New Dawn

Chapter 21 | A way out of Melrose

The green circle drawn on the map almost seemed to glow in the beam of the flashlight. Hypnotized by its fading colour he felt a cold hand nestle its way in under his skin. With the mere touch of a finger it sent a reluctant shiver down his back.

The fresh scent of sea salt and honeysuckle still tingled his nose, every imprint on his senses still as obtainable as if he were to pinch his own arm. Only, he wasn't in the need of an arm pinch. He needed a slap across the face, or to get run over by a truck to understand that he wasn't still caught in a dream.

But he was alone and desperate, and even if the sensible and rational part of him shunned the idea of ever following the map again, he wanted to believe that it had been more than just a dream. If dogs could disappear into thin air, then perhaps the dead could put a map into his hands.

He looked down on the piece of paper, its edges no longer sharp corners but withering crescents. The area that had been marked was part of a national park a few miles South of Melrose called Willow Creek. During winter nights, tourists and locals would gather at Willow Creek with the hope of catching a glimpse of the Southern lights. Another shiver traveled down his spine like a drop of ice.

Follow the lights. They will guide you to answers.

Several hours had passed since Juniper's disappearance. Night was already upon them and with every possible lead wiped out by the snowstorm he was running low on ideas. Not to forget that he was desperate, and so perhaps he simply wanted to believe in a miracle. Whether it had been his dreams or his subconscious that had put the map in his hands it couldn't be a coincidence. It might not lead him to Juniper, but perhaps it would provide him with answers.

Quickly, he began to get dressed. He tied the laces to his boots which leather had turned stiff with the cold. Then, he folded the map and slipped it into the inner pocket of the coat. He kept the flashlight in his right hand.

As he swung the backpack over his shoulder, he realised that unless he wanted to walk for several miles through the snowstorm he still needed petrol for the pickup.

The storm had settled, but not by much. The wind still bit his cheeks and persisted to tug at his clothes as he stepped outside. Small tornados of snow whirled across the ground only to be released into a serene downfall of micro crystals.

As he contemplated whether he should tell Bill about his departure, a rat scurried past his feet. The glow from the flashlight followed tiny paw prints that led his gaze to a trash bin left outside of a yellow trailer. A dreamcatcher hung on its door, and as he approached, he saw that the trash bin had been turned into a feast for hungry souls.

Over a dozen rats gnawed away at a fine mixture of leftovers and plastic bags that flooded the sides of the container. As his shadow loomed over their heads and light fell upon their sins, one of them turned its head and hissed. Its thick, rugged body revealed a set of sharp teeth and a pair of bloodshot eyes. Dried and crusted blood ensnared its nose, and with a whip of its whiskers it disappeared beneath the trailer.

His stomach turned as he thought of all the people gathered in the tent earlier that day. Where people went, disease followed. It was unavoidable.
A sense of entrapment came over him, and suddenly he longed for the open plains. There was no longer any doubt in his mind; it was time to leave the city behind.

He left the rats to their feast and began to walk back towards the garage. Motorcycles were parked everywhere, meaning that they had to keep the fuel somewhere. The snow crunched pleasantly beneath his boots, and as another harsh wind swept past he pulled the coat tighter around his chest.

The garage laid empty. In the grey light Bill's motorcycle appeared like a contorted being beneath the dusty sheet. The beam from the torch swayed across the room as he searched for something useful.

He walked towards the office. The blinds had been pulled down and the door was closed. He prayed that it wasn't locked. He twisted the handle.

Locked. Of course it was.

He directed the light towards the door mat, and flipped up the right corner with his boot. Beneath, he found a gleaming, silver key.

Some things never change, he thought as he unlocked the door.

Inside it was as if time had stopped. The desk still faced the car hall and the Harley Davidson models were still lined up on the window sill. He allowed for his fingers to run across the desk, drawing a line in the layer of dust. He stopped when he reached a frame on the left side of the computer. The chair creaked beneath his weight as he sat down, shining the light upon the photograph in his hand.

The red letters of Cox Auto Repair Shop hovered over Audrey, Bill and Thomas Cox. They leaned on one another, and with big smiles painted across their faces there wasn't a worry on the horizon.

He put the frame back down, unable to look at the photograph for too long. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he missed Juniper's furry face. She was uncomplicated, and her best quality was that she simply wasn't human.