The Sands of Borrowed Time (34 page)

Jack-knife

Corey hammered a large hook into the rocks overlooking the road, startling some ravens that were roosting on a ledge above.  They cawed in annoyance as they flapped away, their dark forms barely visible in the morning twilight.  She attached the end of a metal cable, its eye onto the hook, and pulled it across the road, glad to feel its heavy weight.

This should do it nicely.  S
he smiled and hooked the other end onto some old, rusty railings that appeared out of place on this lonely road.  She pulled hard on it, feeling its tension, making sure it would stay firm when the time came. 
Soon, any minute now
, she thought as she looked at the cable hanging across the road, almost invisible in the morning light against the black, dusty tarmac.  Then she turned and looked down the road as she heard them coming.  The groan of the truck’s engine became clearly audible, straining as it neared the summit, two motorbikes ahead of it on either side, their V8s sounding like distant gunfire.  Corey waited until she saw the dull white headlights of the truck and the black smoke rising from its twin cab exhausts. 
This is it!  This is it! 
She took a deep breath, turned, and climbed up onto a large slab that over hanged the road by several feet, like a broken bridge.  The rock in her hand tasted like damp earth as she kissed it for luck, feeling its sharpness as she dragged her fingers along it, admiring it’s rough, jagged texture.  She had rehearsed this moment so many times, watched and studied the trucks and bikes as they passed through the gorge.  There were always two bikers and one trucker which broke the silence of the dawn, once weekly like clockwork,
at same day and time every week.  The truck’s escorts always looked mean. They had scalped, bald heads, and wore Ray Ban shades, giving an air of corrupt authority as if they were protecting a criminal shipment through the stealth of twilight, she thought.  The sound of the approaching vehicles grew louder, their sight feeling surreal and dreamlike in the dim morning light.  She placed the rock in the hood of the catapult and pulled it back as far as possible, feeling it strain between her hands.  She was ready; her aim was steady with her eyes and mind focused on the man behind the wheel of the juggernaut. 
This one is for you sweet sister, wherever you are. 
The scalped heads hit the cable at a speed of 50 mph, or more, their bodies ripped violently from their seats as they swung around the cable before falling to the ground with dull thuds.  The cable rattled from the impact, vibrating violently above the road, sending a sonorous ring skyward to startled, cawing ravens circling above.  Then the truck broke through it, breaking it from its moorings, sending it whiplashing across the ground like a frenzied snake.  The bikes hurtled onwards, quickly past her, their front wheels wobbling frantically without anyone to steady the handlebars.  She looked at the driver of the truck without blinking, releasing the tension of the catapult and sending the rock hurtling through the air.  There was a crack as the rock neatly popped through the truck’s windscreen, catching the driver square on the forehead before he slumped forwards onto the steering wheel.  She felt her heart palpitate as she gasped with victory. It was hard to believe her shot was so accurate, even after practicing for so long and hard.  She could just make out the weight of his slumped body leaning on the steering wheel, rotating it to the right as the truck whizzed by her.  She turned to view the aftermath of her simple, yet effective shot, the truck responding well to its slain driver as it swung across the road.  It shuddered across the verge before smashing into the rocky slopes, jack-knifing back into the road as all eighteen tyres screeched.  The cab skidded sideways, pushed hard by its trailer before coming to a loud juddering stop, it's twisted metal groaning as the trailer readjusted its weight from the shock of the sudden stop.  The bikes had already smashed into the sides of the rocky gorge, the motionless bodies of its riders lying in the road below her as a stream of dark, red blood slowly seeped outwards from them.  There was a caw from a raven as it looked downwards at the trailer, ignoring the dead bikers, looking down with greedy and needy eyes as if it knew what booty it contained.  Corey jumped down from the ledge and onto the road, her senses nauseating at the sight and smell of the blood before her.  She had to work quickly; there would be others in time, hordes before the end of the day as rumour got around.  She knew what to do as she ran towards the truck with a crowbar in hand, having rehearsed it so many times in her mind.  With a few strenuous yanks and tugs, the door yielded. 
Lucky, fucky, me! 
She looked up into the trailer, wide-eyed at its contents; blankets, tinned food, drums of water, but most of all, at the entire cargo of diesel. 
So much fucking diesel!  Who needs this much!
  She jumped in and rubbed her hands around the barrels, aware of its pungent smell. 
That smells of fucking freedom!
she thought with anticipation.
 
Corrie ran back excitedly to her SUV.  She had parked it out of sight within a dip, just beyond the verge.  She climbed in and drove it across the blood-soaked road, cringing as the congealed blood squelched beneath the tyres before stopping as close as possible to the back of the crashed trailer.  She clambered back into it, the diesel fumes still overwhelming, working quickly, her heart racing, her skin wet from sweat, knowing she was very exposed. 
Bandits, loony tunes, and stinky, filthy pervs roam these roads, looking for some good, fresh
pussy to goose,
she anxiously thought.  She frantically toppled the barrels and rolled them recklessly out of the trailer, hearing them drop into the back of the SUV, its suspension creaking from the impacts.  Then it got easier; bottles of water, tinned food and blankets. 
I feel like I’ve raided Santa’s delivery truck, and everything on my Christmas list is here.  Thank you Santa with all my heart, my appreciation letter will be in the post.  Well, as soon as I find a pen of course!  Now there’s a rarity in a post-apocalyptic World,
she joked to herself, her mind racing from fear.  She noticed a curtain towards the back of the trailer.
  How odd!  What lies behind this bastard curtain; the Wizard of fucking Oz? 
She flung it back.

“Jesus fucking Christ!  What the hell fuck?
”
she said, looking into the eyes of three frightened kids.  There was a boy, and two girls, standing right before her. 
They can’t be more than ten, twelve years old. 
She turned to run back to her SUV. 
Shit!  No!  For fuck’s sake, I can't just leave them there, or they’ll make them croak when they’re found.  That’s if they’re lucky. 
She threw down her hands in frustration and turned.  “Quick, come,” she said, beckoning them to follow her.  The children looked at each other silently, fear very evident in their eyes, uncertain what to do.  “Come, I won’t hurt you.  Now!”  One by one they slowly obeyed, still looking uncertain, glancing at each other as if waiting for some kind of group approval that they were doing the right thing.  “It’s okay, it’s okay; don’t worry, I’m not like them.  I’m one of the good people,” she said, the children not looking too convinced, she thought, as they jumped out behind her.  “Quick, squeeze into the passenger side.”  All three climbed upwards, dragging themselves onto the seat beside her.  Corey turned the ignition, the SUV spluttering into life. 
No complaining now, I have some of that tasty diesel you like, your favourite. 
She
sped back onto the verge and deep down into the hidden depths of the gorge, away from the road and prying eyes.  She slowed a bit, knowing they were safer.  “So guys, don’t be shy, what’s the story?” 
They look so tired, so scared.  “
Look, no one is getting a good deal at the moment,” Corey said, looking at the children with sympathetic eyes. 

“We don’t want to go!” one girl suddenly screamed.  “We want to go home.”

“Home?  Where’s home?” Corey asked softly.

“There,” she turned and pointed back towards the road, before the boy suddenly grabbed her hand, pulling it down angrily.

“We…can’t…go…home…”  the boy said slowly but deliberately as he stared into her tearful eyes.  “There is no home, anymore!” 

Corey looked at the children,
Why me?  I have enough worries of my own, without not one, or two, but three fucked up kids.

“
You have names?” Corey asked, trying to look strong.

“
Mary,” said the girl, yet to speak, as she shyly looked up at Corey with a sweet smile.

“James,” the boy said, folding his arms.

“Della,” the other girl said, looking ashamed at her outburst.

“Where’s your home?” Mary quietly asked, looking through the window as if for indications of a settlement. 

“This is my home,” Corey answered.  “This right here, what we’re riding in.”

Mary laughed. 

“This car’s your home, but where do you sleep?”

“Oh, you know, on the seats, or in the back.  If it’s warm enough, on the roof.” All three children laughed as Corey smiled,
Who said life was dull around here,
she thought. 

“
What’s the story with the truck?” Corey asked, feeling she had gained some trust with the children.

“
We got locked in,” Mary said.

“
There were some men!” Della exclaimed.  “They came and burnt everything, chased everyone away.  We ran and hid in this truck.  It was parked up on the road.”

“We got in and here we are,” James added.

“
So you’re not one of them?” Mary asked.

“No, of course not,” Corey replied.

“Why did they burn everything?” Corey asked.

“They said someone was coming, someone important.  They needed the land for him, for oil,” Della said.

“Everyone ran away, got separated, and lost each other,” Mary added.

“Who’s coming?” Corey asked, beginning to feel fearful herself.

“He hides his face like he's shy,” Mary said.

“He keeps his hood over his head, always,” James added.  “Why?”  Nobody knows.”

“A hooded man?” Corey asked quietly, looking spooked.  All three children nodded. 

             
So it’s true,
Corey thought as she searched the children’s worried faces. 
The hooded man.  They say he was a naval commander that saved the West Coast, but he went AWOL.
 
This man, this myth; he’s alive and well it seems
.       

The Coming of the Storms

“Here it comes!” Kyla shouted. “The end is nigh!” as she looked up at the advancing storm front; a thick blanket of sand, several hundred feet high.  It moved slowly towards the cottage; a deep, luminous and orange cloud reflecting the light of the Sun above it, curdling with new darker layers of dirt as it ripped the topsoil from the nearby farms.  Hayley heard her shouts, pulling back the curtain from the window, peering outside as the Sun’s light became extinguished in the advancing, dark clouds.

“Quick, we need to get down there,” Kyla said wheezing.

“Down there, where the strange, yellow eyes dwell?” Demelza asked.

“Yes,” Kyla replied sternly, “unless you prefer to suffocate?”

“Decisions, decisions,” Hayley teased, looking at Demelza.

Demelza threw her arms in the air, “Suffocate, or skinned alive by a strange beast with yellow eyes.  It’s a difficult one,” she said. “I’ll think about it.”

“No time to think,” Kyla said.  “We need to get down there now, and quickly.”

“Anyhow,” Hayley said, “It was probably a cat.”

“A cat?” Demelza replied. “Its eyes were six feet off the floor!”

“Probably a kitten sitting on a ledge,” Hayley continued to tease.

“Didn’t stop you running from it,” Demelza contested.

“It had sharp claws,” Hayley said laughing, clawing her fingers through the air.

“Come, let’s stop arguing.  We must go now,” Kyla insisted.

“Ok, its kitten or bust,” Hayley smirked as they all hurried down the steps behind Kyla.

“Great zippo work, Kyla,” Hayley said, carefully watching her feet on the steps in the flickering light as they descended into the chamber.

“Thanks,” Kyla replied.  “Demelza left her prize possession on the table.   I guess for emergencies.”  Demelza said nothing, her mind frozen from the thought of seeing those yellow eyes again.

As they entered the chamber, Kyla grabbed a torch and lit it with the flame from Demelza's zippo.

“I suggest we take a torch each,” Kyla said, “in case we get separated.”

“Why would we get separated?” Demelza asked. “We're not going anywhere.  We stay in the chamber until the storm passes.  That's the plan, right?  No-one needs to get separated from anyone.”  She looked at Kyla and Hayley, eager for a comforting response.

“Right, as long as there is breathable air down here,” Hayley replied.  “Otherwise, we might find ourselves bolting this way and that, just to find air to breathe.  Demelza said nothing, looking the picture of worry.  Demelza and Hayley both unhooked torches from the wall, lighting them from Kyla’s.  All three torches roared as the air currents in the cavern picked up.

“Must be the storm above, sucking up the air,” Hayley suggested.

“Then there must be another way out, at least, for the air currents to circulate,” Kyla added.  Demelza looked at Kyla wondering where that comment was leading, but before she could speak, Kyla continued, “Anyhow, here we are, down in our shelter, out of harm’s way.”

They all held up their torches, looking around at the smooth carved walls.

“I wonder how long we need to stay down here,” Hayley pondered.  “Hours, days, years?”

“Until it's over,” Kyla simply said.

“You hear that?” Hayley asked, looking towards a tunnel behind the steps.  Demelza turned to look, “Not
Mr Freaky Eyes
and his bird friend, I hope?”

“Sounds like running water,” Kyla said as she walked towards the tunnel.  She pointed her torch down the narrow passage, but it curved a corner before revealing anything interesting. 

Hayley crouched down beside her, “Does indeed sound like running water,” she said. “Shall we take a peek?”

“Could do.  Let's go!  Come Demelza,” Kyla shouted back, “I think freaky eyes is sleeping.”  Demelza reluctantly followed them down the passageway, water dripping onto their heads, the path getting more sodden as they proceeded deeper until shallow puddles began to appear.

“Where are we going?” Demelza asked, not able to keep her anxiety in check any longer.  “Who gives a toss what's down there.”

“Well, if it's running water, we can drink, wash, you know, the simple things in life,” Kyla said sarcastically.  “Who knows, we may be down here for good.”

“You actually think it will come to that?” Demelza quickly replied.  Both Hayley and Kyla nodded.

“More than you can ever imagine,” Hayley added.  Did you not see those dark, towering clouds just now?”

“Well, yeah,” Demelza said.

“With it comes enough dirt and sand to flatten old New York City and more,” Hayley said, looking sternly at Demelza’s worried face.

“The end of the World is nigh, as Kyla said,” Hayley continued as Demelza looked more and more anxious.  They turned the corner of the tunnel, coming to an opening, the sound of thundering water hitting water now obvious as they watched in awe as the white underground rapids sped by before them.

“Looks a bit vicious for bathing in,” Hayley mused.

“Indeed!” Kyla remarked.       

“Won’t catch me in there,” Demelza added.

“Surprised the water’s so clean with so much sand and dirt up there,” Demelza continued.  “I was expecting a mud bath.”

“It’s coming from the North.  The storms haven’t reached there yet,” Kyla said with a smile.

“Northern benefits for southern girls, brought right to our doorstep, courtesy of the underground,” Hayley joked.  They all laughed.

“Maybe that’s why freaky eyes lives down here,” Demelza said, unable to banish those bright yellow eyes from her thoughts.

“I’m sure with all this water and shelter, there will be a few more surprises down here with time,” Kyla added.

“It’s like the wars in the old World, where people went underground to shelter from the fire that fell from the sky,” Hayley said.

“Not people with yellow eyes, though,” Demelza reminded them.  Hayley and Kyla simply smiled but didn’t reply, tired of who was responsible for the yellow eyes.

“Let’s eat, back at the chamber?” Kyla suggested.

“Sounds great,” Hayley replied as Demelza nodded in agreement. 

The cans heated quickly on the fire, the aroma of chicken soup quickly filling the chamber.

“It feels almost like home,” Kyla said as she took a sip of soup from the can.

“You know, the cottage, this cave, really could be our home,” Hayley said enthusiastically.   

“None of us have actually had a home.  We were all born after the star exploded,” Hayley continued.

“Like I said, guys, I’m tired of running from everyone and everything,” Kyla said.  “A home would make a nice change.”

“Just like in the good old days,” Demelza added.

“Yes, the same view from the window as I open the curtains every morning,” Kyla remarked.  “Staring down proudly at my neatly mowed lawn, done by the husband, of course, to get away from my incessant nagging.  The screaming kids, and me forever slouching on the couch with nibbles in front of the TV.”

“Sounds awful,” Hayley laughed.

“Insane,” Demelza giggled.

“It is, but deep, deep down, it’s what we all yearn for, isn’t it, a piece of the easy pie?” Kyla replied.  “A world of washing machines, fast food, quick marriages and possessions you don’t need.”

“Oh, now, how I would love to have a home full of possessions I don’t need,” Hayley cried.

“Microwaved food and hot showers,” Demelza sarcastically interrupted.  Kyla giggled, almost choking as she passed the soup around.

“Who needs hot showers when you could have a more refreshing cold one,” Haley said as she thumped Kyla on the back.

Demelza turned her head and put her finger to her mouth, “That was no cat,” she whispered.

“What isn’t a cat?” Kyla asked, savouring the warmth of the soup radiating throughout her body.

“That,” Demelza whispered, pointing to the tunnel they had just explored.

“No, it’s a tunnel,” Hayley smirked as a lonesome moan echoed down towards them.

“Sounds a bit disturbed to me,” Kyla said more seriously.

“It’s just the wind from the storm, girls.  It’s bound to sound disturbed.  It’s a hectic one up there today,” Hayley said.

“Not too sure about that,” Kyla insisted.  “It sounded alive like there was some lonesome thoughts embedded in it.”

“Just your mind playing tricks,” Hayley said as she eagerly drank her soup. “That is so divine,” she added, closing her eyes as she relished the flavours.  She suddenly opened them again as a moan echoed down the tunnel again, ending in an eerie wail.  They all looked at each other, each seeing fear in the other’s eyes.

“Ok, I admit, that time it sounded a bit spooky,” Hayley said as her hands tightened around her can of soup.

“A bit spooky is an understatement, that was downright evil,” Demelza said.

“Maybe it is the wind,” Kyla added.  “It can sound alive when it is forced to twist and turn through holes and crevices.”

“There is something twisting and turning alright, and it's not the wind!” Demelza exclaimed, her voice breaking into a panic.

“Maybe something smelt the soup, and it's hungry,” Hayley said.

“Hungry? It? You mean
it's
coming for our soup,” Demelza said.  Hayley shrugged, looking to Kyla.

“Calm down and take a deep breath.  Let's not panic,” Kyla said, taking a deep breath herself.  She got up, “I’ll take a look.”

“What?  You're nuts,” Demelza said.  Kyla walked to the edge of the tunnel and pointed her torch into its darkness.  She watched the light and shadows dance on the damp walls, fine droplets of water shimmering back at her from old, broken cobwebs.  She listened to the breeze whistle towards her, cool on her face. 

Just the wind.  There's only the wind,
she thought as her heart pounded in her chest. 
Only our minds are making this thing real. 
Hayley and Demelza watched Kyla with anticipation as she walked back towards them, looking back over her shoulder as if to make sure nothing followed.

“She’s mad,” Demelza whispered to Hayley.

“Anything?” Hayley asked as Kyla sat back down, her chest heaving deeply.

“Nothing but broken, hanging cobwebs,” she replied between breaths.

“Broken, hanging cobwebs?  How did that happen?” Demelza asked anxiously.

“Huh,” Kyla gasped.

“Cobwebs don't break by themselves,” Demelza insisted.

Kyla shrugged, “I don't know.  The wind, dripping water perhaps.”

“Just like the telegraph wires we saw back at the city,” Hayley added.  “They break over time.”  Demelza looked unconvinced as she resumed drinking her soup.

“We all have our demons hiding in the recesses of our minds.  Best not to wake them,” Hayley said.

“Or they will take on a life of their own,” Kyla added, “driving you mad.”

Kyla smiled at Demelza, “I don't hear it anymore. You know, maybe the storm has passed?”

“I hope so.  I don't think I could spend a night down here,” Demelza said, looking towards the steps up to the cottage.

“Everything looks good, so far,” Kyla said as she walked around the fireplace, looking up at the ceiling and towards the windows.  She walked across the dim room and pulled back the curtains.  The windows were covered in snowy sand but were unbroken.  She peered through a clear bit at the side, where the wood had shielded the window from the elements.  The fields were covered in knee-high drifts of golden, sandy snow, just about visible in the twilight glow of the moon.

“So beautiful in a strange and twisted way,” she thought aloud.

“Just glad to be up here, rather than down there,” Demelza said relieved. “We should put a bolt on that door, just in case.”

“Just in case what?” Hayley teased.

“Just in case the wind takes on a life of its own and comes up here looking for some soup,” Demelza teased back. 

Kyla giggled, “Hope the buggy survived in the shed,” she said.  “It would be sad to lose a faithful friend.”

As the laughter died, and the girls grew weary, Kyla walked over to the window.

I wonder how many perished out there today?
Kyla thought as she gazed through the frosty window panes. 
Pale, lifeless bodies, now entombed in sand and ice, their blood and lungs, blue from suffocation.  Terrified faces, staring upwards, frozen from the cold, long before they took their last breath.  How many will make it, and for what, a life of misery, always living on a razor’s edge?  Life is a sharp blade that cuts through time, through the wilderness, a sacred path for those that can walk its fine edge.