We camped there. We had no choice—it would be dark before we could make any meaningful distance. Not a single one of us slept, but there was no sign of Transcendence, or any more shadowed survivors fleeing it.
The next morning, we drove until almost noon before I spotted another fossil of a sign. “There’s one!” I cried as soon as its weathered, industrial-blue face glinted into shape against the horizon. We’d been between major towns for days, only trees and road, and I was in desperate need of something to help me pin us exactly to our map. I leaned down in my seat, then sideways, but the sun was too strong to see the words. “Stop us here,” I said to Ursula. “I need to get out. The glare’s too bright from inside here.”
She coasted to a slow halt and cut the ignition. I climbed out of the RV and jogged over the gravel along the side of the road to the base of the sign, hand to my brow to cut the sun. Ursula followed with her rifle. A few feet away, the glazed surface finally gave up the blinding glow and I saw why it had been so hard to read. It was the back of the sign, an empty blue sheet, not the front.
“This side!” I said, darting around its tall metal legs. “This side, it says—”
REST STOP, 1 MILE AHEAD
I dropped my hand. “It’s not a sign for New Orleans,” I said, disappointed.
“Are we going the wrong way?”
“No, no. It’s just a sign for a rest stop.” Ursula’s waiting expression told me she’d forgotten what that was. “A small area off the main highway with a gas station, a few restaurants, and some other small stores. Travelers gather there.”
“We’d probably best avoid that, then. If we can help it, I don’t want to run into any more runners. Or the ones they were fleeing.” Ursula replied. “But we’re still going the right way?”
“I think so,” I said.
She laid her rifle across her shoulder. “What’s a restaurant?” she finally asked.
“It’s—” I paused. I realized I didn’t know what that word meant anymore either.
“Doesn’t matter,” Ursula said.
As we walked away, I was seized by an almost desperate feeling to turn around and look at the sign again. Not the front, but the back. The empty, sapphire space.
“Wait just a minute,” I said.
Ursula stopped, but pointed toward the RV with the tip of her gun. “The others.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “Go back in. I’ll be right here.”
“Max.” She frowned.
“Please. I just need a minute.”
I thought Ursula would refuse. Yesterday had us all spooked. She squinted at the sign for a few minutes. Finally she nodded. “Quickly then.”
I went to the blank side of the tired metal plate again as she picked her way back to the vehicle through the gravel. Quickly. I didn’t have any of Zachary’s paints, but there were rocks around my feet. I picked up a pointed one and put it against the metal, dragging it slowly in a small line. The blue coating came away in tiny chips, leaving a silver scar. I pressed harder, did it again. And again. When I finished, I let the stone drop back to the ground and shaded my eyes with one hand.
You would have smiled if you could have seen it, Ory. It wasn’t perfect, but it was clear enough—two thickly scratched numbers against a blue background.
I haven’t said it for a long time, but I still remember. Part of me is afraid to say it, in case that time is the last time. But I still remember. I wanted to prove it to you.
Ursula was squinting out the windshield when I finally opened the side door and climbed back into the passenger seat. Through the glass, I could just barely make out the curves of the 5 and the 2 scratched there, glinting in the sun. Ursula could no longer read it, but she could tell that it was writing.
“To remember?” she asked.
“To remember,” I said.
She started the RV.
The road was smoother for a while. Victor kept watch, his expression as sharp and predatory as the lion on his arm, and I fell in and out of sleep as we drove, lulled by the engine’s hum. I may have dreamed about you. I’m not sure. It worries me sometimes—whether I could forget you in a dream—but there’s nothing I can do about it. There’s no way not to sleep. And who knows how much longer I’ll have dreams anyway? After I’ve forgotten enough, maybe I won’t dream at all.
An hour went by with only trees and more trees, worrying Ursula further, until finally another sign appeared ahead of us. She nudged me and gestured out the windshield. I sat up and rubbed my face, ready to do my job. She must have woken me up mid-slumber—I blinked several times to clear my eyes, yet the sign ahead of us remained a jumbled blur. But on the surrounding trees, I’d never seen the little green leaves withering in the late autumn air so vividly as then.