The Risks

May: Chapter 1

MY KNUCKLES WERE white as my hands gripped the steering wheel, skin stretched tightly. I stared, unblinking, out the front windshield as the yellow lines disappeared beneath the front of my car.

The highway was long and still.

I glanced at the dashboard -like I did every few minutes- to see that the gas tank was getting too low not to fill. As much I didn't want to stop I had to force myself to. I knew I couldn't make it to our destination on this tank. I had to get out of the car at some point but here -on this open highway- it felt like suicide.

I did a quick scan of the surrounding area through the windshield then pulled over to the side of the road. That wasn't really necessary now, but old habits die hard, right?

"Why are we stopping?" Oakley asked nervously from the back seat.

"Filling up the gas tank," I answered as I grabbed George's pistol from the dash. "Stay put."

Before I had any time to talk myself out of it I threw the door open and jumped out, tucking the weapon into the back of my jeans. I tentatively made my way around the side of my Jeep, unable to focus at the task at hand. The sound of my wild heartbeat was distracting -annoying even. I took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly to in an attempt to calm my nerves, then opened the back hatch of the Jeep to get the gas can. I frowned as I held it; it was lighter than I'd hoped. I gave it a quick shake to get an idea of how much was left.

slosh slosh slosh

There was an awful lot of air in there.

I sighed and unscrewed the cap, then tipped the can and emptied what was left into the tank while snapping my head back and forth in paranoia. There was nothing but cement and empty crop fields both ways, no movement but the wind in the trees, no sounds other than birds and bugs.

It was too quiet. I'd noticed it this morning, too, as we were leaving home, but it took until now for my brain to process why. The Hum was gone. The cacophony of human existence. Indistinct conversation, traffic, the buzz of electricity, machinery, trains, jets. All gone. The cry of a lone crow overhead was enough to make me flinch and spill a few drops of gasoline, resulting in my berated curse.

Now I had always been one to revel in silence, but being away from the Hum and understanding that it wasn't happening at all were two totally different things. This kind of silence was on its own terrifying level. It was like a plastic sack over my head. I gasped for air, but the plastic flooded my mouth, my nose. It filled my lungs. It distorted my vision. It stuck to my skin like tar.

Suffocating silence.

Is this even real?

I hopped back in the Jeep and exhaled as I felt an instantaneous sense of relief. Then I tossed the empty gas can into the back seat and switched the pistol out for the map on the dash.

I traced my finger numbly over the soft creases of the map and closed my eyes. It was definitely real. What happened on the tenth of February was real. The three months we stayed holed up in our house were real. The circle on this map, the note, the syringes... those were all real.

"Claire?"

I opened my eyes, realizing I was squeezing the paper. I relaxed and let my eyes settle on Oakley in the rear view mirror for a second, then turned in my seat to look at her. Her light brown eyes were wide, her cheeks rosy, her short hair tousled. She had on a grey t-shirt, pea green cargo shorts and her school gym shoes. It was an outfit I had to help her piece together, otherwise she'd be in kitten leggings and a princess dress. She looked as if she were simply on a camping trip, like nothing was out of the ordinary, like she was untouched by the changed world around us. I was thankful for that. I only hoped I could make it last forever.
"I'm sorry. What is it?"