When I awoke again, my body ached all over, like I’d been running for miles and then stopped to lift some heavy weights. Of course, my long journey had been taxing my body somewhat, but I had been making a point of stopping to rest on a regular basis. This was different. I knew I’d slept deeply, but I felt almost as exhausted now that I’d woken up as when I succumbed to sleep.
I’d left the area shortly afterwards. I had no desire to be around the wreckage that had resulted from my… episode. Seeing the cracked earth and the charred surroundings only served to remind me that I had no idea how I was causing these incidents — and it must have been me, for there was no other explanation occurring to me at this time.
As I walked, my mind wandered off in a completely different direction. The monotonous scenery around me ceased to matter. The hypnotic sound of my footsteps on the broken concrete distracted me, and my attention faltered.
I tripped and fell on a loose fragment of road surface. I felt myself going — it was as if everything was suddenly depicted in slow motion. I saw the ground coming up to meet my face and braced myself for an impact, screwing my eyes up tight so as not to see the spray of blood from whichever part of my face hit the floor first.
It never came. I opened my eyes — at least, I thought I did — and found myself in total blackness. Was I dead? I didn’t think so, because I was pretty sure that I wouldn’t be able to have this conversation with myself if I was truly dead. But I certainly wasn’t where I should be — lying face down on the road, possibly bleeding quite badly.
I reached up and touched my face with my hand. It was still there. I was still human. It was just pitch black.
I reached out with my hands to feel in all directions and work out where I was, but there were no clues. It was just an apparently huge, lightless, silent, empty space.
No, not silent, for there was some sound off in the distance. I couldn’t tell what it was, but it sounded almost like… people talking? That couldn’t be right, could it?
I tried to determine where the sound was coming from, and started walking towards it. My feet made no sounds on the floor — if indeed there was one — but a slight breeze as I walked convinced me that I was, in fact, moving somewhere. But where?
The voices didn’t seem to get any closer. They just sounded like mumbling, like they were discussing something behind a wall. The tone of them was very low and, I assumed, serious, for there was no sound of anything like laughter. I picked out at least three different people — two male, one female, but try as I might, there was no way to make the sound any clearer. It was so frustrating — here, potentially, was the answers I’d been seeking, and I couldn’t reach them.
There was a sudden flash of light and a loud sound of rushing wind, and suddenly I was back where I had been on the road. I stumbled over the crack again, but this time managed to catch myself before I fell, breaking briefly into a comical half-controlled jog.
I looked around at the dry wastes all around me, at the sun high in the sky and the road steadfastly extending off into the distance. I wasn’t sure I was actually going anywhere — the scenery had been nigh-on identical for the past few hours, and it felt like I was just walking along the same stretch of road over and over again.
As the sun passed overhead and started its inexorable descent down towards the opposite horizon, I saw something ahead. Buildings. There was what looked like a bridge over the road in the distance, and an intact, blue sign before it. “Services,” it said, along with a series of symbols which looked familiar but which my mind couldn’t decode at this time. A narrow track led off the wide road I was following, and I assumed that this led to the “services” mentioned on the sign, though I wasn’t sure what I’d find there.
What I discovered appeared to be a large car parking area, with a large number of burnt-out vehicles. The concrete floor seemed to be covered with patches of familiar-looking dust, and I tried not to think about what had happened to Annie, because I had the sneaking suspicion that these dust piles had once been people, just like her.
At the far end of the car park was a large, boxy building. Its windows were smashed, but it looked otherwise structurally reasonably sound. Its front doors had obviously once been made from glass, but now they were nothing but large frames with a few shards in the corners. I stepped through one of them, taking care not to cut myself on the sharp spikes, and entered the building.
It was dark inside, and smelled musty. I’d entered a large, open indoor plaza which had been divided into several areas — almost like smaller buildings inside the larger one. The ceiling in one corner of the plaza had collapsed, but the rest looked safe enough for now.
I walked through the open area of the plaza, which was filled with upturned tables and chairs, scattered around the area haphazardly. I headed towards one of the “building within a building” areas which looked like it might once have been some kind of shop — there were shelves, certainly, and some of them looked like they might still be stocked. With what, though, I didn’t know until I got there.
Inside, it was a mess, but it did look like I might be able to scavenge some supplies at least. While a great deal of the food that had been scattered from a tipped-over cabinet looked like it was inedible and mouldy, my mind was drawn to a few gold-coloured tins which, although dented, looked like they might contain something which could survive a little longer.
I picked one up and fiddled with the plastic fastening until the lid came off. Inside were a number of brightly-colored, hard crystals with some sort of white powder over them. A pleasant smell was emanating from them, so I picked one up and eyed it curiously. The scent of fruit drifted into my nostrils, so I put the sweet into my mouth.
The strong flavour started at the tip of my tongue and worked its way all through my taste buds. My mouth filled with saliva at the sweetness of it. It tasted good. I rolled it around in my mouth for some time — its hardness suggested that attempting to bite into it might not be a great idea — and suddenly I found myself remembering something.
There was the house again. The girl — younger, this time, and with two older people — was getting into a car, and she was motioning for me to join her. I did so — I didn’t have a choice in the matter — and the two older people in the front — her parents? — drove out of the driveway to the house and started down the road. The girl pulled out a small, golden tin much like the one I’d been holding in my hands a moment before and–
I felt the pain starting again. If I didn’t get out of here right now, I was likely to be in big trouble.
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