Day 55

Day 8

Finding water or anything drinkable is my worst problem. It is gone. Vending machines, grocery stores, and restaurants. All looted. There has been no water pressure in any of the sinks or at the hose bibs I’ve checked. Even liquor stores are empty. My canteen is about three-quarters full.

No clouds in the sky since I left Laredo. Daytime has been hot, in the mid-nineties. That’s nothing new this time of year but overnight it’s cold. In the forties. Maybe colder. It’s never that cold here in July. Something has affected the atmosphere. Daylight is different. Instead of bright white, there’s a reddish tinge to it. At the horizon it’s a hazy, washed-out maroon and faint pink in the immediate corona around the sun. Maybe it’s my eyes.

Ten miles was all I could manage my first night on foot. Took me forever to get on my feet the next day. Think my pace is improving though.

My throat feels like sandpaper, but I’ve got to sleep. I made 15 miles since sundown yesterday. Jim’s watch says 10:45 AM now. God, I miss him more every minute. The watch alarm is set for 6 hours. I’m bedded down in a church, on the floor, under the pews. It’s quiet, dark and tolerably cool. The .38 revolver is loaded and ready. Said my prayers. I’ll find something to drink before heading out tonight. I have to.

Day 10

Found water! A cistern at a small farmhouse. Miles from town. Filtered it as best I could. From the taste, it’s rainwater. Sweet with a metallic twang. Runoff from the tin roof. Made me think of the McClaren’s place where dad took us as kids.

Old man McClaren was tough as boot leather. I did the first real day’s work I ever did on his place. Mending fences mostly, helping him with the couple dozen head of cattle he ran. I didn’t appreciate it back then, but that old man taught me a lot. He could be a mean old codger, but he and his wife Hellen were kind to me.

That made me smile. The way memories came flooding back in a heartbeat. Memory jumps around in the oddest way. One taste of rainwater and suddenly you’re transported 40 years into the past like it was yesterday. Then it hit me. I hadn’t smiled once in what seems like forever. Time. Everything’s so different now.

Day 18

Reading over this and -- Honestly? I do not know what I’m doing here. Without all the distractions, people, noise, lights -- scribbling these notes -- well, maybe it is helping me to hang on, keep going. If I do not make it then -- I guess it will not matter. But if I do, at least I will have something to refer to later on or -- or you will have something to read.

Day 19

No. It is good for me to write this. Journaling has helped before when things weren’t going well. I’d say this situation more than qualifies as “not going well”.

Red-sky has gotten darker and it’s even colder at night. Grateful for my jacket. Sunsets are a dull red now, like dirty bricks and noontime sun looks like we’re in a dull, orange-red eclipse. It defies description. The night sky has changed too. At first it was not evident to me. When I used the spotting scope though, and tried to stare at a single star, I saw it. The stars. They are – stretched? Instead of a pinpoint of light they are short lines of reddish light. Like red scratches in the sky. What in God’s name is happening?

Day 22

Whatever happened -- whatever it was that started this was huge and it happened fast. Television. Phones. Internet. All down instantly. Then the power fluctuated wildly. Lights either just blew or they ramped up from dim to blindingly bright before blowing. Power was on and off after that. Finally, it just went dark and stayed that way. That’s what I remember from when it started. No one saw this coming. Not the military, the government. Nobody.

Satellite radios lost reception immediately. There weren’t even any emergency broadcast system announcements. Battery powered AM/FM radio frequencies instantly became an audible gray wall of static.

That made me think of Jim. His obsession with his HAM radio hobby. He yelled up the basement stairs at me to come down when I got to his place.

Jim’s rig ran on battery power for about 6 hours. Frequencies outside of AM/FM did have radio traffic. Everyone he talked with or heard had a different story. Rumor, speculation, mostly confusion. Word from Europe indicated a problem at the CERN collider facility. Stateside, there was chatter about an explosion of some kind at a physics lab in Kansas. Lots of heated argument about that. Seems no one knew that lab even existed before. Other bits and pieces mentioned bizarre phenomena at physics labs everywhere. 24 hours passed. By then, the most accurate assessment was that no one knew what really happened.

How messed up is that? It’s depressing.

Day 33

I’m not making enough progress. There. I wrote it down instead of just repeating it over and over in my head. Despite pushing hard, I’m only 100 miles northwest of Albuquerque. I should be there. I know her. She’s scared.

Lost the truck on day 2. Better the truck than my life, I guess. There were two guys and a girl. Both guys had guns.

I was just past Fort Stockton at an old, abandoned gas station. 36 hours with no sleep by then, I’d backed the truck into a mechanic’s bay and fell asleep almost immediately. Who knows where they came from or how they found me? At least they let me have my bag. Thank God I had stashed the revolver and canteen in it.

They were kids. Mid-twenties at most and scared out of their wits. The guy who woke me up stuck a shotgun barrel in my face. All he said was,

“Keys.”

I handed them over. Then I gestured at my bag,

“Can I at least take my clothes?”

Holding the gun’s muzzle in my face, his eyes darted anxiously back and forth between me and the bag several times. Finally, for a split-second, his eyes showed something besides desperation. He nodded and motioned for me to get out of the cab.

He marched me about 20 yards from the building and made me get down on my knees facing away from him. After what seemed an eternity, I heard footsteps receding back toward the building. He could have just as easily killed me. I hope I continue to be glad that he didn’t.

Was that really a month ago?

Day 38

Skirted the western edge of Cortez, Co early this morning. Caught sight of bonfires around the perimeter of what I think is a makeshift work-camp or prison. Through the spotting scope I could see armed guards forcing people to work at gunpoint. I am almost certain I saw an execution. A man who appeared to be injured already. I couldn’t hear their voices, but the gunshot was unmistakable. It shook me badly. I headed due west for 5 or 6 miles as fast as I could move.

Feeling jumpy. There was a heavy frost this morning. It’s cold but I’m afraid to build a fire. It is getting harder to distinguish night and day. Red-sky is darker.

Day 46

Went around Moab, UT last night. Crossed the Colorado river and decided to head due west to the Green river. Keep close to water and fish hopefully. Lost 2 full nights scavenging for food. I did stumble onto an old hunting shack and turned up some cans of soup. A feast. Slept in a bunk. That’s a first since this all started. Dreamt of Jim. Couldn’t remember much of it. He was warning me about something though and I woke up cold and frightened.

Can’t remember if mountain lions are native here but I could swear I glimpsed something stalking me yesterday. That’s all I need, something trying to eat me.

Day 50

Almost half-way. Green River, Utah. I’m exhausted. Hungry.

After witnessing that camp in Colorado, I’m avoiding cities. Whatever I can scrounge up that’s edible feels like a starvation diet. Setting snares and fishing slows me way down. Ate the last of the jerky a week ago. At least I’ve got the river to follow.

Day 51

Something is/was following me. Heard a loud noise right after I started walking last night. Ducked and turned and saw some brush moving about 30 yards away. Nothing to do but stay alert. Checked the revolver again.

My pace is improving. I’m making more miles every night. That first week my legs hurt like hell. They’re hard as granite now.

Parted ways with the Green river yesterday. Heading north-northwest toward Salt Lake City.

Day 53

God, I don’t want to die out here. Not in this desolate place. Please? Somewhere with trees and running water.

The canteen was almost full. It was in my bag. I know it was… Northwest of here the map doesn’t show any water for the next day… maybe two. If I go due east, back to the Green river it’s a day and a half at least. Especially without water. I’ve got to decide.

Day 54

It’s so cold. Things aren’t good. Feel nauseous… pounding headache… Sleepy. No water. Should have gone east.

Day 55

Can’t think straight. Tired.

If you find this, please take to Karen Brandt in Seattle. I tried. Too much… head hurts…

What is that… lights? Oh…

Like a massive thunderstorm, horizon to horizon, the shift-line crossed the plain. A shimmering blue wall, it swiftly swept over everything. It passed Sam’s body. The wind teased his hair as the new dimensional plane engulfed him. His form, curled into the fetal position, began to rise. Legs and arms straightened until he floated there, face down, 3 feet in the air.

A white sphere materialized and glided eerily into a position alongside Sam’s dead body. His form then began to lose its shape. It split up into silvery raindrops of light. The raindrops coalesced and moved. What had been Sam’s form, merged into the sphere. It hovered for a second then rapidly shrank into nothing.

He had never had an awakening experience like this one. There was no gradual, clumsy transition from sleep to alertness. The silent nothingness of being unconscious vanished and he was immediately alert. The rocking chair seat felt oddly familiar to his back as did the view from the covered porch where he was seated. Across the lush green grass in the lawn, off in the distance, he could see the barn.

“Sam?”

Her voice was soothing. Gentle. Turning his head, he took in her delicate features. Strands of auburn hair danced in the cool breeze. Her smile was warm, reassuring.

“Are you thirsty, Sam?”

A tall glass was there at his elbow, on a table beside the rocking chair. Was that there before? He tried to clear his throat.

“Yes” he managed.

She smiled again. Then he noticed her necklace. Where it dipped below her slender neck a heart-shaped locket was suspended. A red gem covered its surface.

“It’s… beautiful!” he stammered, staring at the locket and gesturing at his own chest.

“Thank you, Sam. Please, have a drink.”

“Am I in heaven?” he blurted out.

Her eyes locked with his and something in her gaze quelled his rising panic.

“No Sam”

She reached across the distance between them and touched his arm softly.

“And Yes.”

He struggled to take that in.

“It is -- complex, Sam. Try and relax. Breathe.”

Her touch. That voice. It felt -- right. Sam took a deep breath.

The End.