Raidenex
08-25-2002, 05:02 AM
THE LONG ROAD
Lee Parkins
The night was dark, a gloom punctuated only by the sharp neon light of the clock on the dash. Red digits read 3:47�far too early for anything.
Michael smiled to himself, and sat up. Anything, it seemed, included too early for driving. The traffic last night had been so bad he had finally given up, and turned into a little park on the side of the highway. He had stayed up until 9 o�clock watching the cars stream past�it was almost as if the entire population of Australia had decided to go on a road trip. Eventually, he had simply stretched out on the back seat of his old Ford sedan, and caught up on some much needed sleep. Running a small business wasn�t easy, especially when you had to drive all the way to Sydney from Brisbane in your crummy old car, just to secure a client. He had started his trip home at 5 o�clock the previous morning, and had been driving all day�traffic was no worse than usual, until about 6 p.m. It was then that the highway became congested. Things were nearly at a standstill by 7 o�clock, so when the opportunity came to turn off for the night, he took it.
Thankfully, the traffic seemed to have passed. Starting the engine and driving out onto the road, he looked around; no cars for as far as the eye could see. Not much of anything, actually; the next service station wasn�t for another hour or so, and two hours until he finally hit the south side of Brisbane. Well, maybe he could make the trip a little faster. He doubted that any police would be up at this time of the morning either. Reaching to turn on the radio, Michael floored the pedal and sped off into the early morning. At least at this time of morning, the radio stations had no annoying DJs�just uninterrupted rock �n roll, the way it should be.
As he twisted the knob of the radio, a burst of static seared Michael�s ears. Almost running off the road, he quickly regained control and reached over to turn it off, muttering under his breath. The antenna connection must have gone again�it was the third blasted time on this trip, and he couldn�t be stuffed going to the trouble of replacing it. The first thing he�d do when he got home would be to use the money from the deal he had just closed to finally buy a decent car. At least, yesterday, he hadn�t minded as much when the radio cut out about lunchtime. It seemed that every station was covering some summit of world leaders that was being held in Brisbane. Why the likes of George Bush and Tony Blair would be coming to Brisbane he didn�t know, but politics weren�t his thing. Let the politicians play their little games; he was happy enough providing a service, and getting a nice income for it; now, at least.
It was about then that something coming up caught his eye. It looked like a fire, on the side of the road. As he got closer, he slowed down, until he finally saw what it was; a car had collided with a cliff�and the car had definitely come off second best. The fuel tank had ruptured, and the car was in flames; there was no hope of any survivors. Still, Michael thought he�d better do something. Taking his mobile phone out of the charger, he dialled 000 and pressed the dial button.
Nothing.
Looking at the display on the phone, he noticed that there was no reception. Of course. He knew he should have chosen Telstra or Optus instead of some cheap provider. But then again, he could have sworn that he had been talking to his wife from this exact position on the way down. Turning his thoughts to his wife, he realized that she was the main reason he hated these long trips. His son had been born a month ago, and the happiest time of his life was when he was with his family. He could see the smiling face of his beautiful wife as they married three years ago�and they still loved each other as much as then. He decided not to linger any longer; he�d call the ambulance from the next service station. Michael drove on.
As the sun�s first light crept up over the horizon, he pulled into the servo. The place was deserted; there weren�t even any trucks in the overnight bays. Michael hoped that the service station wasn�t closed; the needle on the fuel indicator was dangerously low, and the empty light had been on for the past four kilometres. However, when he pulled up and tried the pump, fuel flowed. Obviously the pumps were still on. He filled the tank of the car, and then, remembering the crash, walked over to the payphones. Putting 40 cents into the phone, he dialled the number, and put the phone to his ear. There was no sound, apart from a dull, low, beep; there was no ring tone. Hanging the phone up, Michael walked to the door of the service station and pushed it open.
Looking around, he noticed that the place was more than just deserted of trucks; there wasn�t even a bored teenager behind the counter.
�Hey! Is anyone here?�
Michael�s voice hung in the air unanswered in the shop. It was then that he noticed that whoever had been here, had left in a hurry; the cash drawer was open, and someone�s change lay on the counter, along with a copy of the Courier Mail. It was the late edition of yesterday�s paper. The front page, of course, was covering the world leaders summit. HOWARD SUPPORTS BUSH, BLAIR IN CAMPAIGN AGAINST IRAQ. Quickly skimming over the content, it detailed the plans for the new outlet of the �war on terrorism�. Michael personally believed that the Americans had stretched this September 11 excuse a little too far, but if the pollies in Canberra wanted to make themselves look big in the world, let them. At least it would never affect someone like him�he certainly wouldn�t be going over to Iraq to fight some people who thought tea-towels were a fashion statement.
Still, it was kind of odd that the service station was deserted�come to think of it, he hadn�t seen a living soul since last night. Pondering these events, Michael left the money for his petrol on the counter alongside the other lot, and headed back out to his car. Popping the hood, he found the connection for the antenna to the radio; it was still fine. Strange�why had he suddenly lost reception earlier?
As he drove back out onto the road, Michael turned his radio back on�sure enough, the reception was still out. Maybe he was out of range; but no, that was stupid. He was only two hours away from Brisbane, and his reception had been perfect at three hours out. Things weren�t adding up�the sudden traffic, then suddenly no traffic. The desertion of the service station�of everything. He looked at his mobile, that was sitting on the dash�and sure enough, still no reception. Switching to the AM channel on the radio, he twisted the tuner�nothing�
Except�Michael stopped, and turned back a little. There was a signal�weak, but still a radio signal. He turned the radio up, and listened. Through the static, he could make out a clear message. ��evacuate to rural areas. Repeat. All major cities and towns are under threat of nuclear strike. Citizens are advised to evacuate to rural areas. Repeat. All major cities and towns are under threat of nuclear strike��
Joke. It had to be. No other explanation. There couldn�t have been a nuclear strike�it was impossible. Sure, everyone always threatened each other with nukes�but it couldn�t happen to Australia�not to him. Not to a small businessman. The affairs of world leaders were no business of his. There couldn�t be war. It didn�t make any sense.
Then it came to him � the world leaders summit, being held in Brisbane. In his home city. In the city where his wife and child were. Michael floored the pedal. The speedometer crept up�100�110�120�140; minutes flew past, and felt like years. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. The greyness of the dawn was mocking him, passing into the light of a day that would never come. He could feel every sensation�the leather grip, his sweat pouring down it. The bumps on the road. The signs, flashing by both in an instant, and also in a millennia�.Brisbane, 150 km. Brisbane, 100 km. Brisbane, 50 km.
He stopped. There was no use going on. He was still twenty kilometres out from Brisbane�or what had been Brisbane. For as far as he could see, there was nothing but blackness. The blackness of the night. The gloom that surrounded him. He noticed that the grey around him was not from the dawn, but from the dust that hung in the air, obscuring the sun. Neon lights shone through the gloom. Red digits read 6:47. In the desolation before him, evil lights shone through the gloom. Red, flickering reminders of death, of destruction; of the end of all things. Michael�s head fell forward onto the steering wheel, and he wept, while the siren blasted from his car; a sombre Last Post, the sound echoing the city. The horn said what he could not; the innocent have fallen. Who will remember them?
Michael didn�t know how long he stayed there, looking at the flames. The red lights had all come together. All he knew was that he blindly started up the car again, and drove back, and around. He had to see. He had to know. He knew all hope was gone, but some glimmer of light remained in his heart�maybe his wife and child were far enough away, maybe the far north suburbs where his family lived had been saved; maybe they survived.
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe not.
Still, his heart leapt into his mouth when he saw buildings coming up out of the black circle. Burning buildings at first, where no man, woman or child could survive; but buildings none-the-less. Finally, the city appeared to be gradually going from destruction to desertion; when he finally arrived at his suburb, it was almost like the suburb he had left, all that time ago. The place reeked of the destruction of the city, but was untouched�but was also deserted. There was no life. Even the trees that grew along the streets were still, with no wind to blow them. And the slow death was creeping up on them. He indicated as he pulled into his driveway�a useless gesture of a time gone by, but still habitual. He stumbled out of the car, and pushed open the door of his house�the house he had built for his wife, and his new child. Not even sure of where he was going, Michael went through room, after room, after room�in every room, expecting to find his wife and child, dying of the death that was creeping over the city.
Nothing.
His wife and child weren�t here. Suddenly, hope glimmered again�maybe�maybe.
It was then that he noticed the note, scribbled hastily and left on the kitchen counter, in the beautiful flowing script of his wife�s hand.
I hope this finds you, darling. We�ve gone to Mum�s place in Bilo. We should be safe here. I love you so much � Jane
His wife was alive. His wife and child were alive! Running out of the house, he jumped back in his car, and started the engine. Pulling out of the driveway, he left the death and decay behind him. He knew that life would never be the same�the affairs of those who had never met him had changed his life in a single act. But those he loved survived�and although the dark remained, he turned his back on it and drove up the long road to life.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
� Lee Parkins 2002. All rights reserved.
Lee Parkins
The night was dark, a gloom punctuated only by the sharp neon light of the clock on the dash. Red digits read 3:47�far too early for anything.
Michael smiled to himself, and sat up. Anything, it seemed, included too early for driving. The traffic last night had been so bad he had finally given up, and turned into a little park on the side of the highway. He had stayed up until 9 o�clock watching the cars stream past�it was almost as if the entire population of Australia had decided to go on a road trip. Eventually, he had simply stretched out on the back seat of his old Ford sedan, and caught up on some much needed sleep. Running a small business wasn�t easy, especially when you had to drive all the way to Sydney from Brisbane in your crummy old car, just to secure a client. He had started his trip home at 5 o�clock the previous morning, and had been driving all day�traffic was no worse than usual, until about 6 p.m. It was then that the highway became congested. Things were nearly at a standstill by 7 o�clock, so when the opportunity came to turn off for the night, he took it.
Thankfully, the traffic seemed to have passed. Starting the engine and driving out onto the road, he looked around; no cars for as far as the eye could see. Not much of anything, actually; the next service station wasn�t for another hour or so, and two hours until he finally hit the south side of Brisbane. Well, maybe he could make the trip a little faster. He doubted that any police would be up at this time of the morning either. Reaching to turn on the radio, Michael floored the pedal and sped off into the early morning. At least at this time of morning, the radio stations had no annoying DJs�just uninterrupted rock �n roll, the way it should be.
As he twisted the knob of the radio, a burst of static seared Michael�s ears. Almost running off the road, he quickly regained control and reached over to turn it off, muttering under his breath. The antenna connection must have gone again�it was the third blasted time on this trip, and he couldn�t be stuffed going to the trouble of replacing it. The first thing he�d do when he got home would be to use the money from the deal he had just closed to finally buy a decent car. At least, yesterday, he hadn�t minded as much when the radio cut out about lunchtime. It seemed that every station was covering some summit of world leaders that was being held in Brisbane. Why the likes of George Bush and Tony Blair would be coming to Brisbane he didn�t know, but politics weren�t his thing. Let the politicians play their little games; he was happy enough providing a service, and getting a nice income for it; now, at least.
It was about then that something coming up caught his eye. It looked like a fire, on the side of the road. As he got closer, he slowed down, until he finally saw what it was; a car had collided with a cliff�and the car had definitely come off second best. The fuel tank had ruptured, and the car was in flames; there was no hope of any survivors. Still, Michael thought he�d better do something. Taking his mobile phone out of the charger, he dialled 000 and pressed the dial button.
Nothing.
Looking at the display on the phone, he noticed that there was no reception. Of course. He knew he should have chosen Telstra or Optus instead of some cheap provider. But then again, he could have sworn that he had been talking to his wife from this exact position on the way down. Turning his thoughts to his wife, he realized that she was the main reason he hated these long trips. His son had been born a month ago, and the happiest time of his life was when he was with his family. He could see the smiling face of his beautiful wife as they married three years ago�and they still loved each other as much as then. He decided not to linger any longer; he�d call the ambulance from the next service station. Michael drove on.
As the sun�s first light crept up over the horizon, he pulled into the servo. The place was deserted; there weren�t even any trucks in the overnight bays. Michael hoped that the service station wasn�t closed; the needle on the fuel indicator was dangerously low, and the empty light had been on for the past four kilometres. However, when he pulled up and tried the pump, fuel flowed. Obviously the pumps were still on. He filled the tank of the car, and then, remembering the crash, walked over to the payphones. Putting 40 cents into the phone, he dialled the number, and put the phone to his ear. There was no sound, apart from a dull, low, beep; there was no ring tone. Hanging the phone up, Michael walked to the door of the service station and pushed it open.
Looking around, he noticed that the place was more than just deserted of trucks; there wasn�t even a bored teenager behind the counter.
�Hey! Is anyone here?�
Michael�s voice hung in the air unanswered in the shop. It was then that he noticed that whoever had been here, had left in a hurry; the cash drawer was open, and someone�s change lay on the counter, along with a copy of the Courier Mail. It was the late edition of yesterday�s paper. The front page, of course, was covering the world leaders summit. HOWARD SUPPORTS BUSH, BLAIR IN CAMPAIGN AGAINST IRAQ. Quickly skimming over the content, it detailed the plans for the new outlet of the �war on terrorism�. Michael personally believed that the Americans had stretched this September 11 excuse a little too far, but if the pollies in Canberra wanted to make themselves look big in the world, let them. At least it would never affect someone like him�he certainly wouldn�t be going over to Iraq to fight some people who thought tea-towels were a fashion statement.
Still, it was kind of odd that the service station was deserted�come to think of it, he hadn�t seen a living soul since last night. Pondering these events, Michael left the money for his petrol on the counter alongside the other lot, and headed back out to his car. Popping the hood, he found the connection for the antenna to the radio; it was still fine. Strange�why had he suddenly lost reception earlier?
As he drove back out onto the road, Michael turned his radio back on�sure enough, the reception was still out. Maybe he was out of range; but no, that was stupid. He was only two hours away from Brisbane, and his reception had been perfect at three hours out. Things weren�t adding up�the sudden traffic, then suddenly no traffic. The desertion of the service station�of everything. He looked at his mobile, that was sitting on the dash�and sure enough, still no reception. Switching to the AM channel on the radio, he twisted the tuner�nothing�
Except�Michael stopped, and turned back a little. There was a signal�weak, but still a radio signal. He turned the radio up, and listened. Through the static, he could make out a clear message. ��evacuate to rural areas. Repeat. All major cities and towns are under threat of nuclear strike. Citizens are advised to evacuate to rural areas. Repeat. All major cities and towns are under threat of nuclear strike��
Joke. It had to be. No other explanation. There couldn�t have been a nuclear strike�it was impossible. Sure, everyone always threatened each other with nukes�but it couldn�t happen to Australia�not to him. Not to a small businessman. The affairs of world leaders were no business of his. There couldn�t be war. It didn�t make any sense.
Then it came to him � the world leaders summit, being held in Brisbane. In his home city. In the city where his wife and child were. Michael floored the pedal. The speedometer crept up�100�110�120�140; minutes flew past, and felt like years. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. The greyness of the dawn was mocking him, passing into the light of a day that would never come. He could feel every sensation�the leather grip, his sweat pouring down it. The bumps on the road. The signs, flashing by both in an instant, and also in a millennia�.Brisbane, 150 km. Brisbane, 100 km. Brisbane, 50 km.
He stopped. There was no use going on. He was still twenty kilometres out from Brisbane�or what had been Brisbane. For as far as he could see, there was nothing but blackness. The blackness of the night. The gloom that surrounded him. He noticed that the grey around him was not from the dawn, but from the dust that hung in the air, obscuring the sun. Neon lights shone through the gloom. Red digits read 6:47. In the desolation before him, evil lights shone through the gloom. Red, flickering reminders of death, of destruction; of the end of all things. Michael�s head fell forward onto the steering wheel, and he wept, while the siren blasted from his car; a sombre Last Post, the sound echoing the city. The horn said what he could not; the innocent have fallen. Who will remember them?
Michael didn�t know how long he stayed there, looking at the flames. The red lights had all come together. All he knew was that he blindly started up the car again, and drove back, and around. He had to see. He had to know. He knew all hope was gone, but some glimmer of light remained in his heart�maybe his wife and child were far enough away, maybe the far north suburbs where his family lived had been saved; maybe they survived.
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe not.
Still, his heart leapt into his mouth when he saw buildings coming up out of the black circle. Burning buildings at first, where no man, woman or child could survive; but buildings none-the-less. Finally, the city appeared to be gradually going from destruction to desertion; when he finally arrived at his suburb, it was almost like the suburb he had left, all that time ago. The place reeked of the destruction of the city, but was untouched�but was also deserted. There was no life. Even the trees that grew along the streets were still, with no wind to blow them. And the slow death was creeping up on them. He indicated as he pulled into his driveway�a useless gesture of a time gone by, but still habitual. He stumbled out of the car, and pushed open the door of his house�the house he had built for his wife, and his new child. Not even sure of where he was going, Michael went through room, after room, after room�in every room, expecting to find his wife and child, dying of the death that was creeping over the city.
Nothing.
His wife and child weren�t here. Suddenly, hope glimmered again�maybe�maybe.
It was then that he noticed the note, scribbled hastily and left on the kitchen counter, in the beautiful flowing script of his wife�s hand.
I hope this finds you, darling. We�ve gone to Mum�s place in Bilo. We should be safe here. I love you so much � Jane
His wife was alive. His wife and child were alive! Running out of the house, he jumped back in his car, and started the engine. Pulling out of the driveway, he left the death and decay behind him. He knew that life would never be the same�the affairs of those who had never met him had changed his life in a single act. But those he loved survived�and although the dark remained, he turned his back on it and drove up the long road to life.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
� Lee Parkins 2002. All rights reserved.