Timelines Collide

Chapter 29: Reminiscent Figures

I have to call Loran. No matter how flimsy the idea of Lana being my savior when it comes to Lisa's little assignment is. What other options do I have in this world, in this place, in this time? Halfway back to their house, I was already dialing the numbers from a phone that Loran had given me for such occasions. 

The ringer starts to blur then swifts to her voice shouting hello just as fast. In reality, I shouldn't have worried so much. Loran easily permits me and even thanks me for taking her, claiming she can use the extra time for studying with Vinny. Not even a second after hearing the news, Lana already whisks me off by my pant legs in the opposite direction, faster than either me or Loran could hang up the phone. 

The whole way down, Lana insures me in the best way a seven-year-old can with the attention span of a ceiling fan blade. However, I can't shake the feeling that she's in over her head. That idea starts appearing more apparent as the streets we travel along start to become not as nice to the eyes. 

The buildings become more antique, people huddle around fire pits, and even two scruffy men fight over a 12-foot tuna. If I didn't have this Lana next to me, I would think I was in one of the side shadow towns back in my time. 

Places that haven't been fully affected by The Great Terror, but just enough to make them like this. One learns to navigate these places well; this Lana moves me around like she's been through this route countless times. To my surprise or concern? I'm not too sure of that yet.

She eventually stops dragging me by my pant legs and tells me to follow her. This area had to be the worst I've seen yet. It's starting to feel like home with the skies becoming covered in mist-red clouds while in the air I can see grey streaks sporting along the atmosphere. 

The buildings remain run down just as much as the dust runs along the streets. People still roam, but they make it look like they have no other choice. I didn't need to see their raggy or dirty littered clothes to know where I was. One big whiff of charcoal climbing up my nose pretty much whispers it to you—a mining district.

Back in the old days, I've heard they didn't have too many of them still roaming alive. Districts like these remain in cobwebs once advancements in technology come about. It's hard to believe those stories. Because once Devastator took power, that myth might as well not have existed. 

For every 50 meters of land, a mining district was built into foundation. Granted, for anyone willing to work down there, they can get quite the pay. Unlike here by the look of things. However, there's a reason why pay is so high, and I hope that I won't have to be reminded why that is.

Thankfully, we stopped at a medium-sized building that has an almost 200-meter chain fence stretching behind it. I look up not only to see the many factories smoking up in the distance, but an unlit sign saying Steely's Junkyard plastered above my forehead. Below it, the words Autoshop barely blink to life in yellow. 

We both enter through the saloon-like doors leading us into a small room lingering with wood-painted walls along with different-sized holes where wallpaper should be. Along the same wooden floor, only a few chairs, a pale yellow service desk, and a set of wooden sliding doors right on the side of it. 

Before even pinning this entire room down, Lana I watch take no time running to the service desk pressing a bell that lays on top of it. It had to be at least 50 times she smashed her tiny little hands into the bell the way her arms moved up and down like a pulley.

Maybe after that 51st ring, a man comes through the sliding doors on the left of the services desk that, looking closely, leads its way into a garage. He appears to be tall with black bushy hair along with clothes and gloves covered head to toe in oil and grease.