only silence in return. Seeing inside is impossible due to the black soot covering the scorched windows. I quickly scoop up one of the detached wheels to use as a shovel for dumping sand over the wicked flames. This extinguishes a narrow path leading all the way up to the red-hot door. The wheel comes in handy again as a blunt hammer to bash in the blackened window. I try to use some careful constraint to keep it from hurting whatever’s hiding on the other side.
There’s only one person inside and he’s face down across the steering wheel. The small flames, already dancing at my feet, means I’ll have a very limited amount of time to get him out of there. Forcefully tugging at the handle does little more than burn my fingers and pull the entire car towards me. The vicious wreck has turned it into a single ball of tangled steel that groans under the strain. I try pulling him through the window, but he seems to be stuck on something down low. A leg or foot must have gotten pinned up underneath the compacted dashboard.
I start peeling the car away layer by layer since there appears to be no other option. The outer shell is the easiest. It’s only challenge is how sharp the ripped edges are. However, the next layer gets a little trickier.
It appears the internals have become a solid web of tangled metal. One that has to be sorted through carefully, but quickly, without doing any more damage to the trapped man. Every steel scrap is either thrown aside or cautiously bent back far enough to wiggle my way in. This all goes perfectly until I remove the small section covering the man’s arm, then my heart sinks at the sight of two colorful dueling samurais. It’s the beautiful man from the alley.
How…?
How could this be!?!?
I’ve already slammed him into a wall and smeared garbage all over him. Now I’ve hit him with my car! The universe must really HATE this guy! That’s the only explanation for almost being killed twice ―in the same day― by the same person!
Looking him over reveals no obvious wounds, even though there’s blood everywhere. He’s clearly bleeding, but now’s not the time to figure out from where. The flames have already found the new holes and they’re anxious to explore the cloth interior. While rushing to undo his seatbelt, I stumble on the source of the constant noise. It’s a little black plastic box s
creaming in a static voice, “Repeat last transmission. Subject is on target? Repeat, subject is still…”
So it was no accident that I kept running into him! He’s been stalking me the entire time! And if he’s found me…
I shout in a commanding voice that doesn’t sound like mine, “Hayden we need to get out of here, RIGHT NOW!” He’s still sitting in a daze asking, “Can I have a minute Quinn? I went through a windshield and now it feels like half my face is missing…”
“Normally, yes, but see that car right there?” I charge up pointing at the mangled steel carcass. “The guy in it has been following us.”
“That’s good!” he says, still not able to shake off enough cobwebs to spot the problem. “No, not good! They know we’re here Hayden! I mean here, here. See that city over there? That’s Titan! RIGHT THERE!”
He wants to put the words together with their meanings, except they just won’t click. Instead of wasting more time with useless words, I simply drag him off the ground. He ends up being carried back to the truck when his feet can’t keep up with my growing anxiety. But his wobbly legs crumble completely when I have to set him down to open the car door. He collapses in the slowest, most awkward fall of all time. Although, when he looks up at me, his helpless expression gives me the closest thing I’ve felt to sympathy since becoming… this.
The warm and fuzzy mood calms my destructive hands long enough to place him delicately in the seat. Considering the shape of the other car, our truck is in pretty good condition. It seems the thick metal plates must have basically ramped the smaller car right over us. Our worst damage is a warped steering wheel, and that came well before our accident.
The real moment of truth comes with a few anxious turns of the key. At first it’s only “weerrrr werrrr werrrrr” and sweaty palms at the thought of being stranded here. Maybe there’s more damage than I originally thought? A few more tries gets it to sputter for a second, before suddenly dying again. Hayden’s come around enough to give me a concerned look. It seems he’s finally starting to put our situation together with the possible consequences.
I grip what’s left of the wheel a little tighter than before, swallow the lump scuttling up my throat, pump the gas, and crank the key. On the fourth try the ancient truck finally rumbles to life!
“There was never a doubt!” Hayden cracks a sideways smile. I press the gas pedal and the throaty little motor barks back with a raspy growl. “You should hold on.” I tell the googly-eyed passenger.
“Or what? There’s no more windshield to go through.” At least his sense of humor is back. That’s what I wanted, right?
“You love that necklace don’t you?” He abruptly chirps.
“Yeah, I guess. Why?”
“Because it’s always in your hand.”
Guess I hadn’t noticed my thumb had found its way back over to the silver trinket. It’s been spinning tiny circles over the smooth locket to help ease my fraying nerves. I explain, “It just takes my mind off things.” There’s no real reason for why it comforts to me. Nothing I can put into words at least.
Without feeling the need for further justification, I stomp the gas until it reaches the floorboard. The tires howl as they rip off towards the imposing city. All my deep anxiety converts to rage as the truck gains speed. It finally reaches the point where I feel that the massive city needs to get out of my way. Everything not bolted down is blowing around the cabin. The surging wind, coming in from the hole that used to be a windshield, makes my eyes tremor. I go to slam into another gear, but find none remaining. My heavy foot is demanding much more from the metal box than she’s got left.
The damage from the wreck has the busted car shaking so badly that the crooked steering wheel has to be fought constantly to stay on course. It’s just like the rest of us at this point; pushing on to the finish, broken, but not dead yet.
Chapter 33: Season in Hell
I’m not sure if everything is spinning because of my recent trip through the window, or the wind aggressively punching me in the face, either way it’s gotta stop before it makes me black out again. Asking Quinn to slow down accomplishes nothing. Steadying myself against the door only brings the increasingly bad situation into clearer focus. Her appearance is scary, bordering psychotic. She looks like an unflinching hawk fixated on prey. Now I’ve only been awake a few minutes so I’m not totally caught up, but I’m pretty sure smashing into the city is not our best option.
I don’t want to use the word CRAZY, but.......
Physically prying her fingers from the wheel doesn’t work either. They’re clamped so tight that not even a pinkie moves. Her foot is buried so far on the accelerator our truck is sputtering to keep us under ludicrous speed. Nothing, I mean absolutely nothing, changes our course or slows us down in any way.
“QUINN! What’s the plan here??? Could we maybe pull over and talk this out?”
Our course remains the same.
It seems my options, along with the road, are running out fast. As a last resort I decide to punch her in the jaw. That should get her attention, right?
Well, it does.
She reacts so fast that all I see are skinny knuckles and stars before leaving the truck again. There are two hits:
1) Her fist buried in my face.
2) My head bouncing off the doorframe.
The impact jars the door open and speed does the rest. In fact, the vacuum sucks me out before I really know what’s happening. The wall of wind really accelerates my plunge to the ground once outside. It picks me up, and slams me down into an ass-first slide that ends in a full body tumble across the hard desert floor.
Sky. Sky. Sky. Sky.
Sand. Sand. Sand. Sand.
Over and over, round and round, until eventually coming to rest in a low sand dune. It takes several minutes of face down drooling before the blur fades enough to focus again. Even then my body refuses to do anything more than watch a determined ant drag a little ball of dung past my nose. It walks by as if I’m not even here. I’m either in shock, or possibly just need a few minutes to reset my brain.
Quite simply, I shut down.
The deadness is actually welcome relief for someone who hears, sees, and feels everything in intimate detail. The fury and madness are gone. All that remains is the mindless ant marching across the glistening sand in utter silence. Every now and then an actual thought tries to come ashore, but is quickly pushed back out to sea. Not even the foot slamming down in front of me pulls me from my state of total ignorance.
Suddenly, the slow crawling ant and gritty sand disappears. They’re replaced by a frantic mouth spitting words.
My eyes see them.
My ears hear them.
My brain doesn’t digest them.
My skin tells me about the guilty hug pressing against it. About the immense pressure changing the angle of my breathing. About the soft blonde hairs tickling my cheeks. They’re just more things that mean absolutely nothing to me. I’m content swimming in the happy oblivion, while enjoying every second of the conscious unconsciousness.
The peaceful bubble holds out the real world for as long as it can. It takes the information, chews it up, and spits it back in the face of reality.
All except one.
The crack in the bliss comes from words lingering too long to be ignored. “She knocked you out of the truck.” The angry thought echoes all around the peaceful silence. It repeats over, and over, and over again. At first it’s nothing more than leaves in the wind or a song in the background ─empty noise. Eventually though, they repeat so many times that they start making sense.
knocked out the
She me of truck.
“SHE KNOCKED ME OUT OF THE TRUCK!”
The angry realization shatters my happy state of mind. Ugly truth pours in through the cracks to wash away the rest of the blurry mess. My eyes snap back into crystal sharp focus as the blanket of numbness is yanked off like a warm comforter on a cold morning. That rebounding pain quickly grow
s into a very sharp resentment.
“What the shit Quinn?!?!” I scream while clumsily lifting my broken ass from the dirt. “You punched me out of the TRUCK!” While I’m busy yelling, Quinn grinds to a halt as if she’s run out of batteries. No more tears, no more sadness, only a tiny smile creeping across her folding cheeks. She has the look of someone trying to keep the worst-kept secret in the world.
That’s when the usually reserved Quinn erupts into a crazed laughter and waves her fingers high in the air. All she says is, “You were all like Weeeeeeeeee…” before falling over laughing.
All my useless anger disappears without hesitation.
I get it.
That’s what I felt at the cliff. She was scared, now she’s not. A large part of me still wants to smack her in the teeth, but I get it. I split the difference by just leaving her on the ground to finish the obnoxious giggle. Even if I wanted to laugh, or frown, or anything, I can’t. It hurts too bad to move my jaw.
She’s still loudly chuckling as I slink back to the truck. It’s the kind of infectious belly laugh that would normally make me want to join in, instead I settle for sweeping the broken glass out of my seat. She actually takes so long that I have time to clean off both chairs and find an adult magazine in the glove compartment.
While thumbing through the “articles” she stumbles back up still giggling slightly. There’s a bursting-at-the-seams look to her as if she’s sucking her cheeks in to hold back more caged laughter. After a few minutes of extended awkwardness, I finally give her the permission she’s been looking for.
She basically explodes, “Let me tell you! You’re cheeks were all scrunched up when you fell out! They actually flopped over my knuckles and then you were all like Weeeeeee…” She revisits the waving hands thing while motioning toward the open door.