“Close?”
He didn’t look certain, but after a moment he said no. Well, indicated no. I brushed my sandy hands on my jacket until they were clean, and I held my hand out. The old man took it, and I helped him to his feet. He looked a little curious, but otherwise game.
“Mind walking with me? I haven’t been…coming here very often.”
I gave him a flat stare, and he chuckled again.
“Know any good restaurants around here?”
Another chuckle.
I began hiking up the sandy hill, and he slogged just to my left. He didn’t look to be having any trouble—in fact, he looked to be working a lot less than me. When I crested the hill, I noticed something strange—the countryside had changed. Or rather, the landmarks had drifted or multiplied. The highway curved at a slightly different angle than I remembered, swinging much further east.
The dull glow of a distant city still burned off down the highway to the northeast, but now another dull glow sprang up down the highway to the south.
The road wasn’t clear this time. It was littered with rusted out cars, motorcycles, even a big-rig a little down the road. The highway wasn’t crowded with them—it wasn’t an L.A. traffic crunch—but there was more than a few. Some of the more tightly packed areas had cars every dozen feet—other areas didn’t have any within a hundred feet of each other. None of them were moving, running, or housing people.
“What’s this?”
The old man made the
I glared at him. “I know what a car is.”
He offered his impish ear-to-ear grin. I was inspired, and I hoped he wouldn’t mind.
“Since I don’t know your name, would you mind terribly if I made one up for you?”
His eyes narrowed, at first, but he rubbed his chin and seemed to think it out. He shrugged and made the left-hand right-hand
“So it depends on the name?”
He nodded.
“What about Puck?”
The widest grin yet nearly ripped his face in two. He nodded furiously and made a little clap-clap with his hands. He surprised me with his enthusiasm, but hell, maybe he was a Shakespeare man. By the look of him, I could see English teacher or college professor.
“All right, Puck,” I said, and he tried to suppress a goofy grin. “What are these cars from? Can we use them?”
He gave a who knows shrug, paused, and made the scales gesture again.
“So it depends. Never tried?”
His quick hands mimed a wrench turning a bolt, and then he threw the invisible wrench over his shoulder in mock-frustration. Definitely English teacher. Not that I could blame him—I knew how to put gas in my car, how to change a tire, and how to plug in my phone-charger. The buck stuttered to a stop there.
“All right, Mr. P,” I said. “Which way to go?”
I didn’t even know what I was doing, to be honest. I only knew that as far as I was concerned, if I headed back home right now, I’d be lying in bed, freezing to death. The only plan I could think of was to wait for sunrise, go back home, and hope the morning would sort out the problem.
Puck looked around. After a moment, he pointed south and then made the
“What’s this way? A city? Are there others?”
He nodded.
“Like us?”
“Are there others not like us?”
A weird jag popped in my head. I had to ask.
“Are we in heaven?”
The face he made left no room for argument.
“We’re not in…”
“Sorry,” I said. “I just had to know.”
I headed down the sloping gravel hill to the highway and hopped the guard rail. Puck came bouncing down next to me, and the two of us set off down the southbound lane, going north. Somehow I didn’t think we were going to get a ticket. Though I really didn’t want to meet the highway patrol in Limbo, or wherever the heck we were.
We walked for what had to be a few hours. I talked a little, wondering if he found my chatter offensive. If I lost my ability to talk, I wouldn’t exactly be patient with someone who wouldn’t stop vomiting their advantage all over me. It would be like losing the ability to eat dessert one day, and then finding nothing but cheesecakes every time you opened your glove box or reached into your cabinet for a towel.
The ground bucked underneath our feet. It trembled again and then tore sideways, forcing both of us to stumble to catch our balance.
Puck caught me around the wrist and dragged me toward a huge truck. He danced up the step, popped open the door, and pumped his arm toward the cab. I flew up with his help and fell into the cab. He shoved me the rest of the way in and slid into the driver’s seat. The old man ducked down as far as he could, pretzeling his long slender legs beneath the steering wheel and slumping down as far as he could manage. Though tall for a girl, I wasn’t anywhere approaching Puck’s height. I dropped into the leg-space on the passenger side and tucked my knees up against my chest. It was tight, but I could fit entirely in the little cubbyhole.
The truck rocked, but the tires and the old creaky suspension cushioned some of the impact. A keening noise, like the distant shrieking of tortured metal or a broken fire alarm rent the air. I slapped my hands to my ears and ground my teeth together to keep the noise out.
“Is it him?”
Puck twisted his head toward me and nodded. Now that the thing was close, he didn’t seem as afraid. I liked him even more in that moment—his eyes were calculating, cautious, perhaps, but clear. He didn’t shake, he didn’t even breathe fast.
“How far?”
His steady look told me close. He made the
“Can he hurt us?”
“Kill us?”
My eyes widened—I could feel them stretching my cheeks. Some part of me had known that, but to see Puck’s merry face confirm it only lent more horror. I sucked in a breath and sank even deeper into the space under the dashboard.
The ground stopped shaking. A flash of light swept the cab—dim, at first, but pulsing bright. My heart caught the tempo and followed along. Puck shook his head and made the throat-cutting gesture. I raised my eyebrows.
“What?”
The pulsing light strobed the cabin, throwing a white glow against the seats. It painted the shadows-line of
