But, shit, where am I going?
I’m pretty sure this isn’t a dream anymore and it’s time to start thinking that a new reality has set in. The how and why is still unknown but, for now, it’s time to think of the here and now.
“Okay, Jack…whatever started those fires chased these people out of the city. Fine, I get that. So, what made them leave their cars, and where did they go?” I say to myself. “Well, there’s nothing to it but to get to it. Let’s see where this leads.”
The way toward the city is obviously not the way to go, so that only leaves one other direction. Adjusting the backpack over my shoulders, I rearrange my M-4 and start down the road. Of course, those fleeing went this way and didn’t make it far, so I’m a little cautious about continuing. I’m not a huge fan of open areas and eye the trees on either side of the road. Then, it hits me. The absolute quiet…the stillness. I should have picked up on that earlier, but the shock of my arrival shut me down a little. I should be hearing some wildlife. There should be a squirrel bitching at me, warning others, or chirping among the trees. There should be movement of birds flitting through the branches. I look up to see if there are any circling above or crossing the road. It’s completely still and silent.
What the fuck have I found myself in?
I cautiously walk in the avenue formed between the cars. Grime covers all of the vehicles. They sit as silent witnesses to what happened. I hear the swish of tree branches as a gust blows through. It brings debris swirling around my feet and continuing past, moving down the path I have chosen. There is something else the wind brings. It sounds like a moan. I turn but see nothing
It could have been the trees rubbing together. Thinking that’s all it is, I push on.
Passing one of the cars, I notice a darker smudge along the driver’s window under the grime. I brush away some of the soot and see a hand print streaking downward at an angle. A closer look shows that it is definitely made in dried blood. I guess the panic that must have been prevalent caused all sorts of injuries.
Although, again, where did everyone go? Well, they were heading this direction, so I guess I’ll find out at some point.
It’s that ‘some point’ that worries me. Is this an isolated incident or has whatever happened been cast over a wider area? The fact that this mess hasn’t been cleaned up tells me that it’s not merely something local.
The compass says I’m heading…well…whatever direction the symbol means that is ninety degrees of what serves as north. As far as I can see through the murk overhead, the sun is ahead of me. That means it’s early morning, so I have hours of daylight left. It’s not overly cold, but I have no idea where I am. The cars are familiar styles which gives me the impression that I could be in the good ol’ land of opportunity. How far north, south, east, or west I am remains to be seen. At some point, I’ll surely find a sign along the highway which will give me some indication. The one thing I am hoping is that this world isn’t full of night runners. I suppose I could be in the real world, but just in a different part of it. This situation and the fact that I’m in the open doesn’t give me warm fuzzies. I’ll have to find some form of shelter before dark. I suppose I could use one of the motor homes if I have to, but I don’t imagine any of them will hold off even the smallest of packs for long.
I’ll definitely have to find more ammo if I’m here for long.
Movement among the tangle of cars ahead catches my attention. Someone is walking in my direction. They are moving slowly and staggering much like I’m sure I have after a night in the O-club. I stop, bringing my M-4 into a ready position. Whoever it is stumbles their way into the lane between the cars through which I’m negotiating. My experience in recent months has made me doubly cautious, so I’m not about to run up and throw my arms around whoever it is, professing a long-lasting friendship. The man or woman turns in my direction and trudges onward, bumping against the cars as they draw closer.
As they near, I notice they’re wearing tattered clothing covered with dark stains. This sends chills up my spine as I remember others with stained, shredded clothing. But this is no night runner. It’s light out and they aren’t running like a track star. I hear a moaning sound, similar to the one that I heard earlier. I guess it could be coming from someone who is famished and on their last legs. Another gust of wind blows from behind me. It’s taking the person forever to get near, and I’m not about to close the distance on my end. I have cover where I’m at and a quick escape route over the grass and into the trees if I need. The person doesn’t appear to be carrying any weapons, but that doesn’t mean anything. I check behind and to the sides to find it’s clear.
“That’s close enough,” I call out.
They aren’t that close, but I see no reason why they should get any nearer without formal introductions being made. I’m not able to see their features very well, but as far as I’m concerned, they are already too close. Any nearer and I want a ring — or at least dinner. Whoever it is completely ignores my shout and continues their drunken walk toward me. It’s like I’m talking to my kids — not that they have a drunken walk mind you, I’m just referring to their listening skills.
“Alright, numbnuts. I’m not fucking around here,” I yell, with the same result.
I flip the sight over to the four-power setting and am taken aback by what I see. While not as magnified as if through a higher-powered scope, the facial details come into view, and it’s not pretty. The face is pale to the point of being ashen with old sores and cuts covering most of it. Part of the upper lip is missing, showing stained teeth beneath. If I didn’t know any better, and odds are that I don’t, I would say it was chewed off. I’ve seen a few bodies in the past that have been out for a while and have had rats have a go at it. The face I am staring at through the scope has a similar look. Short, dark hair hangs limply and looks like it hasn’t been introduced to shampoo in some time. Although it’s hard to tell with the pasty color, dried blood, and part of the face missing, the stumbling person appears to be a man. Whatever it is gives me the creeps.
The man is staring directly at me but without any form of recognition as he draws closer. I don’t really want to drop a person who may just be looking for help, but I’m also not in a real trusting mood at the moment. The alien aspect of suddenly finding myself in this weird place hasn’t diminished, and seeing this person making their way along the line of cars toward me only adds to the feeling. I still hear moaning coming from him and it’s not a pleasant sound.
What’s his problem? I think, watching him bump into another car door.
I know if it was me, I’d be very hesitant about closing on someone who told me to stop and was pointing a weapon in my direction. However, he seems quite ignorant of the situation. It’s time to change that and get his attention.
I shift my aimpoint to the windshield of the vehicle next to him. A slight kick against my shoulder and my round streaks out, closing the distance quickly — the only sound that of a muted cough. The bullet strikes the glass, starring it, and whines off into the distance. Now I know this isn’t a dream. Anytime I’ve fired before in one, the bullets never behaved the way they were supposed to. The man doesn’t even flinch, but turns his head slowly toward the impact point and then back to me. He shuffles his foot forward and once again begins his slow, plodding progression toward me.
Okay, I’m done with this shit, I think, centering the small crosshair of my scope onto his chest, adjusting for the range with the bullet drop reticle.