The moon rose and shone behind the clouds that continued to emit rain on and off. The light was ethereal, coating the trees in silver cut with black, each new blade of grass distinguishable. He waited for headlights to slice the darkness, to shine on the house and the Tahoe to reappear. He waited for hours.
Sometime near dawn he fell asleep, dreams of demon-like figures cajoling around a fire in the center of a clearing, their voices braided into a chant that drew a cable of terror tight around his chest. Their faces were blank slates of mist, swirling as they laughed and danced around him. He was bound and couldn’t move, time moving slower than it should have, succumbing to the monotone chant that was otherworldly and frightening beyond anything he’d ever known. One of the demons came closer, and he saw that it had a face. It was his father, grinning around bloodied teeth.
Quinn woke to a high-pitched chirp and swung the rifle up, centering on a robin that sat on the windowsill. It turned its head, focusing on him with one black eye as he relaxed in the cushions. It chirped again and leaped away, wings flapping madly as it soared between two trees and out of sight. It was a new day, and the sun was out, barely clearing the tops of the trees.
He ate a stick of beef jerky and drank a bottle of water for breakfast. After a quick shower, he packed a wool blanket into his bag from the master bedroom’s closet, glancing around the space one last time before locking the front door and heading down the drive.
He found a log cabin-style home after traveling only a mile. Its garage was unlocked and a black Ford Raptor sat inside, as pristine as if it had come off the showroom floor days ago. Maybe it had. The thought saddened him.
He drove into the nearest town seeing nothing alive along the way save for a squirrel that darted in front of the vehicle in a near suicidal sprint. The gas station he stopped at had been looted, its glass doors and windows blown out, by gunfire or by rocks he didn’t know. There were a handful of candy bars along with some potato chips left on the floor. He picked these up and returned to the Ford before filling the tank along with two gas cans he found in a storage shed beside the station.
Stopping at a blinking traffic light on the edge of the town, Quinn glanced left and right. The road was a barren stretch, punctuated by the odd vehicle every quarter mile. He gazed in each direction before punching an address into the GPS display mounted in the dash. He’d left the sheet of paper with the address on it in the ruined center console of the Tahoe, waiting for the right time to bring up his request, but that didn’t matter anymore. He’d memorized the town and numbers that went with it, and now he had no one to discuss it with.
Quinn swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment before glancing at the GPS. It told him to go southwest on a road he’d never heard of. As he pulled out and accelerated, Alice and Ty flitted through his mind, and he wondered where they were on the digital map displayed within the dash, if they were safe. He supposed they were, now that they’d left him behind.
He rubbed his face, fingers finding the familiar, unnatural curves, and glanced around at the landscape flowing past. He couldn’t deny the beauty of it all. The sun, the road, the trees, the fields, the towns. Each sight brand new, each place original in its own right. But everything held a tinge of disappointment. As if the colors were less today than they were the day before.
He shrugged off the thought and focused on the road. Maybe he’d drive until the drabness went away. Maybe he wouldn’t stop. But there was one place he had to visit before continuing. And then again, maybe he wouldn’t continue. It would all depend on what he found when he got there.
He only hoped Foster and Mallory were alive to greet him.
~
Quinn waited behind the round, sagging hay bale and watched the seven stilts examine his truck.