A Shrouded World 6

by Mark Tufo

  I’ve come through another stage with many more ahead. I escaped the building and its environs and traversed one hot zone. I need to get through this cold one and see what lies on the other side. If there’s more zones of temperature extremes, then so be it. I have what I believe is about a thousand gallons of fuel. At best, this thing gets maybe ten miles per gallon, most likely less. So, ten thousand miles…but I’m banking on five thousand. Still, that’s a considerable distance I can cover, providing the vehicle doesn’t break down in the interim.

  So, currently I’m mobile and able to cover distances. Plus, the danger of night runners is diminished, as I can outrun and outdistance them. It's been rare, since arriving in this world, not having to move from shelter to shelter on foot or being confined to a locale. I can’t even begin to describe what a comfort mobility brings.

  I think about my twin and wonder how the fight went with the zombies in his iteration of Valhalla. When I left, did that scenario vanish as well? For some reason, I kind of doubt it. I feel like that is still playing itself out.

  A thought suddenly comes through the fog like a light in a dark closet. My doppelgänger was a helicopter pilot in the military. However, Otter hinted that he hadn't left under desirable circumstances, so I can’t just show up out of the blue. Plus, I don’t have the historical knowledge that I’d need to pull off the disguise. However…a plan begins forming, my mind working through counters to each problem. I close my eyes and begin drifting, or more like I plunge headlong into an abyss. I fall into a deep slumber with pieces of a plan in place.

  6

  Jack Walker – Chapter Four

  I wake suddenly, anxiously coming out of a deep sleep. I’ve been out for what feels like a long time and the darkness outside adds to my uneasiness. Rain still beats against the still running truck, the sound of the heater fan a dull roar. It’s nighttime, and that means night runners. Grabbing hold of my sidearm, I sit up.

  With my enhanced night vision, I see ghostly forms outside of the vehicle that weren’t there before I fell asleep. My heart beats with an increased rush of adrenaline. Night runners are near, some barely visible through the downpour. It takes a moment for the fog to lift and I realize that, even though their forms have the shapes of movement, they aren’t advancing. They’re all frozen in mid-run, some having toppled over. They must have spawned when darkness set in and froze when charging my location.

  It’s eerie as fuck seeing statues of night runners in mid-motion like a bizarre, horror movie game of red light, green light. It's as if they’re carved from marble. This deadly cold saved me and it’s a damn good thing, or I’d have been overwhelmed in my sleep. All around the truck, there’s a forest of the ice-encrusted creatures. One is frozen just a couple of feet away from the driver’s side door, its arm outstretched toward the handle. Through the thin layer of ice, its lips are peeled back in a snarl…or grimace. I can’t really say.

  Despite the macabre scene around me, their absolute stillness settles my heart. I’ve slept the day away and the truck is still idling. A quick check of the instruments shows the engine temp within range, and the electrics are good. It strikes me as odd that the dashboard instrumentation symbology seems universal. As does the language. The soldiers were from different worlds, or dimensions, yet we were able to communicate. I wonder if there isn’t some filtering in place with our multi-dimensional traveling that allows for instant interpretation. Whatever the case may be, I’m glad for it because things may have turned out far differently if communication weren’t possible.

  The patter of rain is non-stop on the windshield. The warmth of the engine and the cab heater have kept the front end of the truck free of ice, but looking through the side mirror, I can see icicles hanging from the sides of the bed. Some are long enough to nearly reach the ground.

  The condition of the frozen night runners makes me hesitant to step outside for any ablutions. Instead, I crack the window and take care of business. Even that is almost too much to handle. Considering that the cold zones weren’t as bad the first time we came through, I wonder if this world isn’t spiraling down the drain.

  Settling behind the steering wheel, I grind the gear and finally manage to find first. I press the accelerator, but the truck just shudders. Again, looking through the mirror, I see that a layer of ice surrounds the wheels, thickening where they meet the road. I rock the vehicle back and forth, managing to finally break free with a resounding crack. My immediate worry is that the tires were frozen enough that they had broken apart instead of the ice. However, the truck appears to roll just fine.

  I start forward but have to move slowly due to limited visibility. The headlights only penetrate for a few yards, catching streaks of rain in the glare momentarily before hitting the road. It’s probably just as well, as the pavement is icy, but again, it’s not nearly as thick as it should be.

  I push ahead. Unable to avoid the frozen shapes of the night runners, I have no choice but to drive through them. Like a video game in a nightmare, they shatter as I come into contact, each one breaking into chunks of frozen flesh and shards. It’s like driving through a forest of ice sculptures. It isn’t long before the patter of rain turns into ticks of sleet. I have to take care not to slide off the road, and concentrate on staying on it with the restricted visibility. I won’t be making quite the distance that I could in the desert.

  A short time later, the headlights suddenly shine on a vehicle that appears out of the gloom. The car, parked alongside the road, is completely coated with a thin layer of ice, my beams shining back as if they’re striking glass. I cautiously drive past, searching the interior for any forms. The ice is damn near crystal clear, but images from inside are warped. I don’t see anyone frozen at the wheel.

  Passing that one, another appears a minute later, this one in my lane, and I have to maneuver around it. Again, I don’t see anyone inside. They then start appearing in ones and twos, occupying both lanes. It’s eerie seeing them emerge from the darkness and having to drive slowly past. It’s almost like coming upon an abandoned row of houses at night along your pathway in the middle of the woods. The strange thing is that, even though they’re now in both lanes, they are all pointed in direction from which I came.

  More and more appear and I begin to wonder if they were going away from or toward something. And what happened to make them stop here and flee their vehicles? Did a reset occur, the people just vanishing? I continue driving around and through this eerie graveyard collection of vehicles. Frozen rain runs down trucks and their trailers, culminating in long icicles which merge with the ground.

  I finally come to a point where I can’t maneuver along the road anymore. Although my enhanced vision allows me to see well in the darkness, I don’t want to chance driving off of the road in the icy conditions, especially with the horrid visibility. I may be able to see better during the daylight hours and choose to wait.

  I park with the headlights gleaming off the ice-crusted vehicles. In the dead of night with a storm all around, I really don’t know whether the frozen night runners I left behind or the empty mass of vehicles ahead is a creepier view. All I need right now is a few flashes of lightning with thunder rolling overhead to complete the scene.

  The cars and trucks are all aimed toward me, which makes me wonder what I might be driving into. Maybe they saw the storm coming and fled their homes? If so, where was that? I haven’t observed anything remotely considered civilization. And where did they think they were heading to? As far as I know, the only thing in that direction is the building. Yeah, good luck with that. Perhaps they were in a state of panic and just wanted to get away from whatever sent them fleeing. Maybe it was the war? I suppose there could have been an invasion. But then where did they all go? There aren’t any bodies. If the world was the same as it is now, they would have perished in either the scorching heat or freezing cold left lying where they fell. Perhaps…just perhaps, these are the discards of the resets? Or maybe I've wandered into a storage fac
ility of kinds.

  I sit in the cab with the pinging of sleet against the truck and the sound of the heater fan for company. It’s me and my thoughts, and those aren’t good to be alone with for very long. I realize that being in this truck is one of the first times that I’ve felt any margin of safety. Or at the very least, without the prospect of an imminent attack. Of course, who knows when something new might reveal itself. I doubt the demon I battled twice now will freeze like those night runners. But for now, and as long as the truck continues to run, I’m safe as can be.

  My thoughts drift to the kids and Lynn, wondering what they are up to at this very moment. Has time been stilled in that world while I live in this one? That’s a very real possibility, one that I hope is true. There was danger in my world, and I’m helpless to do anything about it. If time isn’t moving in my world, then there can’t have been any advance of the perilous conditions threatening my family. If it hasn't stilled…it does no good to dwell on that outcome.

  Aside from the fear for their safety, I just miss the fuck out of them. I don’t feel complete, I long to be with them again. I miss Bri’s energy and her bright smile. I miss the repartee with Robert, and his humor. I miss looking into Lynn’s eyes, seeing her smile, and the butterflies I have when she’s around. I miss Nic like nothing else. Only, I remember with a pang, I won’t ever get to see her again in this life. I lean my head against the steering wheel while my heart breaks for the thousandth time. Tears trickle down my cheeks to drip onto the floorboard.

  After grieving for a time, I lean back upright. Here in the darkened landscape in the midst of a winter storm, with my view limited to just several yards, I feel very lonely. I’m stuck here. Not millions of miles away, but dimensions stand between us and I haven’t the foggiest idea how to get back to them. Whatever Trip set in motion, I hope it gets rectified soon. I feel like I’ve aged twenty years in this place. Coupled with the ten I aged in the last place, I’ll be a very old man when I return.

  I nap a few times during the night, the rest filled with a multitude of disturbing thoughts. My family, Mike, the vestige of a plan—all vie for time in my limited brain space. I focus on my plan as the other thoughts are depressing and I don’t need that. I need to remain positive if I’m to get out of this place alive. My body aches as there just hasn’t been much time in order to rest and heal. My fear is that it’ll give out at a critical moment.

  Night passes with the darkness turning into a diffused gray. Visibility increases, but not by much. Breaking the truck free of the ice, I ease off the road. The truck threatens to slide a couple of times but a few Whoa Nelly’s! bring it back into line as I carefully maneuver past the glut of cars and trucks.

  Ice enclosed vehicles drift slowly past. The freezing rain and sleet soon turn to snow with about a foot on the ground. Again, it’s not as deep as I might expect. The snow is falling but failing to add to the current depth. I mean, I suppose the storm could be moving, but I didn’t get that feeling when I was approaching it. I’ve been wrong once before, so I suppose it’s inevitable that a second time will occur at some point.

  The vehicles lining the road are now just white lumps and I have to be careful that I don’t drift away and lose sight of them. The road is my only attachment point. If I lose it, I won’t have any sense of direction. I have my compass, but I don’t trust it to read correctly. Even if I pick a point and stay true to it, there’s no real guarantee that I would be heading in a straight line. The truck fuel will only last so long, and there’s no hope of refueling in this weather. Even though the snow usually means warmer temperatures, it’s cold enough outside that I’d be dead before I uncapped the first fuel container.

  The snow is easier to travel over than the sleet, but it grows a little deeper as I travel. I just hope it doesn’t get so deep that I can’t get through because there’s no going around this storm. The solid line of abandoned vehicles continues unabated.

  Hours pass without any letup in the snow or the lumps of white. This has been one lonely journey so far. I wouldn’t have been able to run along the road in the dark, and come to the conclusion that my driving pattern will have to revolve around traversing the cold zones during the day and the hot ones at night. I wonder if it’s still cold enough in the snow-filled portion of the storm to freeze the night runners? Unlike running upon me through the sleet, in this they could flash into existence directly near me. I’ll have to watch out for that when night hits—if I’m still in the cold front.

  Eventually, the snow lumps on the road thin where I’m able to climb back onto it and traverse. The buried vehicles actually made it easier to navigate and keep to the road. Now, I only have the slightly raised surface with cars in ones and twos emerging from the white to let me know I’m still holding true to course. After a time, the snow thins and turns soon to the pelting sleet like it was near the boundary where I entered. Now the few vehicles I come across are again covered in ice. If the same holds true here, then I should be reaching the far end of the storm in about an hour.

  I slow, maneuvering around cars that suddenly appear in the headlights. The visibility has gone to shit again and the road is slick. Once I reach the edge of the storm, I’ll determine my next course of action based on what I find. If it’s another hot zone, I’ll pull back into the storm and wait for nightfall before moving forward. Then, I’ll quickly refuel and be on my way. Of course, what that truly entails is yet to be determined.

  Sleet turns to freezing rain and soon the visibility drops to damn near nil as I enter a steam cloud. Then, sun blares through the windshield, nearly blinding me with the intensity. Given the steam, I’m betting the land before me is held in the grips of another hot zone. Beside the sudden glare of sunlight, I notice two other things in quick succession.

  The first is that the mountains have continued to close in on the desert plain, the tops of which are sharp, like rows of jagged teeth. I can see they’re much larger than I’d thought when I last viewed them from the other side of the storm. Their sides are barren and rocky and they come together miles ahead with a barely discernible gap. The road runs straight, aiming directly toward the break in the mountain chain.

  The second, and more important thing of note, is a wide, billowing dust cloud out on the plain. Glints of light blink through the rising waves of heat, the intense thermals hiding what’s causing the dust plumes. I remember a similar sight with Mike when we were traversing the desert, and I can only think that whistlers are heading my way. And rapidly, judging by the increasing size of the dust cloud.

  Quickly removing the binoculars from my pack, I focus on the incoming vehicles. Thinking it could also be an army on the march, I attempt to see through the wavering mirage of heat. For a brief moment, I’m able to see the warped picture of a motorcycle with sunlight glinting off the chrome. That means the dust cloud is being caused by a line of bikers. In other words, there are whistlers inbound. I’m not sure if they were searching for me or if this is just a coincidental meeting. Vanishing back into the storm far enough for them to freeze isn’t an option here as the cold didn’t stop them before, and I seriously doubt it will this time either.

  My initial idea of heading back into the cold and turning to one side or the other vanishes when I observe the bikes split into three sections. Two head across the desert to the left and right, the dust overtaking them when they pull to a halt. The third continues down the road a little way before coming to a stop. This action pretty much tells me that the whistlers know where I’m at or likely to emerge from the storm. That, in and of itself, is a chilling thought; that they’re able to locate me.

  I could head back in and drive around, hoping to lose them, but then there’s a pretty good chance I’d get lost myself. I suppose I could also just head along the inside of the storm and travel for miles to get around them, but my fuel gauge is saying no to that idea. I can’t outrun them in this truck, and it’s apparent they’re waiting there, expecting something to emerge from the cold zone; t
hey’ve stationed themselves accordingly and in positions to intercept, regardless of where I come out. I knew my luck was too good to last. It looks like I’ll have to fight it out.

  I back the truck into the cold zone, maneuvering to the first of the ice-encrusted vehicles. I ram the back end of the car with as much speed as I dare. Spiderweb cracks appear at the point of impact and spread. I hit the auto again and the ice splinters with shards falling to the road. Continuing to push, the car breaks free and I push it to the boundary of the freezing rain and steam. It takes a moment to move the vehicle sideways across the road.

  I hope that the whistlers are maintaining positions, as it’s taking time to set up a roadblock. Backing to a second car, I move it until it’s next to the previous one, completely blocking the highway. Leaving the truck parked sideways and running behind the vehicles, I dash across the icy surface in a race to reach the boundary before I freeze like a starving night runner.

  The frigid air almost immediately sucks away any warmth. I’m only wearing my fatigues, which offer zero protection against the cold. Steam puffs into the air with each exhalation, the warm air streaming behind as I run/slide around the cars and to the barrier. I’m a little worried about the couple feet of the steam barrier, as I remember the few times I’ve been burned by it. My hope is that, with the small area transitioning from extreme cold to the scorching heat of the desert, the part where it burns is miniscule.

  My limbs feel brittle by the time I reach the barrier of cold. If I had to travel any further, I’d become an action figure forever trapped. The steam is damn near suffocating as I hit it. A step later and the heat is equally intense, my skin flushing red and feeling like it’s on fire. But then the intensity dissipates with the next step until it’s merely just hot. The edge of the steam and desert is abrupt. One moment, I’m in it and the next, I’m in the glare of the hot sun.