Uptha Road

The smoke around Jack dissipates. He’s standing at a crossroads.

All four signs say Uptha Road.

An ostrich bounds down the road toward him. It stops to survey him, honking loudly.

“Bad enough I’m lost. I don’t need any comments from the vegemite gallery.”

“Vegemite? Yuk,” the ostrich replies.

Jack stares at the ostrich. “Okay, so where’s the ventriloquist?”

“What makes you think it’s a trick?” the ostrich asks.

“Hmm. No strings. No visible computer chips. The beak even moved when it spoke. This is one realistic dream I’m having.”

The ostrich nips at Jack’s hand.

“What did you do that for?”

“You felt it, didn’t you? This is real. I’m Romy. Your current situation may take some getting used to. That’s why I’m here. You’re not from around these parts, are you?”

“Nope. Born in Massachusetts and a resident of Hutton Corners, New Hampshire. I was doing some electrical work at my house. I must have zapped myself and passed out. When I came to, I found myself standing in the middle of this road.”

Jack looks around at the backcountry setting, noting the lush rolling fields, horse trails, and a battered, broken barn on the opposite hill.

“So, where exactly am I?”  

“Like the sign says, Uptha Road. Those who travel along Uptha Road can find a home, find a way back home, or best of all, can learn about themselves.”

“That’s a pretty heavy philosophy.”

“It’s in the brochure,” Romy replies.

“So, how do I get home?”

“Walk. But Uptha Road is considered endless. No one has ever traveled its entire length.”

“Then how do you know it ends?”

“The travelers who made it the farthest e-mailed us. Those interested in going home walk and walk and walk, until finally, they find a place they like and settle down. Most humans end up in Pompeii City, which is known for its gambling, nightlife, and beautiful people. Some live in Hallowed City, some like Mustang Valley because it’s like your rustic old west, and some are attracted to New Hawaii. There’s a time machine in the Circle, a place where part of Uptha Road branches off into a cul-de-sac. But no human has ever made it that far.”

“You’re looking at the first. I’m in a hurry to get home. I left a pot of spaghetti boiling.”

“It’s not that simple. You’ll have to get past Steppenwolf.”

“The rock group?” Jack asks.

“The animals.”

“Guards can be bribed.”

“They’re not guards. They’re a gang of half-human, half-wolf carnivorous monstrosities who ride Harley choppers and like a good barbecue, especially if human flesh is on the menu. They’ve taken control of the time machine, and they’re trying to figure out how it works. Once they do, they plan to go back in time, extinguish humanity, and rule Earth.”

“That’s consistent with other madmen who think their way of life is the right one and the only one. So, what’s their weakness?”

“Wolfsbane,” Romy replies.

“Fitting. It happens to be poisonous for humans too. Are you busy right now?”

Romy squawks. “You mean would I like to try to take you to the time machine?”

“I don’t know who came up with the expression ‘bird brain.’ You’re pretty smart. How is it you can talk?”

“Our leader figured it was the easiest way for us to communicate. My sounds are being translated into English for you, just as your words are translated into sounds I can understand. You’ll be able to communicate with all sentient beings on Uptha Road, although I’d avoid talking to cats. They seem to enjoy lying. And you’ll need to remember it’s also a dangerous journey. You could die again.”

“What do you mean, again?”

“Didn’t your mother tell you not to stick a screwdriver in an electric socket? You got more than just zapped. You took enough current to light up Chicago.”

Jack chuckles to himself. “How about that? An electrician dies from getting electrocuted. The boys at the Palomino Bar are going to laugh their blocks off when I get back.”

“You need to be sure you want to do this, Jack. We’ll have to walk for a week, maybe more, and along the way, you’ll encounter strange and dangerous beings you’ve never seen before.”

“You’ve never been to New York City, have you?”

A vintage red Cadillac coupe breezes by. The passenger in the back seat waves at Jack and Romy.

The car pulls over on the shoulder, waiting for the pair of travelers to catch up to them.

Jack recognizes the man in the back seat and is struck speechless.

“Good afternoon, Mister President,” Romy says. “Where are you headed?”

“We’re on our way to Potsdam.”

“…It’s sure taken a dam long time to get to the pot…,” the driver murmurs.

“Did you say something, Magellan?”

“No sir, Mr. Roosevelt.”

“Well, folks, wish me luck.”

Jack waves wanly as the coupe departs.

“That really was Franklin Roosevelt, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. You never know who you’ll meet on Uptha Road.”

“Like a President heading to a meeting he never attended because he was dead before it happened.”

“Sometimes our leader gets the facts a little screwed up,” Romy admits.

“Such as?”

“Napoleon being short. He was he was 5'7". Our leader believes the lie, so here, on Uptha Road, Napoleon is 5’2”.”

“Do you think you could get us a car?” Jack asks.

“I’ll have to cripple you.”

“Never mind. I can stand to lose a few pounds.”

Jack exhales deeply, looking at the next hill. “We’ve been walking for hours. All I’ve seen is that little girl standing at the end of her driveway with a decapitated doll and a steak knife in her hand, and that giant billboard advertising rides on the Hindenburg.”

“Don’t forget the singing crows,” Romy points out.

"Yeah, I loved their rendition of ‘My Uncle Used to Love Me, But She Died.’. Where are the shopping malls, and the fast-food restaurants? And are we going to need a hotel room for the night?”

The pair walks to the top of the hill. Ahead of them is a town with bustling businesses.

“This is more like it. Did you do this?”

“No, our leader did. He read your thoughts and created this town for us,” Romy replies.

“If he can read my thoughts, you’d be about five feet four, blonde, and with…”

“Got it,” Romy says. “Look down at the road.”

Jack complies.

“Okay, look up.”

Standing in front of Jack is a breathtaking blonde dressed in a tight-fitting outfit.

“Is that you, Romy?”

“Yes. And let’s keep my transformation between us, okay? If the rest of my herd find out I was some human’s fantasy, they’ll banish me from the ostrich ranch.”

Jack sighs. “Okay, sex may be off the table.”

“Do you want to go to a concert?” Romy asks. “Jimmy Dean is playing at the Roadhouse.”

Jack’s features twist into a look of doubt. “He had one hit song. It’s going to be a short concert.”

“I hear he also hands out sausages and breakfast sandwiches. Keith Richards is opening for Jimi Hendrix at the Grammercy.”

“How can Keith Richards do that? He’s not dead.”

“Are you sure?”

Jack closes the hotel door, smiling to himself.

“Best night’s sleep I’ve had in years. And that concert, wow!”

He turns to look at Romy who smiles bashfully.

“And you… Don’t worry, Romy. What happens on Uptha Road, stays on Uptha Road.”

Jack sighs as he watches Romy turn back into an ostrich. The visage of the hotel dissolves, disappearing.

“Sorry. I can’t maintain my appearance for more than eight hours,” Romy says. “As for the hotel, well. we’re done with that too.”

The pair continues their journey down Uptha Road. Over the next week, they encounter cows playing football, Fred Astaire teaching a trio of giraffes to dance, and an amphibious creature partial to Herb Alpert that can play its snout like a coronet.

As they trudge over yet another hill, Jack is distracted by a strange flailing sound coming from overhead. Looking up at the cloudless sky, he sees a giant metallic insect.

Its flapping wings are made of silk, and it uses gigantic aluminum propellers to help it fly.

“Have I gone loco?”

“No, it’s a wasp all right. We built three in the hope of flying to the end of Uptha Road. It turns out they don’t like passengers and won’t fly past the Circle.”

“So, whatever is past the Circle must be really frightening,” Jack says.

“Let’s hope we never find out. I think we should get some firepower just in case,” Romy replies. “C’mon!”

Leaving the road, Romy runs into a thickly wooded area. When Jack catches up to the ostrich, she’s standing next to what looks like a shed.

“Oh, no, Romy. An outhouse isn’t the answer to our problem.”

“It’s not an outhouse,” Romy replies, swinging open the door.

“Cool, a robot.”

The lime-green humanoid has a boxy body, topped off by a square head with red-rimmed, saucer-shaped eyes and a mouth in a perpetual smile.

“I had one of these as a kid. Where’s the key to wind it up?”

“I’m not a clock,” the robot says in a synthesized voice.

“Sentient?” Jack asks Romy.

“Very. More importantly, Vox has a replicator.”

“You mean he can reproduce guns, money, maybe play a record or two?”

“I’m not a jukebox either,” Vox replies, playing Canned Heat’s “On the Road Again”. “But I do like music.”

Jack looks up at the setting sun.

“How much daylight do we have left?”

“Two hours, forty-one minutes, and thirty-five seconds,” Vox replies.

“Thank you, Mister Spock.”

“Two hours, forty-one minutes, and thirty seconds.”

“Okay, that’s enough.”

Jack turns his head, looking into the woods.

“And what the heck was that?”

“I told you it would get more dangerous as we moved along,” Romy answers.

Jack stops to look for what he thinks he’s seen from the corner of his eye.

A shadowy figure shaped like a man crouches in the woods. The figure has no discernable mouth or eyes and is colored green.

It leaps, shooting up in the sky like a rocket.

“I repeat, what was that?”

“We don’t know. My guess is they’re extraterrestrial. They might be the creators of the time machine. So far, they’ve just been watching the travelers pass by.”

“Got any answers, Vox?” Jack asks.

“If someone stares at you instead of talking to you, that can’t be good.”

A cloud of dust covers the road ahead.

“Looks like a dust storm. It’s moving toward us,” Jack notes.

“That’s not a dust storm,” Vox replies.

The trio takes cover behind several boulders overlooking the road.

Jack can hear the sound of torqued-up engines as the cloud moves closer.

Six tricked-out choppers cruise by.

It’s not the bikes but who’s riding them that piques Jack’s interest.

The riders have the bodies of men, highlighted by their muscled torsos and thick legs. But they also have pointed ears and snouts, sharp fangs, and the luminous red eyes of ravenous wolves.

The wolf on the lead chopper with the spiked helmet lets out a famished howl.

“So that’s Steppenwolf?”

“Yes. We’ve reached the Circle,” Romy answers.

The wolves dance around a burning cross, howling joyfully.

Sitting on a hill overlooking Steppenwolf’s camp, Jack asks, “What do you suppose that’s all about?”

“You’ve heard the expression, “Nailed to a cross?’” Romy asks. “I’m willing to bet the next thing they catch gets nailed to it.”

“Then eaten,” Vox adds.

Jack examines their camp. The wolves’ bikes are bikes parked together a few steps from the campsite next to a mound of bleached bones. Near the bones is a water trough.

At the edge of the campsite where the hideout connects to Uptha Road is a computer the size of a house. At its center is a bright, swirling vortex.

The wolf with the spiked helmet picks up a pile of bones, tossing it into the vortex. Sparks fly as the bones disappear, seemingly devoured.

“Spike’s testing the time machine,” Jack surmises.

“That may mean they’ve figured out how to operate it,” Vox replies. “If they have, the human race is screwed.”

Jack counts the number of wolves.

“We’re outnumbered two to one.”

“You can expect them to take a nap in an hour and a half,” Vox says.

“They nap?”

“Good thing they do,” Romy says. “I’m thinking we wait until dark, sneak down to the camp, and put liquified wolfsbane in their trough.”

“That should even the odds up some,” Jack says. “Where I come from silver bullets are supposed to kill werewolves.”

“That’s fake news,” Vox replies.

“Well, silver or not, a bullet can rip through a wolf as easily as a wall. How many have you manufactured so far?”

Vox reaches for his crotch, pulling out a previously unseen drawer. Jack looks in the drawer, scarfing up the bullets.

“And the guns?”

The left side of Vox’s back pops open. Inside are two rifles.

“The liquified wolf bane will be ready in five minutes,” Vox reports.

“Great. I’ll dump the wolfbane into their water trough, create a diversion, and lead the stragglers to you. You guys blast them.”

“No. I’ll go,” Romy says. “I can change into something small.”

Jack hesitates, questioning if he has feelings for an ostrich. “All right. We’ll meet you at the time machine.”

Crowded around the smoldering cross, the wolves snore loudly.

Disguised as a raccoon, Romy scurries close to the ground. Standing on her hind legs, she pours a vial of liquid wolfsbane into the trough.

Romy darts toward the bikes, smiling as she looks at the hill where Jack and Vox are perched.

“Here comes our diversion,” Jack notes.

Changing into a black bear, Romy knocks over the bikes, roaring triumphantly.

Waking from his sleep, Spike regains his feet, yelling, “SNACK TIME!”

A pair of wolves charge at Romy.

Catching the first wolf as it jumps in mid-air, Romy twists its neck, tossing its dead carcass aside.

The second wolf moves in for the kill.

Two silver bullets tear through its body, and it collapses to the ground.

Romy bolts toward Uptha Road.

Spike and his pack dodge a cascade of bullets to get to their overturned bikes.

Spike and another wolf speed off, intent on killing the bear.

“Banzai!” Vox yells as he and Jack charge down the hill, firing their rifles.

One of the two remaining wolves is felled by a shot to the back of the head. The second shakes his fist, baring his sharp teeth in defiance. Jumping on his chopper, he’s shot in the shoulder and loses control of the bike, skidding haphazardly into a thick pine tree.

Splayed across his wrecked hog, the wolf looks up to see Jack and Vox standing over him.

The wolf sniffs, looking at Jack. “I smell garbage.”

“Allow me to take out the trash,” Jack replies, blasting the wolf with his rifle.

Jack and Vox rush to Uptha Road, hoping to rescue Romy. They run until Jack’s lungs feel ready to burst.

“Something’s in the road ahead,” Vox says.

The sound of the wolf's bikes forces them to seek cover behind the nearby trees.

Vox raises his rifle as the motorcycles draw closer.

“Let them pass,” Jack says. “Right now, our main concern is Romy.”

The pair wait until the cloud of dust dissipates and the sound of the bike’s engines fade.

Jack runs to Romy’s side. Tire tracks crisscross the bird’s bent and broken body.

“Turns out this bird couldn’t outrun a couple of hogs,” she gasps.

Jack reaches for Romy’s wing. He finds himself holding a smooth, supple hand.

“Thought you’d like to see me like this one last time,” Romy whispers.

“But you said we can’t die.”

“I lied. You can die today and die again tomorrow and the day after that… I hope to see you again… Now go home.”

Romy’s body disappears as Jack leans down to kiss her.

Jack and Vox walk through Steppenwolf’s camp.

Lying next to the time machine is another dead wolf.

“This is the one who took off after Romy with Spike,” Vox concludes. “He came back here with Spike, was thirsty, and took a drink from the trough.”

“So where did Spike go?” Jack asks.

Vox scans the machine’s settings.

“It looks like Napoleon is going to have more than just the Russian winter to worry about.”

“Can you operate this thing and send me back to 2024?”

“I can set the coordinates. But this machine is old, obsolete. I don’t know why I wasted so many years envying its existence. It’s not safe, but it may be able to send you home.”

“That’s all I needed to hear, Vox. Don’t let yourself rust.”

Vox pulls the handle on the time machine.

“Just like a slot machine, and probably just as lucky. I hope it comes up thee of a kind,” Jack jokes as he’s surrounded by thick white smoke.

The smoke dissipates.

Jack is standing at a crossroads.

All of the signs say Uptha Road.

A melodic voice says, “Hello, stranger.”

“Romy!”

Romy holds out her hand.

“How about a nice long walk?”