PACIFICATION

The only one

Based on a Dream: june 7 2023

PACIFICATION

Rough draft

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Red and orange wisps paint the morning sky illuminating the road ahead just enough to keep on it and out of the ditch. Before long, the sun is shining high above me and sweat beads gather on my forehead, reminding me that it's been more than a few hours since I last stopped for a rest. My bag is bulky and my jacket much too heavy for this unexpected, dare-i say, good weather that has sprung upon me so I shrug it off and throw back a gulp of water. It's difficult to stop myself but water rations are critically low and I'm relying on the prospect of working taps when I reach my destination. The state of every other house so far is enough to tell me that I may find what I'm after.

Each road is like the last, empty of cars and with no sign of other people anywhere. Animals seem to have taken over in their absence though, scampering squirrels and the occasional side of the road rabbit keep me company as I walk. Up ahead, I can make out a large dark shadow. It sits on the edge of the road and takes up a good portion of the right lane. I run up to it, my heart racing. I've seen marks like this before, they are everywhere…but none are as big as this one. Its edges are soft, and its center is dark and chalky like a pile of charcoal where a fire had once burned. Crouching, I run my fingers through it and bring them to my face, I smell it and it resembles burnt hair ... .burnt rubber and there is the faintest hint of gasoline. Then, something catches my eye in the grass, tucked deep in the ditch. It resembles the top of a carseat but I can't be sure until I approach it, something I, for some reason, am afraid to do. It feels silly but I allow myself this sliver of fear. It's better to be fearful and alive than to be brave and dead. The cowards motto….

The closer I get, the clearer i can see that it is empty and I feel better, realizing that most of that fear had been of finding a body strapped in. The seat is empty but the buckles are clasped, restraining nothing but a clip on pacifier and- my blood runs cold. I step back and with heavy breaths, I stare, eyes locked, unable to look anywhere else but at the blackened, soot-like gathering of dust in place of an infant. It all makes sense as I recall the last 46 hours. Everywhere I turned there had been spots just like these. On the road, on the sidewalk, in yards and on lawns. Before I left town, I had stopped at a deserted market and in every single aisle, black spots after black spots littered the tiles. People. They were all people. My lungs pull wildly for air but it's no use. Each breath feels tighter and tighter until I see stars sparkling in my vision.

I throw my hands onto my knees, forcing myself to take deep breaths, scrunching my eyes shut to stop my head from spinning and as I come back down, another mark on the ground catches my attention. This time, the mark is an indent in the dirt, a track of an animal I've never seen. Its three toes splay out like that of a large reptile, extinct for eons. I know a dinosaur is out of the question but even so, I don't want to stick around to find out what left the tracks so I push on, not allowing myself to look back over my shoulder until I am long around the corner and out of view. The rest of the walk is without incident and I come up on the last four way stop sign before I begin the final stretch to the house on Haven Road. The sound of thunder rolls across the sky in the distance but there are no clouds in sight, i can only hope for a soft rain to wash the stains away from the roads. The human remnants can go back to the earth, I don't want to see them.

It's nearly 3pm when I round the corner looking down the last stretch of road. The driveway is visible from here but it still seems so out of reach. I shrug on my bag so that it is higher on my shoulder and push on, my stomach tying in knots as I follow along more tracks. As long as I don't look down, nothing is there, I tell myself, stealing a half-glance at them when they veer off into the lawn. I step onto the driveway. We both seem to have shared the same destination up to this point and now, whoever, whatever it is has gone its own way. I'm beyond thankful for that.