Marin's Dale

XII

Follow me

The gosh-darn sun was blinding even worse. Paul wore his buddy's Aviators; and they did nothing. He peered through the windshield as his cumbersome truck rolled down the empty streets of the place he once knew. The horizontal rip in the heavens was flickering now, like lights on Christmas Eve; it was an array of colors, fascinating but seemingly deadly.

"Jesus..." Paul murmured to himself, finding it hard to keep his eyes on the road. The sky was flickering all the forms of red. From crimson to cherry to rose to a violet—to colors and shades and hues and tones and accents Paul didn't even have words for.

He shot a look quick to the girl in the passenger seat. She sat perfectly erect, her white eyes unmoving, her tiny fingers spread on her knees. She hadn't said a word the whole drive, and Paul had given up trying.

He had been driving for a while now, though it had never struck him where he was heading. Surely, he had embarked with a destination in mind...

But that sky; that brilliant, intoxicating sky. Paul didn't know whether it was the impossible heat, the sewers, or the jungle of seemingly abandoned homes and vehicles, stores, shops, businesses and communities—but something was making him woozy. Maybe it was just the weirdness of it all.

Paul wiped a bead of sweat from his face. And that's when he became aware of the sweat everywhere else. He was perspiring like a Sumo Wrestler in a sauna. He was a big man, and had never done well in the heat. Then again, it had never been so gosh-darn hot in Marin's Dale. Not like this.

And speaking of that heat,  it was almost, almost... artificial. Like something somewhere had switched the setting on a giant oven, an oven containing them all. Paul wondered if the government had something to do with it. Would it really be that farfetched to assume that they were doing something dubious? After all, Marin's Dale was a secluded place. What better way to test a new controversial technology than to unleash it upon an unknowing town? It would be an easy clean-up and an easy cover-up when things got dicey.

Paul shook his head. But people knew about this town—people from all across the US. Well, 'least the people who bothered to do the research. Marin's Dale was supposed to be a haven of sorts. It was supposed to be a good place for raising a family and settling down—especially if you were the upper middle-class.

Paul groaned. His thinking was going awry, and it bothered him. He remembered the days when such a feeling had been desired. But that had been 28 years ago. And Paul was done with that lifestyle. He had sworn to himself and his wife and his kids and on the graves of countless relatives that he would never go back to that way of living.

28 years, 8 months, and 17 days. He kept track every day, to remind himself of how far he'd come. He reminded himself how lucky he was to be alive, with loved ones and a steady career—it all could have ended a million different ways, so, so, long ago.

Not a day went by where Paul didn't have at least one craving. But he was okay with this. He was an addict, and he understood this now. There were ways of combating those cravings. Whenever things got bad, Paul knew what to do. He liked to go to the movies now, by himself. It was his way of putting things back in order, of reminding himself of all his blessings.

Those who knew him respected this—they gave him his private time. Those who used to know him, those who used to kill the nights with the Demon rushing through their veins—these people, they would never understand.

But then again, most of these people had disappeared long ago. Paul doubted if any of them were still living. And if they were, it wasn't the kind of life he'd wish on anybody. It was amazing the kind of people that turned to these lifestyles. People who seemingly had everything, they were the kind who seemed most susceptible.