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Episode 042 |
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“Blowing around,
turning over and out, White Zombie, The One Running next to Slate, I feel like an oaf. I had the fastest time on the hundred meter dash, and on the five-k run, of my entire demo team. I was on my cross-country team in high school, and would be on the college team at William and Mary if I didn’t have the demo team. I played soccer every summer since before I can remember. I think I’ve probably run at least three miles every single day of my life since I was at least ten. I have an idea about how to run. But Slate keeps having to slow down for me. We run through the forest, which will slow anybody up, but you’d think I’d be alright with my cross-country experience. And I don’t trip or anything. But Slate bounds like she’s on a cloud or something. She just glides over everything. And her jogging is as fast as my running. And her running is almost as fast as my sprinting. We’re running and she’s moving like it’s a workout. I’m panting desperately because I have no air in my lungs. My mouth’s dry and I can’t keep my eyes focused, I’m so tired. But she’s fine. I simply can’t believe how much better of shape she is in versus me. So as I run, I swear to myself. I make a solemn promise. When we get out of this, I am soooo hiring her as my personal trainer. The park moves in waves. The trees are thick, almost strangling against our motions. And within a few moments of running, they’ve spread out almost to the point of a clearing. The thick grass moves in waves as well. One moment, it’s thick around our ankles, the next it’s wavy like sheets of grain about our knees. So many different environments abound around us. I wish I had time to stop and appreciate the place. It looks really pretty. The edges of the sky are turning pink. The sun, or whatever it is in the bio-dome, is rising. I didn’t notice yesterday when I was looking for Slate. It’s hard for me to handle that this place is, for all intents and purposes, indoors, that this is basically a giant pressurized room. Finally, as we’re running, we both hear it at the same time. The sound we’ve been hoping for, even if we didn’t know it was coming, the sound that we begged and pleaded would be found. We didn’t know what sound it might be, but when it came, we were delighted beyond words. Traffic Slate and I jog up to a metal bridge that leads over a highway. Down a steep drop, a four-lane highway passes at a breakneck speed. Everyone’s trying to get to work. But beyond the bridge that strolls across the highway, we see the edge of the park. And beyond it, the city that spreads wide in every direction. Looming before us like the wings of a bat as it swoops in for the kill, the city is coming to life as the night shift transforms into the day shift. I look over to Slate as we approach the metal bridge, both eyeing the gate that keeps it closed during the night. I look over at her. “What do we do?” I ask. But Slate’s eyes are locked on the far side of the park. I turn to see what she’s looking at just as she speaks up. “We get to that water fountain,” she whispers, licking her chapped lips. The gate in front of the bridge seals it off completely. The shatter-proof plastic is secured with a steal door that is locked from the inside. Lining out around from the fenced grating is a steel barrier that keeps the world from falling into the ravine. I look at Slate. “Think we can find another way around?” I ask. Slate looks down the highway in either direction, neither of us seeing any difference. She looks back at me. “Okay,” I accept. “Wanna wait until the…” As I say that, she grabs onto the fence and pulls herself up onto it. “You’re out of your damn mind, woman,” I grumble as I grab the fence and follow suit. Slate stands up first, the hard air over the interstate rushing against us. The enclosed walkway over the bridge has a strong steel roof, one that’s topped with support beams to handle the whole bridge’s weight without any pillars to disrupt the traffic down below. Slate moves through the crisscrossed steel beams that form ‘X’s at odd angles over the whole bridge, while I struggle with each step. It seems every time I pick up my foot, a blast of wind hits me like a blow to the gut. I try to support myself with the beams, but that gives me little comfort. I can’t keep from looking down at the dark highway stories below as the lights of speeding cars move by like the angry eyes of demons on the prowl. We make it to the midpoint and Slate stops. She turns around and looks back. I stop and, hesitantly, I look back as well. “Do you think Morcean’s dead?” she calls over the traffic. “Do you think we can talk about this on the ground?” I yell back. She looks down, and then at me. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?” “Afraid of heights?” I scream. “Heights are looking down from the window, or being up on a ladder. This has nothing to do with being afraid of heights.” “Sure it does,” she yells back, smiling, the wind kicking her hair up around her face. She pushes it out of her way and starts to walk again. I grumble the whole way, complaining under my breath about how much I wish I was at the auto shop right about now. Slate just drops down from the fence, dropping almost nine feet. She lands in a crouch, then stands up without another thought. I have to sit down and dangle my feet over the edge, turn around so that I can lower myself down as much as I can before I drop. And it still hurts a lot when I land on the hard-packed dirt under my feet. But by the time I land, I already hear the sound of fresh, pure, clean, crystal-clear water running through the faucet of the water fountain. I look up and Slate’s face is practically buried in the water stream. She sucks up the water as it pours out, but then stands up, gasping. She smiles a bit, then backs away. “Go ahead,” she says with the friendliest tone I think I’ve ever heard come out of her. I move over the water fountain and turn the faucet handle. The wet mist of air comes out as the water splashes against the steel basin imbedded in the concrete form. I stick my lips into the water, almost shocked by the cool feel and the wet slap. I suck at the water, desperately pulling it into my mouth as I swallow. But I gag. I collapse on the ground, my body shaking as I start to convulse. I dry heave on the pavement, my body in shock as nothing comes up. My hands feel weak as my insides feel like they’re turning over. I feel like my stomach is literally twisting into knots. “You’re suffering from severe dehydration,” Slate says as she comes to stand over me. She pats my back as I keep coughing up my innards. I look up at her, but she kneels down to me. She takes my face in her hands, feeling my cheeks. “You’ve got a fever.” She takes my hand and starts to stand me up. Suddenly, the act of doing so is hard for me. “Come on,” she says, helping me. We turn around to the water fountain and she lowers me to it. “Now, this time, just touch your lips to the water.” I turn the faucet as my strength returns. I dip my mouth into the water stream, my chapped lips stinging from the cold and wet. But the water drips inside my dry mouth and I can feel my body getting used to the idea again. We stay by the water fountain for probably twenty minutes, just trading off. I drink as much as I possibly can, then step back as Slate takes her turn. By the time she’s done, all of a sudden, I’m thirsty again. But before too much longer, the sky has come to life. And I get to see a sight that I simply can’t believe is artificial. The edges of the trees are lined with orange. A dull white haze comes over the sky as the stars disappear. And I forget about the water fountain. The clouds in the sky slowly become alive as they line with the heat of the day. I hear birds chirp and the sound of traffic and the city comforts me, welcoming on the new day. I’m watching the dawn inside a bio-dome. I look back at Slate but she’s leaning against the water fountain, obviously thinking. I move towards her, but she looks up at me. “We need to find a place to crash,” she says, as if anticipating my concerns. “We need to figure out what our next move is and we need some sleep.” I nod, shaking my head to keep my eyes fully open. “Sounds like a plan to me.” “Do you have any cash?” she asks. “Anything at all?” I just shake my head. She looks away. “Anything you might have had, Morcean probably took from you.” I look out at the edge of the city park, at the city beyond the steel gate that wraps around our world, then I look back at Slate. “How much do you have?” I ask. My mind begins to race. She looks at me. “I don’t know. Fifty bucks, give or take. Assuming I can still remember my debit card number.” But she suddenly throws her hands up. “But where’s going to take a debit card number without a debit card itself?” I look up at her. “If this city is this big, then there’s got to be some low-rent, right?” “Yeah, but they’re on the other side of town,” she protests, angry at the situation. “From where we were last night, right?” I ask. “So where are we now?” She
gets ready to speak up, but stops. She looks out at the park’s exit as well,
seeing the city for the first time. Slowly, her mind starts to pick up as she
orientates herself. “Good point,” she whispers. |
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