The Swailing

The Alley: Learning

Once we get out of the mountains I'm not sure I've ever seen land so flat. It stretches out endlessly – beige and unchanging. It feels like constant deja vu, mile after mile.

Finn tells me it's about 14 hours to Sabine's and we can drive it straight through, especially if I learn how to drive. He doesn't have to ask me twice.

So once we're somewhere in a former state called Nebraska, Finn pulls off the highway onto a deserted, flat stretch of road. He puts the car in park and switches seats with me. My palms are sweaty and my heart is racing – if I still had my BuffCuff on, it would be buzzing like crazy. I fasten my safety belt and tell Finn he should do the same.

"I trust you," he says.

"It's not about trust, it's about life or death."

Finn laughs and fastens his belt.

"Okay. So, you put your foot on the brake – the one on the left."

I press my left foot on the pedal.

"No, your right foot."

"My right foot on the left pedal? What do I do with my left foot?"

"Nothing, It just sits there."

"Ohhh-kay." I'm confused already.

"Now put the car in drive. With the gear shift."

I move the lever carefully.

"Now take your foot off the brake and put it on the gas pedal. Same foot, the right one. Gently."

I smile in anticipation and move my foot from one pedal to the other. I press lightly and the car starts to inch forward. I let out an involuntary squeal and Finn laughs.

"Now just ... drive."

I press the pedal harder and the car picks up speed. "This is all there is to it?"

"Pretty much. You just have to obey the laws."

"Oh, sure," I joke. "Now you tell me there are laws."

I experiment with turning the wheel from side to side, like Finn did the first time I drove with him. I press the brakes hard and we both fly forward in our seats, caught by our safety belts. Then I press the gas again and we speed forward.

"Won't I get in trouble because I don't have a ... what do you call it? A license?"

"Probably not here in The Alley. Possibly other places, but only if you get caught."

I remember that there are no sensors in Finn's car – no bioreader to record who is driving. Anybody could be driving the car and no one would know. It is exhilarating to feel so free.

Finn fills me in on any important rules and laws that he can think of, which mostly involve speed and etiquette about passing other cars and after a while I feel surprisingly comfortable behind the wheel. Finn tells me I'm a natural and I feel ridiculous for blushing, but something in me wanted to be good at driving.

He yawns and I tell him he should try to get some sleep. He nods, but looks skeptical. "You learned to drive 10 minutes ago. You think I'm going to be able to relax enough to sleep?"

I laugh. "But you said I'm a natural!"

He smiles and yawns again. I remember his late night wakeup call from Aspen, and then our morning run and gunshot-fueled hike. I guess I can understand why he's tired.

"Well. I'll try not to kill us."

"Mmm hmmm," he hums.

I glance over at him and see his eyes are already closed. So much for him being worried for his life. I notice the shadows from his eyelashes again, the stubble on his jaw... I force my eyes back on the road.

"I've got this," I say, more to myself than to him.

I drive, nervous at first that at any minute the car will careen off the road, plow into the ditch, throw me and Finn straight through the windshield. But eventually my heart rate settles and I realize that it is not so terribly dangerous out here on the practically empty road. The asphalt stretches out in front of me in a straight, flat ribbon until it meets the horizon. There is nothing to hit, and nothing to hit me. I do have to remind myself now and then that I am steering, that my foot controls our speed. Once or twice we start to slow down and I realize it's because I've taken it off the gas pedal without knowing it.

When I get more comfortable I steal little glimpses around us, but there isn't much to see. Brownish fields. Occasional clumps of trees with no leaves on them. Little color and very few signs of life.

After awhile I see smoke in the distance and I watch the pillar of gray until we are close enough to see its source. It looks like the field is on fire, but I can see people and water tanks on hand not making any attempt to extinguish it. Fin is awake now and glances over at the fire as well.

"What are they doing there?" I nod at the smoke. "Why aren't they putting it out?"

"Looks like they're swailing," Finn says.

"Swailing?" I'm confused. The Swailing is the term used for the period after the United States disbanded, the time when sovereigns figured out their plans. I didn't know the word had any other meaning.

Finn nods and stretches a bit and then leans closer to me to check one of the gauges on the dashboard.

"Yeah. They burn off underbrush and stuff. To ... stimulate the growth of new plants."

"Oh," I say, "We have that in Optima, too. But we call it controlled burning." I roll my eyes. "Of course it's called controlled burning. They are all about control."

We watch as the smoke drifts across the highway.

"You call it swailing?" I ask again, trying to figure out why.

He nods.

I remember learning about controlled burning in science, about how forests rely on fire to reduce underbrush and restore nutrients. Without the occasional fire, forests become less resilient and there's the potential for massive greenhouse gas emissions when wildfires do happen.

It seems funny that you'd let something burn on purpose so that it doesn't come back and bite you later on. But in an odd way it makes sense. Any time you let pressure build up it's got to release.

I think of what I've learned about the formation of the sovereigns after the collapse of the government, and I guess I can see why that period was called The Swailing. After the tumultuous breakdown of the nation, the regions were burning off underbrush, so to speak, to prevent devastating dissention. They were reinforcing agendas, making their societies more resilient. It was a preventative measure, so that things wouldn't get out of control again.

I think of myself and the simmering, smoldering sensation I've felt for quite a while now and how this trip is the equivalent of a massive greenhouse gas emission.

So ... a controlled burn is probably what I've needed. Something to hit the refresh button in me. A swailing for my soul.