The Road to Nowhere That Is Somewhere to Someone

North Dakota

Autumn 2039 (27 A.E.)

Awakening to the soothing rhythm of raindrops against my modest tent, pieced together from old construction tarp I've owned since the collapse, I find comfort in the familiarity of my bedroll made of durable post-event fabric, a wise purchase made just a year ago.

As I rise to greet the day, the decision weighs on me whether to hunker down here or brave the elements with a walk through the rain to toughen up. Opting to remain sheltered as the rain intensifies, it becomes evident that I'm meant to stay put for the morning.

Rummaging through my bag, I retrieve a pouch of jerky and savor its leathery texture as I delve into my copy of the Bible. It's a peculiar habit for someone who once identified as an atheist in their youth, a stance that shifted in the wake of the apocalypse, ironically fulfilling the prophecies concocted by those who believed the Mayans held all the answers. In the end, it all seemed to be a mix of nonsense and luck, leaving humanity to grapple with the consequences.

Once a graduate of technological studies, I now find myself wandering aimlessly, traversing the familiar path of Route 94, as it was known before the Event. I can't help but ponder whether anyone else roams these roads, embarking on a journey without a clear destination in mind.

As I continue my solitary trek, the question lingers: who else is out there, seeking something they may never find? It's a shared experience among the wanderers of this post-apocalyptic world, each of us navigating our own uncertain paths in search of meaning or purpose in a world forever changed.

As the rain gradually subsides, the sun timidly peeks through the dissipating clouds, casting a warm glow upon the damp earth. The air is filled with the refreshing scent of wet dirt and vegetation, a natural fragrance that once made me queasy but has now become strangely comforting. Spending so much time outdoors, I've grown accustomed to these smells and tastes, preferring them over the stench of burning homes or the sickening odor of decaying bodies. The

tranquility of nature offers solace from the cacophony of human suffering — the cries of pain and fear, the constant threat of danger.

With each failed attempt to find solace in civilization, I find myself increasingly drawn to the serenity of the wilderness. Amidst the chaos of humanity, with its overcrowded spaces and deafening noise, the silence of nature beckons me. Despite the uncertainties that lie ahead, I continue to wander, driven by the hope of discovering a place to call home, a sense of purpose, and perhaps even a family to share it with.

As I walk along the road, I notice that the once well-traveled route is now overgrown with grass and weeds, reclaiming the path from neglect. Opting to walk in the center of the road, I feel a sense of solitude in the absence of any passing vehicles. It's been some time since I've seen a car on this road, and I doubt I'll encounter one anytime soon. The world around me seems frozen in time, nature reclaiming its dominion over the man-made structures that once defined civilization. As I continue my journey, I witness the gradual and relentless reclamation of the land by nature, a slow but steady process that has unfolded over the span of twenty-seven years. The influence of humanity wanes as nature asserts its dominance, reclaiming the terrain that was once tamed and shaped by human hands.

On either side of the road, the forest looms, a silent sentinel reclaiming the land. It's a stark contrast to the fields of tall grass and remnants of crops that I traversed earlier. At one point, I even had a supply of corn to sustain me. Nowadays, the landscape is transformed, with wheat stalks sprouting everywhere — along the roadsides, in former fields, and even on abandoned lawns. The earth seems to be reclaiming itself, covering everything in a blanket of green as it erases the marks of human civilization. As I trudge along the familiar path each day, the monotony of traveling alone weighs heavily on me. With only my old memories and a well-worn Bible to occupy my thoughts, I find solace in the stories of the Old Testament, which seem eerily reflective of our current world: marked by suffering, the relentless struggle for survival, and the insatiable greed of mankind.

Yet, amidst the pages of scripture, there is no divine voice speaking directly to me. Instead, it is the whisper of the wind that accompanies me on my journey today. Despite the season, the air still holds a chill, and the ground beneath my feet remains damp. Lost in my thoughts, I absentmindedly kick a rock in front of me, the repetitive motion a futile attempt to break free from the monotony of my solitary travels.

As I continue my solitary journey, a part of me yearns for the company of another traveler, someone with whom I can engage in lively conversation. It has been months since I last had the opportunity to talk to someone, and the thought of a simple interaction with a vibrant individual feels like a precious gift, a rare treat to be cherished.

In addition to the longing for companionship, I find myself wishing for practical things, like a new pair of shoes to replace my worn-out ones. In my moments of solitude, I often find myself conversing with God in my mind, despite being taught not to ask for material things. These days, however, I can't help but find myself asking for gifts or favors, feeling conflicted about my faith and the perceived shortcomings of my prayers. It's a struggle that weighs heavily on my conscience, leading me to question my worth as a Christian.

As night descends and darkness blankets the landscape, I realize the urgency of finding shelter before it's too late. With practiced efficiency born from countless experiences, I swiftly veer off the road and plunge into the embrace of the forest. My senses sharpen as I search for a clearing where I can safely set up camp and build a fire to ward off the chill of the night.

Time is of the essence, and I know that if I delay too long, I risk becoming lost in the enveloping darkness. Despite my familiarity with these nocturnal rituals, my eyesight hasn't improved with age, adding an extra layer of urgency to my search for a suitable sheltered spot before nightfall consumes the world around me.

With a sense of relief, I discover a suitable spot nestled amidst fallen trees, providing a natural shelter for the night. Quickly, I assemble a simple lean-to and lay down my bedroll on the soft grass and earth below. As the sun dips below the horizon, I kindle a fire, its flickering flames casting a comforting orange glow upon my features. The warmth on my face is a welcome sensation, a reminder of the simple joys that make a world of difference in times of trouble.

Watching the flames dance and devour the collected wood, I contemplate the prospect of cooking my final egg, a precious find from a nest I stumbled upon. Carefully removing it from the cloth in which I've kept it safe within an old-world take-out container, I inspect it for any signs of spoilage. Finding it still fresh, I retrieve my trusty black pan and a bit of butter stored in a plastic container. As the butter sizzles in the pan, I crack the egg open, its golden yolk spilling into the heated surface with a satisfying sizzle and aroma.

The smell of cooking egg evokes memories of simpler times, reminding me of cherished moments from my childhood – Sunday mornings spent with family, the comforting aroma of eggs, bacon, tater tots, and buttered toast filling the air as my mother tended to the stove with love and care.

Small things. They keep me going.

As the egg continues to cook, its sizzling and spluttering filling the air, I watch with anticipation as the edges begin to brown and the center darkens, the albumen bubbling up from the intense heat. Bathed in the warm orange glow of the fire, the egg takes on an appetizing appearance, promising a savory meal to come. With a practiced hand, I deftly flip the egg, allowing it to soak up the rich flavors of the butter and the crackling fire.

The aroma of cooking egg triggers memories of the early days following the Event, when I shared my journey with a faithful companion named Charlie, a husky I had found abandoned in an abandoned home. Despite the hardships we faced together, Charlie brought me comfort and companionship in a world fraught with uncertainty. I can't help but feel a pang of longing for the bond we shared, reminiscing about the warmth of his presence by my side. I instinctively put my hand to my side, wanting to pet him.

Allowing the pan and egg to cool down, I retrieve an old-world salt packet, its familiar design a relic of the commercialized restaurants of yesteryear, adorned with the word "salt" written in bold black letters. It's moments like these that I find myself missing the simple pleasures of dining out, like indulging in pancakes cooked to perfection at IHOP. The small luxuries that were once taken for granted now hold a special significance in my memory.

Ripping open the packet, I sprinkle the salt onto my egg, savoring the added flavor it brings to the meal. I find myself wishing I still had pepper packets to complement the dish, but those supplies dwindled long ago during my last visit to a market, which feels like a distant memory now, a year removed from civilization's hustle and bustle. In the quiet solitude of the wilderness, I'm reminded of the passage of time and the scarcity of resources, each simple pleasure cherished all the more for its rarity. The small things.

Savoring every last bite of the egg, I quickly devour the meal, relishing its simple yet satisfying taste. With the hunger sated, I retreat deeper into the shelter of my tent, where a flickering candle casts dancing shadows on the walls. With my Bible in hand, I turn to the book of Genesis, the beginning of it all.

Speaking the words aloud, I address Eve and Adam, questioning their actions and pondering the mysteries of human nature. In my mind, I imagine their responses, engaging in a silent dialogue with the characters of the ancient text. Above all, I hear the voice of God, a solemn reminder of the consequences of sin and the burden of mortality.

As the conversation unfolds, I find myself grappling with existential questions and the weight of my own choices. With a heavy heart, I acknowledge the consequences of human folly and the toll it has taken on the world around me.

Closing the Bible, I carefully stow it away and extinguish the candle, shrouding the tent in darkness. It's enough reflection for one night, and I retreat into the embrace of sleep, seeking solace in the quiet solitude of the night.

As I surrender to the embrace of darkness and allow sleep to overtake me, I hear the echo of God's voice resounding in the depths of my mind. "Five souls. You left five souls for her," the words reverberate, piercing through the silence of the night.

Numbly, I acknowledge the weight of His words, feeling the burden of guilt weighing heavily upon me. "I know. I know," I respond softly, the admission a solemn acknowledgment of the choices that have led me to this moment.

As I awaken to the unsettling sound of crunching leaves and snapping sticks, my senses sharpen, alert to the presence of another. The light and deliberate footsteps suggest a human intruder, their approach deliberate and calculated. With a heavy sigh, I ready myself for whatever may come next, a knife clenched tightly in my hand, prepared to defend myself if necessary.

As the footsteps draw nearer, I remain still, my heartbeat echoing in my ears as adrenaline courses through my veins. The intruder's pace slows, a subtle indication that they are aware of my presence. With each passing moment, the tension in the air thickens, and I steel myself for the impending confrontation.

Taking a deep breath, I steady my nerves, my instincts honed by countless encounters with danger. I am no stranger to these perilous situations, and though fear gnaws at the edges of my consciousness, I remain resolute, prepared to face whatever challenges lie ahead.

I hear someone jump down from behind me and scurry around the tent, stopping just out of sight. I take in a breath of the chilly air, feeling it bite at my lungs. An urge to cough rises, but I swallow it back quietly, though the discomfort lingers.

"Hello? Is someone in there?" A faint voice, belonging to a girl, calls out. I hesitate, too scared to respond. I've seen traps like this before, where innocent-sounding voices lead unsuspecting folks into danger. So, I stay silent and keep my guard up.

I hear the girl's feet shuffle closer, her breath audible in the quiet. Eventually, she comes into view: a girl with dark hair and pale skin, looking unwell. Her eyes are swollen, and her nose is red. She's wearing a thick homemade sweater and appears unkempt. Despite feeling sympathy for her, I remain cautious.

"Hi," she says softly, noticing my knife and raising her hands in a gesture of peace. "I understand if you feel threatened. It's hard to trust people."

"Are you alone?" I ask, lowering my knife slightly. "Can I trust you?"

"I've been alone for months," she replies, meeting my gaze with sad eyes. "Where are you from?" I inquire.

"Nowhere. Not anymore," she answers, her voice tinged with sadness.

"A wanderer?"

"Not by choice."

"Do you have any family?"

"My mother died three years ago, and my father left when I was a baby. So, no, it's just me," she explains.

"How old are you?"

"Fourteen, I think."

"You think?"

"I don't know the exact date," she admits.

"Okay, where were you before here?"

"In the forest," she replies bluntly.

"We're still in the forest. I mean before that."

"I was in a settlement in South Dakota, but there was a disease outbreak, and it wiped out everyone. I managed to escape without getting sick or hurt," she reveals.

I sheathe my knife, securing it in its holster attached to my belt, which lies nearby on the ground. Rising to my feet, I stretch my limbs, releasing a sigh of relief. As I do so, I keep a watchful eye on the girl, noting her nervous demeanor, while also scanning the surrounding forest for any signs of potential danger.

The girl reminds me of a scared puppy, her eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. I've encountered that kind of loneliness before, and it tugs at my heartstrings. Despite my wariness, I can't help but feel a pang of empathy for her plight.

"So, where are you going?" I inquire, breaking the silence. Mona shifts uncomfortably, her gaze dropping to the ground as she blows a raspberry. After a moment, she looks around and shrugs. "I don't know... anymore. I just roam until I find food or temporary shelter."

"What's your name, girl?" I press gently.

"Mona King," she replies softly.

"Quite the name," I comment, offering a small smile as I begin to dismantle the tent. It's time to move on, with or without her.

"Where are you going?" Mona asks, her curiosity evident in her voice as she watches me roll up the tent and secure it to the back of my bag.

"I follow the road to nowhere in particular," I respond, my tone resigned yet determined. With my belongings packed and ready, I prepare to set out once more into the uncertain wilderness, guided by nothing more than the open road and the hope of finding my own path in this world.

"Can I come with you?" Mona's question catches me off guard, and I hesitate before responding.

"Are you capable?" I inquire, wanting to ensure she can handle the challenges that lie ahead.

"I am. Unfortunately," she replies with a hint of wry humor, offering a small smile.

"Okay, as long as you can keep up and stay vigilant," I agree, nodding in acceptance. "Come on, help me pack up." With a shared understanding, we work together to dismantle the campsite and prepare for the journey ahead, united by a common goal and the hope of finding solace in each other's company amidst the trials of the wilderness.

As we stand on the road, our destination uncertain, I extend my hand to Mona. "I'm Jim, by the way," I introduce myself. She accepts my hand with a nod of acknowledgment, and together we set off, our steps echoing on the deserted road. Though our journey may lead us nowhere in particular, we move forward with determination, hoping that our path will eventually lead us to a place where we can find purpose and meaning amidst the vast expanse of the New World.