#oneaday Day 659: Wasteland Diaries, Part 7

After spending some time attempting to decipher the road map and comparing it to the few battered roadsigns I could find around the way, I came to the conclusion that the address I’d found in Annie’s phone was hundreds of miles away. I had a very long journey ahead of me, it seemed, but given the total lack of other people around, I didn’t see anything better to do. My pack was filled with supplies, and if where I had been still held a few pockets from which usable equipment and food could be salvaged, surely other places along the way would, too.

I was out on the open road by now. The cracked concrete surface gave me something to concentrate on amid the emptiness of the parched, dead grass all around. The road I was following had obviously once been a main route, as it was wide and seemingly well signposted — though most of these signposts had been charred, bent, or in some cases apparently torn in half. With an occasional glance at the map, however, I determined that I was probably moving in the right direction. At least I hoped I was.

My mind kept wandering to the strange incident outside the petrol station. The dream hadn’t returned again, but I was still chilled as I remembered waking up from the rage-filled chaos and my surroundings not being as I had left them. Part of me still wondered if I had been responsible for the destruction of that area — and if I had had anything to do with the state of the world as it was now. It didn’t make any sense, though. Thinking rationally right now, I had no desire to destroy anything or hurt anyone, so logically it couldn’t possibly have been me, right? This was also leaving aside the fact that I was, as far as I remembered, anyway, just an ordinary human being. Ordinary human beings might shout and scream when they get angry, not level an entire city block.

I tried to shake off the grim thoughts as I continued walking. An odd melody popped into my head out of nowhere, and I found myself humming it. After a few moments, I suddenly heard myself and began to laugh at the sheer incongruity of humming such a happy, cheerful tune in such a desolate environment. It was better than the alternative, however.

There was something else too, though — a flash of memory. I couldn’t pin down what it was, but it was there, and it seemed like it wanted to emerge. But perhaps not yet. I hummed the melody again, and a smile broke across my face. Perhaps it wasn’t worth getting upset. Perhaps over the next hill I’d find lush green grass and a town that didn’t lie in ruins.

Hours later, the light was fading and I hadn’t come across either green grass or an intact town, but my legs were aching and my feet were sore. I’d made it onto what looked like an even more major road, with two carriageways running parallel to one another, and a tendency to run in a long, straight line, even if that meant cutting right through the middle of a hill rather than going around it. There wasn’t any sign of civilisation nearby, so I decided to make camp at the side of the road, up against a concrete wall built into one such hill cutting. It was still warm, even though night was falling, and I was so tired.

I fell asleep almost as soon as I sat down and leaned up against the wall. My eyelids drooped and I felt myself drifting out of consciousness.

For a moment, I was disoriented. I wasn’t where I thought I was. There was sunlight and a gentle breeze, and the smell of cut grass. And sounds — people, cars, the distant clatter of the railway line. This place felt familiar.

Before me was a rustic-looking old house that looked like it had been standing for centuries. It was still in good condition, though, and didn’t show any signs of the damage and destruction evident everywhere else I’d seen.

There was a curious, ethereal quality to the sunlight as I looked around, like it wasn’t quite real. Then it occurred to me: I was dreaming. But I didn’t want to wake up. This was a pleasant, happy place. This was a safe place. This was far from the sense of sadness, sorrow and loss I felt when I looked at the wasteland around me as I walked. This was… home? No, that didn’t feel quite right, but it was still important.

I heard the sound of a girl giggling inside the house and moved to hide myself, but there was nowhere to go. She came out into the garden, for that was where I stood, but she looked right through me, her gaze lingering for a moment as if she knew something was there but she couldn’t quite work out what it was… or believe in it.

“Hello,” I said, but if she heard, she didn’t show it, for before long she was scampering off to the other end of the garden where an older woman — presumably her mother? — was laying something down on an outdoor table. It was a picturesque scene of familial bliss… until it happened.

The sky turned red — a deep, threatening red, the colour of blood. The earth shook, and a giant crack split the garden in twain, the outdoor table and its contents falling down into darkness. The girl screamed and the mother looked around herself, panicked. There was a huge roar that seemed to make the whole world tremble.

Then I woke up, drenched in sweat. It was dark, and the wall against which I was leaning was still standing. This was not the same as last time, but something in that was important. And something was trying to keep me from working out what it was.