O Brave New World - Chapter VII

We must have passed a dozen houses alike in size and color. They were farm houses. Peaceful in an otherwise unpeaceful world. We passed a crossroads and I happened to read the sign that told us what road we were on: Michigan Avenue. My companion inquired if I had seen the road sign and asked me what road we were on. I replied in kind with the answer.

“I hate Michigan.”

My companion had much distaste for the state that we were in. State of mind, that is. Though he was a loud and strong man, I could not help but sense that it was really more of a mask, a charade, to hide the true nature to what tortured him. After all, all the world’s a stage and all the men and women are merely players. They have their exits and entrances and one man in his time plays many parts. I knew I was playing my part in the grand scheme of things. It was a part that I was destined to play.

Eventually we came to a fork in the road. We were left with the decision to either turn left or right. After a few moments I argued with my companion to go right, considering going the right way in the worst of times is the right thing to do. There are just too many good things associated with going right. And so right we went.

It was not but a ways down the road until we came to a highway. My companion mumbled something under his breath, probably giving me thanks in a secretive manner, but he would never admit to it today. We turned left this time, heading east as we originally were doing. East, yet again, another good omen of things. The sun always rose from the east.

We continued on the highway for quite some time before a road sign showed us that we were coming upon a city in a matter of miles. We began to slow down, talking to one another about whether or not we wanted to risk driving through the city in broad daylight, when the damned could find their prey the easiest, especially when we were driving in a beast that made such boisterous noise. But we eventually agreed that staying on the highway was our best bet in trying to run into other survivors, or possibly the military.

“Alright, then we’ll drive through Union City. We’re not stopping for a damn thing.”

I fidgeted with the radio as we continued on and the farmland started to disappear. There was nothing on either AM or FM frequencies that we could receive. But my attention diverted from that as soon as we could see clear as day the so-called city. Rather it could be better equated to a rural development of houses. If there were any civic buildings in the town, we did not see them as we sped past. Nor did we see any of the damned on our way as well.

Not but a minute later we returned to farmland country again. My companion laughed at our belief that we would find resistance and began to become more confident in himself. The next settlement, Burlington; we drove right past it in a matter of seconds, being even smaller than Union City. It wasn’t until we continued on afterwards before we were met with our real challenge. We came across Interstate 69, and we were faced with either continuing on the state road that we were on or if we were to get on the highway and make our way either north or south. My companion was compelled on the idea of heading north to make it to Canada; he was sure that the infection had not spread that far, but I argued with him that the entire world was suffering the same fate for the wrongs we had committed.

Our decision, however, was decided for us as I continued to turn the knob on the radio and we heard a distinct crackle and fizzing. Again I turned the tuner to search for the station before the white noise became clearer to what sounded like a person talking, faintly. Another bit of fine tuning and we could clearly hear the broadcast. It was a woman.

“If anyone can hear this, we are holed up in Detroit. We have food and supplies for anyone seeking them. The military will be picking us up in a few days, so make it here as quickly as you can.”

And so we headed on our course now onto the highway north, as signs pointed our way to Detroit. We were not on it for but fifteen minutes before we came across a highway intersection to Interstate 94, which led directly into Detroit, and so we made the connection. It was hard to imagine that the highways remained mostly clear along the way. There was an odd car or two on the side of the road, obviously abandoned and out of gas, so we made no attempts to stop to search and collect supplies, considering we had plenty. The only thing that we were beginning to run short on was gasoline.

We were driving for an hour before we started to get quite close to the city. We could see the rural areas becoming suburban. Things were becoming to look more civilized. The farmland began to disappear. We drove up a hill and stopped at the very top of it and could see what lay before us. The concrete jungle. Before us the skies darkened. The clouds turned black and the gods fought against one another at the sound of large clashes of thunder. There was danger afoot, and we were going to make a beastly path through it.