The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 23, 2505

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Mateo’s nanites were just about done healing him. They prioritized the most life-threatening injuries first before moving on to the less serious damage. So a few cuts and bruises remained, and they hadn’t done anything for the pain yet. Even so, he could now stand up, and get a look around. Octavia still didn’t look concerned, so maybe this was some kind of refuge.

“We need to get moving,” she warned. “I let you recover, but it’s not safe here.”

“Is it safe anywhere?” he asked as he was following her along the stream.

“No,” she conceded. “The horde that was chasing after us can’t follow. Free from oversight, they’ve formed alliances, and divided the land into territories. We’re kind of on a border, so that offers us a little protection, but someone will eventually grow brave enough to cross the line—or hungry enough.”

What did you mean, no oversight?”

“This isn’t the real Castlebourne,” Octavia began to explain. “I don’t know exactly what it is, like an alternate reality, or something, but none of the staff is here. I don’t know who runs it—if it’s Pacey on his own, or if he’s working with someone else—but they don’t keep watch over the safeguards. These monsters are more vicious than they’re supposed to be.”

“How long have you been here?”

“The Vellani Ambassador rescued me and a bunch of others from Ex-486 in 2498. I wasn’t there long before I started hearing how worried the crew was about your whereabouts. I don’t know what they thought was wrong, but they were afraid that something had happened to you. So I agreed to investigate while they continued on with their missions.”

“Well, you found it. You found us.”

“Now, I have,” she agreed. “I found Pacey first, though, and he stuffed me in here so I wouldn’t interfere with his business. I’ve been running for my life ever since.”

“What happens if you die here?” he pressed.

“Nothing good,” she answered simply. “My body isn’t like yours, so I’ve been avoiding everyone. There are some buildings; particularly houses. They’re mostly haunted, but the ghosts have rules, and if you learn them, you can stay safe for a while.” She sighed. “But I think you can help end the madness forever.”

“How’s that?”

She looked around with a face full of paranoia and fatigue. “We’re pretty close to one side of this dome, and I can navigate us there. Unfortunately, once we get there, we’re going to have to walk halfway around the perimeter to reach the exit.”

“There should be more exits than that.”

“Like I said, it’s not the real Castlebourne. Pacey made modifications. There is a way out, but I can’t get through it with you.”

“It takes two to open the door, or something?”

“No, it takes an elite.”

“I’m an elite?”

“Yeah, of course you are. You were in Hrockas’ inner circle, and he hardwired contingencies into the software that should grant you access to any area at any time. The way he sees it, the planet is as much yours as it is his because of how much you contributed to its development. I don’t think that Pacey could have erased all those privileges without breaking the systems entirely. He would have had to reprogram everything from scratch. I’m sure he’s technically capable of doing that, but he’s kind of old school, so doesn’t like AI all that much. He likes to be hands-on, so he deliberately limits the tools in his toolbox.”

“So I can unlock the door, and we can both walk through?”

“That’s the idea.”

“Does he not know that?”

“I don’t know how much he knows about what I know.”

“It could be a trial,” Mateo put forth. “He may want us to escape. Some antagonists want us to stay out of their way, but others want us to stop them, like Thanos is with the Avengers.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“And you can’t teleport, right? Because I can’t. I tried while I was running once I remembered that I should be able to.”

Octavia shook her head. “I don’t have any powers at all. I lost that when I went back in time as September, and created a new timeline. I don’t like to talk about it, but it sets me apart from the other Paiges.”

“You don’t have to,” he assured her. “How dangerous is the border?”

She bobbled her head. “It has its advantages, and disadvantages. The monsters don’t know that they’re in a dome. If you showed one of them the wall, and they were the kind who could talk, they would probably just say, it doesn’t look like anything to me. They’re programmed to stop several meters before it, but they patrol that border, because they can still feel that there’s something weird about it. You’re safe beyond their reach, but there aren’t any resources there. No freshwater, no edible plants. You can take breaks, but you can’t stay.”

“Then let’s grab some supplies along the way. Now you can carry twice as much as before, and I don’t eat much.”

“Some of your powers and abilities are available to you, as you discovered when you jumped off the cliff and survived, but not all of them. If you aren’t hungry already, you will be soon. We need to get to that exit.”

“You seem to know a lot about it; about me.”

“You were part of my investigation,” she clarified. “I had to know who I was looking for. A lot has changed since I last saw you, many iterations of Paige ago.”

“Yeah.”

After nightfall, they finally managed to reach the border. She was right, there was a narrow open space that seemed to circle around the border. The problem was that this meant walking an additional 130 kilometers. Mateo didn’t know how his pattern worked in here. Even if he woke up right at midnight central, there would not be enough time for them to cross that distance before the end of the day. Paige would have to wait a whole year for him to come back, and then they still wouldn’t be able to make it in under 24 hours. Perhaps this plan wasn’t so perfect. There had to be a closer exit, perhaps hidden behind a false wall, or a hologram. As they were sliding their hands along what felt like glass or metal, they started hearing a commotion behind them. They turned around to find a new horde of monsters, about the same size as the one from before. But then more began to appear on the ends, and it eventually felt more like ten times that size. They were just standing there, staring at the two of them menacingly.

Paige’s watch beeped. “Oh, no.”

“What does that mean? Don’t tell me the worst monster comes out at a certain time.”

“No. It’s an hour until midnight central. You’re about to disappear for a year. This was stupid, we should have run straight through the center to the door. Now we’re screwed.”

“Don’t be so sure. Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Mateo asked her. “In that clearing over there.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“If I recall correctly, it’s pretty maneuverable.”

“It’s pretty deadly.”

In the 1980s, a horror movie came out that would become a cult classic decades later. It was simply called Seatbelt Killer. Mateo couldn’t remember the exact backstory, but the villain’s origins involved his seatbelt getting stuck while his wife was being violated outside in front of him. He ended up turning the car on, and running over one of the rapists, but when the husband turned to get the other one, the second rapist threw his wife in front of the car, leading him to hitting her instead. The rapist then ran off, eventually getting trapped between the car and a cliff. With nothing left to live for, the husband drove right into him, and over the edge, where they both died. Then he and the car came back to life as a ghost, and started killing the protagonists over the course of the movie. The premise was that he literally couldn’t get out of his car anymore, but you couldn’t escape by going inside, because as a ghost car, it could fit through doorways, down hallways, and even up the stairs. You would think that he would kill rapists, but because he accidentally killed his own wife, the ghost could now only kill rape survivors. There was an implication that he didn’t want to do this, but was...driven to, so to speak. Due to the sensitive nature of the film, they never gave the car a name, but it was entirely fictional. The propmasters apparently manufactured the models from scratch so they wouldn’t have any sort of legal or reputational issues to contend with. But whatever it was, it was here, and Mateo wanted to steal it.

“Mateo...” Octavia began uncomfortably. “I can’t go near that thing.”

He knew what she meant right away, and if she was willing to talk to him about it, this wasn’t the time. “Have you seen the movie?”

“No, but I know the premise, which means I know that I qualify as a target.”

“The Final Girl survives by getting in through the passenger side window, and taking the steering wheel. She didn’t just take control of it, she literally removed it.”

“I’m guessing it wasn’t easy.”

“It’ll be easier for us. She was alone. You have me.”

“But if we take off the steering wheel, we won’t be able to drive either.”

“His weapon is the car itself, his hands are only his means of controlling that. If we get inside, I can control where the car goes, and he can’t hurt you while you’re in the back. We’re not gonna remove the wheel, because unlike the girl in the movie, we need to use it.”

“It sounds risky.”

“It always is. It’s your decision, though. I understand that I don’t understand. But I can tell you that I will protect you, and I’m a damn good driver.”

“Okay. We better come up with a plan fast, because we’re running out of time. Even if you drive as fast as possible, it will take nearly the full hour to get there.”

Mateo nodded, then started to shake his head. “We’re not going around the perimeter. We’re going straight through.”

They hatched their plan, though it wasn’t all that complicated. Octavia came up with the idea to use herself as bait for the Seatbelt Killer, but Mateo wasn’t getting off easy. He was bait as well. While most of the monsters in this dome wanted to kill both or either of them, only a few of them were exclusively attracted to Octavia, based on her profile. They would use this to their advantage. Mateo would lure all of the others away, so Octavia was only contending with one of them. Once it was just her and the car, she would hop over the boundary, back to the safety of the perimeter. This would give her a respite that the characters in the original movie never had. From there, with the driver essentially frozen in place, she could simply climb onto the hood, and slip through the open window. Mateo never saw her accomplish this, but it evidently worked. She drove up next to him while the horde was chasing him through the woods. He dove in the back, and she sped up so fast that no one else was able to keep up.

“We need to get you up front so you can do the steering!” she shouted. She was navigating the terrain pretty well, but still struggling against the driver. He was bound to his seat, but not entirely helpless there. He was still trying to peel her arms away, just as he had the girl in the film. With a bit of ingenuity, this heroine had managed to pry the wheel off of its place, which stole his power from him, and allowed her to escape back through the window. A mid-credits scene suggested that he was about to be successful in finding a workaround by rigging a tire pressure gauge as an ad hoc steering wheel, which may have played out in a sequel, but it was never made. Mateo was a driver, so he watched movies about drivers, even bad ones, and sometimes he read about them too. There was a theory that made the rounds on the message boards that this sequel would have ended with the Final Girl also managing to get in the car, but solving the problem by finally freeing the killer from his eternal seatbelt. Could it be true? The creator never responded to these rumors, but an unverified snippet of the sequel’s script appeared to support the lore. Whether that was how it would have worked in the movies was not the question, though. The question was...was the android who was programmed to believe he was the Seatbelt Killer coded with this solution, or would it only make things worse?

“Do you have a knife?” Mateo asked her. Now that he was inside, he could hold the killer’s arms back, but the guy was really strong. They might not be able to keep him at bay for the duration of the drive.

“What?”

“A pocket knife. Scissors. Anything!”

“No, I don’t have anything like that!” Octavia yelled back. “I didn’t know I was gonna be trapped in the woods for seven years!”

“I need something sharp,” he muttered. Just then, a glow started to form in his right hand. He let go of the killer’s arm to look at it in wonder. The glow consolidated, and began to take shape. Before too long, it was in the form of a knife. And he could feel it in his palm. Somehow, despite Pacey’s restrictions, Mateo’s weird telekinetic hologram powers were back, at least in this one instance. Not taking any chances that it wouldn’t last, Mateo slipped the blade underneath the belt, and with one slice, ripped it right open.

The killer stopped struggling. For a moment, he just sat there in awe. Then he pulled the strap through the loop, opened the door, and tumbled out. Octavia sat there in shock, not even paying attention to where they were going, which was all right, because they were in an open area now, and slowing down quickly.

“Okay. I’ll take it from here.” Mateo climbed over the headrest, and situated himself in the driver’s seat. Then he took off again, free from resistance or distractions.

Now that they were clear of the monsters, their primary struggle was against the clock. In the movie, the car could phase through objects, or even squeeze itself through like a bus out of Harry Potter. That wasn’t possible in the real world, so Mateo just had to negotiate the trees and other obstacles. He kept going though, relying on his great skills, which had only been enhanced during his stint in the Underburg dome. The clock was ticking as they were approaching the part of the wall where Octavia said there was a door. He barreled through the treeline, and onto the perimeter again, almost all the way on the other side of the dome. New monsters were upon them now, but were still bound by that imaginary line.

“How do I open this?” Mateo asked. Before Octavia could answer, he placed a hand on the handle, and heard a buzzing sound. “Hm. Was that it?” He opened it.

Octavia breathed a sigh of relief as her watch was counting down. “Finally.” Four, three, two, one.

Mateo blinked, and it was 2506.

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Microstory 2417: Racetrack Dome

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I’m gonna say this real slow. This is a racetrack dome, which means there are...racetracks. That’s all it is. It’s hundreds of racetracks just all over tarnation. A racetrack here, a racetrack there. There’s even a track that runs the entire circumference of the dome, which is something like 260 kilometers. That sounds boring to me, but hey, you do you, right? I would much rather stay close to the inner tracks. They’re so much more interesting. The vehicles are electric, obviously, but they’re also electromagnetic. This allows them to do all sorts of crazy stuff, like drive up the wall, or even do loop-de-loops. There are jumps and shortcuts, and drops into rivers of lava. Yeah, this particular dome was chosen for its proximity to a volcano. The volcano isn’t inside the dome, and if there were ever an eruption, there are safeguards in place to seal off the lava flow, and protect the dome. But as long as everything’s copacetic, it’s there. Plus, they have clear emergency procedures in place. I mean, this hasn’t actually happened since I’ve been here, so there’s no way to know how effective their plans are, but they claim to be ready. Of course, the lava they do have is dangerous, as are all of the other tracks. Well, almost all of them. They have bumper cars, and some go-kart tracks too, for the kids, or people who want something a little lighter. If you do get hurt, and don’t want to just jump your consciousness to a new body, they have excellent medical teams on standby. I was never injured, but I did walk in once to find someone having just crashed on one of the traditional intermediate tri-ovals. I heard the collision from the corridor, and by the time I rounded the corner, they were already loading the driver into an ambulance. I asked after him later, and he’s fine; didn’t even have to switch to a new body. I can’t even begin to describe what other kinds of tracks they have here, but if you’ve ever played a racing video game, they’re pretty much all recreated here. They don’t have boats, planes, or spaceships, though. Man, people kept asking about that. I’ll say again, it’s a racetrack dome, not races in general. Look for that in another dome. I’m sure they’re somewhere. I see all these negative reviews from morons who are disappointed when the name alone tells you everything you need to know. Just think it through, and you’ll be pleased with what you find.

Microstory 2291: Went Over the Edge

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This is a hard post to write, for obvious reasons. If you read Nick’s blog, then you must already know that he’s dead, and Dutch is missing. To throw you off the trail, and preserve some privacy, he told you that we had gone to Florida, and that we left Thursday evening. In reality, we left mid-afternoon, and went to San Francisco, California to enjoy one of the amusement parks out there. You know the one. We decided to drive all the way there in order to avoid all the airport hustle and bustle, and the fan scrutiny. We never stopped, except to use the facilities, or fill up the vehicles. That’s the benefit of having a security team. They could share the driving responsibilities, and we were able to sleep whenever we needed to. We had a great time on Friday, Saturday, and a little on Sunday morning. I’m grateful that he at least went out on a high note. On our way back, we were driving through the mountains of Colorado when Nick and Dutch’s SUV slipped on some dark ice, and went over the edge. I was in the other car at the time, so I could sprawl out to sleep. I believe that Nick and Dutch were both asleep at the time as well. At approximately 4:00 in the morning today, rescuers discovered Nick Fisherman IV’s body. They were actually working for our security firm, who has an office in Glenwood Springs, which wasn’t too far away. Both drivers were found dead as well, and the search for Dutch continues, but in this freezing cold winter weather, it’s not looking good. You may have noticed that this post is very straightforward, and unemotional. I can’t let my emotions out, or I’ll explode. I just needed to give you the information. I’m sure I’ll be a wreck once the truth really sets in.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 10, 2398

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They’re not sure why there was a time limit to literally get through the door to get processed out of Birket, but it turned out fine. They all made it through, and walked across the desert to the Israeli border. It was there that they waited for almost the entire day before transport to Cairo came for them. People obviously weren’t in any hurry to help them. They weren’t on the road for long before darkness fell, and their driver had to stop and check into a motel for the night. He didn’t secure any rooms for them, of course, and clearly didn’t care, so they were forced to sleep under the stars on the beach in a coastal town called Taba, Egypt. Fortunately, it was pretty nice weather, and they were all glad to be free at least. So far, there was no indication of how exactly they were going to get back to the states. Their devices were confiscated from them, and never returned—wiped clean upon any attempt at unauthorized access—and no one in Taba was willing to let them use a phone.

They woke up this morning, all reporting having slept well enough, and made their way back to the motel. Neither the driver nor his bus could be found. Amir asked the front desk about it in Arabic, and learned that he checked out early, and took off. That’s very weird. It’s his job to get them to a special final processing center in Cairo, not just to help them make it all the way home. They’re expected to exit the region according to policy, which entails either meeting their sponsor, or an approved representative, in country. Now it’s going to be much more difficult to do that, and might even get them sent back to Birket. Maybe that’s what someone has wanted all along, and is driving these obstacles. Still, no one lends them a phone.

“How long will it take us to walk?” Kivi asks.

Amir laughs. “At least a week. That’s if we walk for several hours each day, which we won’t be able to do, especially not without any water.”

“Why won’t anyone help us? Do they not have any taksis, or anything around here?” Leona asks.

“I tried asking,” Amir begins, “but just because we speak the same language, doesn’t mean they like me. They know what we are, and while Egyptians don’t have any particular distaste for colonists—or freed colonists, like ourselves—there is some local annoyance that they’re being used as a waypoint for us. Their government struck a deal to make it happen after Israel and Jordan both refused, but regular citizens don’t like it. It’s not the only deal that Egypt has regarding refugees. It’s a huge political issue.”

“Is that why the driver abandoned us?” Marie asks him.

“Probably, yes, but it doesn’t make much sense. He could still get in trouble for it, because now it’s worse. The only thing Egyptians hate more than processing refugees is wayward refugees who are stuck here, and can’t be processed out.”

“What about Saudi Arabia?” Kivi presses. “How do they feel about us?”

Amir looks to the south. “You’re not getting across the Red Sea, and you’re not getting through the two borders between you and Saudi Arabia on land.”

“It was just a thought,” Kivi says, shrugging.

“Keeves, maybe you could find someone to help us?” Leona asks her.

“I’ve already asked,” Amir protests.

“Keeve?” Leona urges, not wanting to explain what makes her method different.

“I can try,” Kivi replies, uncertain of her own skills. She steps away from the group, as before, trying to seek an ally. Her stride is wider than normal, reminiscent of a wedding party gracefully drifting down the aisle. She periodically alters direction, hoping to catch a scent, for lack of a better term.

“What is she doing?” Amir asks Heath in a whisper.

“Honestly, I don’t really know,” Heath answers him, probably not lying.

It feels like she walks all over town, encountering each one of the 10,000 people who live here. She doesn’t get the sense that any of them would tell them the time, let alone help get them out of the country. Amir talks to a few more people himself, and receives the same cold welcome. They’re starting to think that they really should get themselves out of the area as fast as possible. If they tried to walk to the next town over, it might only take them two days. Of course, water and food is still a problem. If only Birket gave them small samples of Energy water as parting gifts, they would be able to survive just a little bit longer. As it stands, they may die here like a flower in drought.

They don’t end up walking anywhere. They just go back to the beach, and sit to watch the waves come in. Marie suggests that they fish for food, which she surely learned how to do at the master level in the afterlife simulation. Amir informs them that he saw a sign back there, forbidding all shore fishing. Hours later, a fleet of helicopters roar towards them from the horizon. “Those are American,” Amir exclaims.

“We better go,” Leona determines.

Once more, they head for downtown, where they find a bunch of soldiers spread out, trying to take control of the populace. People are scared, but cooperating, and it doesn’t look like things are going to escalate to true violence. A woman who looks in charge spots them coming towards the crowd. She orders a group of her soldiers to escort us over. “Agent Matic?” she asks when they meet her halfway.

“That’s me,” Leona responds reluctantly. She doesn’t want anyone to know that she’s a secret agent, and only partially because she isn’t really.

“Miller Dennard. Why didn’t you call?” she demands to know.

 “We don’t have phones,” Leona explains. “No one would let us borrow theirs.”

She’s fuming, but not at them. She’s staring daggers at all the locals. “Follow me. We’re taking you straight to Frankfurt, where you’ll board your connection, like you were always supposed to.”

Leona nods to the others that they should accept the ride. “What prompted you to come for us?” she asks the Miller.

The Miller puts on her sunglasses. “Orders from high.”

“How high?”

Miller Dennard turns away to head for the helicopters herself. “All the way up!”

Leona sighs, recognizing that while this looks life a gift, it only makes things more comfortable. Every person who knows that they’re special makes their lives that much more complicated. Still, they have to get back home if they have any chance of getting back to their real home, so she runs over, and gets in the aircraft too.

Miller Dennard places her headset on as their launching, and turns towards one of the other helicopters. “Put an A-bomb in that water!” she orders.

Horrified, they watch as an object slides out of the other helicopter, and drops into the Gulf of Aqaba. Stillness until the water shudders and ripples all at once, as if a powerful electrical charge had been sent through it. They fly away.

Microstory 1855: Man in the Street

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Once upon a time, I was sitting at a red light, second in line, waiting for it to change, but in no big hurry. A car pulled up behind me, and started to wait too. Before too long, I felt a lurch. I checked my sideview mirror, and saw that he had knocked into my bumper, and he hadn’t even attempted to back away. My dog’s kennel was still in the back, because we had just gone to the dog park the day before, and if I lived with one fatal flaw, it was my procrastination. So I couldn’t see how the other driver was reacting to this with my rearview mirror. I could tell, however, that he wasn’t getting out of the car. There was probably no damage, because he was moving at less than a kilometer an hour, but I still felt obliged to exchange information. So I did get out, and approached him. I could immediately see that something was wrong. His face was pressed up against his steering wheel, and he wasn’t moving. I instinctively started knocking on the window, and trying to open the latch, but he wasn’t responding, and of course, it was locked. Just due to my interference, he slumped down a bit until his head was pressing against the horn. So it was blaring, the light was green, we weren’t moving, and the people behind us were honking too. There was only one lane, so they couldn’t go around. They probably thought we were stupid for not making a right turn, and dealing with this in that empty parking lot. I knew I had to do something; not for those people, but the hurt person in the car. I remembered that my son bought me and my wife both a special tool that could break through car glass. I ran back to retrieve it, and bashed the back window so I could unlock the stranger’s door. I didn’t know what I was going to do. This was just before cell phones, so I couldn’t call for help. I had once learned CPR, but I forgot all but the basic concept behind it, and I wasn’t sure I could pull it off safely.

As I was dragging him out, a motorcycle cop pulled up. He didn’t know what was going on, but he could see the broken window, and the unconscious man in my arms, so he assumed the worst. He pointed his gun at my head, and started screaming at me. It took a surprising amount of effort to convince him that I wasn’t the bad guy here. The man was hurt, and I needed help. After quickly calling for an ambulance on the radio, the police officer actually began to perform CPR, and I stood back to let him do his thing. Meanwhile, the other cars managed to find openings where they could drive on the wrong side of the road, and get around us. It was a slow process, but it was working, and people just needed to have some patience. One driver wasn’t patient. I don’t know if he didn’t see what was happening, or if he didn’t care, but he was going far too fast, and he was uncomfortably close to the line of cars waiting their turn. I had to think fast. I ran past the cop, and the unconscious man on the ground, took hold of the motorcycle, and summoned all the strength in my body to throw it to the ground. The reckless driver slammed right into it, and that was just enough to divert him away from the cop and his patient. I wasn’t so lucky. A piece of shrapnel shot out of the bike, and lodged itself in my chest. The first guy was still hurt, the bad driver wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, so I could see him halfway up on his dashboard. I think some shrapnel hit the cop too, because his forehead was bleeding. And I thought I was probably going to die. Obviously I didn’t. We all survived, and I’m still friends with the man I helped save, and the police officer. The reckless driver found himself going in and out of jail. This wasn’t his only offense.

Microstory 1838: Pics or it Didn’t Happen

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I’ve been a professional driver for the last fifty years. I built my career on a spotless record, but just because something isn’t on my record, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. I don’t want to relive the worst night of my life, but it’s all I can think about right now as I’m riding in the back of this ambulance. Back in the day, driving was a bit of a man’s world. Women weren’t actively discouraged from such jobs, but they weren’t encouraged either. I didn’t have to fight my way into the industry, but I certainly found it rather difficult to relate to my contemporaries. I didn’t socialize very much with the other students while I was learning, and advancing. I focused on being the best driver I could be, and pretty soon, my hard work paid off. I don’t recall exactly how it happened—I think it was more of a gradual thing; a series of events—but I eventually became known as the professional truck driver with no accidents. I didn’t knock down one cone during my training, and I continued this winning streak over the years, which is when it really mattered, of course. I also didn’t make any such mistakes in my personal life. No speeding tickets, no parking tickets, not even a warning. I was a model citizen, and pretty soon, I was being paid to talk to other people about it. I didn’t think that going ten years without issue was that big of a deal, and I don’t think I was the only one. I wasn’t hired to speak at high schools because I was the only one, though, I guess, but because I lucked into it. In the 1980s, I started driving fewer hours so that driver’s ed teachers could book me to speak to their students. They wanted me to inspire them to become like me, and I knew the whole time that it was kind of a waste. Those kids weren’t planning to get in any accidents. It happens, and my talks weren’t going to stop it.

Still, I kept doing it, because it was decent money, and I was starting a family at the time, so staying in place was better for my schedule anyway. Then one night in 1999, it happened. And this is my confession. I was driving back from a night class. It was geared towards adults who had never learned to drive, nor graduated from high school in the first place. So they were all going for their degree and license at the same time. It was so dark outside, as you might imagine, because not only did the students have to work during the day, but many of them had to take public transportation, so such a class necessitated that it be scheduled fairly late. I was tired, I admit, and looking back, I probably should have called a cab. But I wasn’t intoxicated, so I thought I would be okay. It was snowing and sleeting, so visibility was incredibly low. The windshield wipers may as well have been off for as helpful as they were being that night. I was about to just pull over, and call my husband for help when I heard it. I’ll never forget how far my heart dropped down in my chest when that thump whumped against my bumper. I felt it too, and now, every time I hear a similar sound, I nearly jump out of my seat. I couldn’t believe I did it. I was so stupid. It was my job to teach others to not be reckless, and now I would forever be a hypocrite, and a fraud. I got out of the car and inspected the damage. The grill of my car was fine, so I panicked and rationalized not reporting it. I just got back in, and drove off. No one would have to know. It was one little accident, and it wasn’t worth ruining my career. Even after I retired, I kept my secret, because I didn’t want it to destroy my legacy either. My kids are all accident free, and I would be too if I hadn’t knocked into that damn trash can that one fateful night.

Microstory 1835: Death Comes For Her

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The only crazy thing to happen to me was my death. It was so prolonged and complicated. It almost feels designed; like something out of a horror movie, written for ultimate suspense. Convoluted might be the word I would use for it. I kept getting this close to being killed by something, only to survive it, and make my way to the next danger, which also didn’t kill me. Obviously, it happened eventually, or you wouldn’t be receiving my story, so here it is. I woke up to the sound of my neighbor banging on my apartment door. I groaned, but I didn’t get up, because I couldn’t. I wasn’t paralyzed, but it felt like there was a silky web holding me against the bed. I heard a crash as he broke in, came into my room, and lifted me out. There had been a gas leak throughout the entire complex, and it evidently hit me worst. I survived, and breathed in the oxygen that the firefighter gave me. Everything was fine, and I was feeling livelier—albeit with a headache the likes of which I didn’t know was possible—when my oxygen tank exploded. I don’t know if someone shot it with a gun, or if the valve was turned wrong, or what the hell happened. All I know is I woke up feeling worse than ever, on the ground, covered in debris. I was still alive, though...for the moment. The ambulance, not so much. That thing was wrecked, so they gave me a new one, and tried to take me to a hospital, but wouldn’t you know it, that one wrecked too! We had just gotten through a huge winter storm, and most of the ice had melted, but there was just enough on the on-ramp to the highway to send us flying over the edge, down the grass verge by the underpass. I opened my eyes just as a semi-truck was barreling towards us, unable to stop either, for whatever reason; maybe another patch of ice. After that, someone pulled me out.

I was drifting in and out of consciousness, but I was alert enough to recognize that I was just riding in the backseat of some random person’s car. I asked the driver if he was taking me to the hospital, but he said that wasn’t what I needed. At last, he stopped. So I tried to escape, but he was too strong, and I was too hurt. He carried me up some steps, and onto a rooftop. He didn’t even explain what he had against me. He just unceremoniously dropped me over the edge, like it was the only logical thing to do. I don’t even know if he expected me to crash onto the pavement, or if he knew that a garbage truck was passing underneath at the right time. I suspect he wanted the truck to run me over, but didn’t time it right. I was even more hurt now, but still ticking. I tried to call out for the garbageman to stop, but there was all this noise, and I wasn’t confident anything was coming out of my mouth. The truck stopped, and trash fell on my head, including a bucket of knives. I don’t know why they were throwing them out. They were good enough to cut me a thousand times. After that, the compactor began to run, threatening to crush me, but something went wrong with the hydraulics, and it halted. The garbageman found me when he came back to investigate, and called for a third ambulance. On the way, it almost got in another accident, at least that’s what it felt like from the back. I finally made it to the hospital where I received a severe overdose of pain medication following surgery, apparently due to human error. But that isn’t what killed me either. No, throughout all of this, my wounds weren’t properly treated for a long time, and I found out too late that I contracted a nasty bacterial infection—likely from something in the garbage—which finally did me in two months later.

Microstory 1740: Hercules Wagon

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I just found a dead body. It’s a fifteen-year-old girl, who is—I mean was—one of two of the last remaining residents of Cepheus, Kansas. Everyone else who once lived here either left, or died already. Technically, anyone in the world could have killed her. I can’t rule out any of them, except for myself, but there is one person who is my prime suspect right now. Her father is the only one I know of who was here at the time. They were supposed to go fishing today, I know that much, but I’m not a coroner, so there is no way for me to know how long ago she was killed. It could have happened anytime within the last month, but I feel like the smell would be worse if she had been lying here for longer than a few days. Plus, food is something that I do know a little bit about, and I can tell you that this ice cream that spilled all over the floor only went bad recently. It looks like she dropped the bowl, slipped on it, and hit her head on the corner of the counter. Or maybe that’s just what her dad wants us to believe. I mean, where is he now, right? A month, a few days; either is plenty of time for him to contact the authorities if it really was an accident. Running makes anyone look suspicious, so he’s only making it harder on himself. I simply cannot let the trail go cold, and I can’t rely on the sheriff to do his due diligence. He’s going to rule it an accident, and not even look at the damn facts. She’s dead, and the dad’s gone. They need to investigate, or even call in the FBI. No, he can’t be trusted. I have to go on the hunt, or no one else will. Sure, I’m just a rural area supply transporter, but I know these woods like the back of my eyelids. If the killer is hiding somewhere around here, I’ll find him. You can bet on that.

I get back in my wagon, and head to what’s left of Main Street, hoping to find some evidence of where my suspect could have gone. There aren’t a whole lot of locations around here, and of course I’m well aware that he could be in Peru by now. If I killed my own teenage daughter, accident or no, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to stick around unless I wanted to get caught, consciously or no. I never pegged him for much of a bright boy, so I expect he’ll turn up sooner or later. These abandoned buildings are a pretty decent place to hide if you’re not worried about someone like me being on the hunt. Not in the old general store, not in the one restaurant still standing, not in the playground slide. It’s covered in mold, though. Someone should really do somethin’ about that. Where could that guy be? I head farther out to check the fishing hole, and the run-down cabin nearby. No one has been here in weeks, by the looks of it. Maybe he’s camping out on the prairies, or in that trailer that someone abandoned deep in the forest a couple of decades ago. Man, pretty much everything around here is falling apart, isn’t it? I still can’t find him, so I decide I need to get some perspective. One thing I didn’t try that they always do on those crime shows is inspect the scene. I can’t believe I was so dumb that I didn’t really even look for clues around the body. Maybe I’m not a bright boy either. When I get back to the house, police lights are flashing in my eyes. The sheriff has finally shown up. Took him long enough. He has some colleagues with him from neighboring counties. I get out, thinking it’s time I fill them in on what I know. I don’t get to say much before they slam my face into the hood of my own truck, and wrap handcuffs around my wrists. Apparently, they found the father lain neatly in his casket in the cemetery. He probably died before her. Now I’m the only suspect. I shouldn’t have run.

Microstory 1730: The Crux

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No one is old enough to remember what happened. It’s always just sort of been this way; a hill in the center of our little doughnut-shaped town where four roads meet. I don’t mean that it’s two roads crossing each other. Each of the four has its own name, and while it’s not impossible to get from one to the other by driving over what we unofficially call The Crux, it’s not recommended for regular cars. The hill is deceptively steep, and for some reason, it’s always rather muddy halfway up, on all sides. It’s a bit of a pain, but it’s much more reasonable to go around it on one of the other roads. It’s not a problem for people who live here. We know the hill is there, and we know heading towards it is going to get us nowhere...unless we’re trying to get to the hill itself, of course. Tourism is already hard to come by for us, and this just makes it harder. None of the internet maps knows it’s there, and don’t know it’s a bit of an impediment, so they direct folks right through it. We keep trying to get them to remove it from their system as a traversable road, but we’ve had no luck so far. Again, with the right vehicle, it’s possible to drive over it, but we’ve had some issues with people who don’t know what they’re doing. We actually have four ways of getting out of such a mess if it happens to you. The auto repair shop is on South Avenue, the county’s largest tow truck company is on Backbone Road, the dealership is on Krouka, and there’s a gas station on Heap Lane. It’s not all that necessary—problems don’t occur all that often—but it’s nice to know that people will have options, so they’ll think twice about saying bad things about us. Crux notwithstanding, ours is a fine town, with good, progressive people, who like to lead the simple life, but understand how the city operates, and why others would prefer it.

Anyway, today I’m sitting on top of the Crux with a bunch of friends. It’s got a good vantage point of the surrounding area, so we hang out there all the time. Flat Kansas being what it is, it’s nice to be above it all sometimes, ya know? So we’re sitting there, watching a small car we don’t recognize come down Krouka. They probably drove in from Great Bend, looking to fish in our world famous pond, where it’s pretty much guaranteed you’ll catch something. As the car approaches, we realize just how tiny it is. I bet only two people could fit in that thing, and maybe one bag each. There is no way it’s gonna make it up the Crux. We don’t even bother picking up our chairs to get out of the way this time. That little thing comes up there, from this perspective, lookin’ like a ground squirrel wondering if the mailbox poll drops nuts. It slows down, but doesn’t stop. Most people get out, and take a look around when they don’t know what the hell is going on here. They’re holding their phones, and spinning around to see if they’re facing the wrong direction. These people don’t even do that. They stop for five seconds, back up about fifty meters, and then gun it. They go towards this hill as fast as they possibly can, and they make it up pretty far. My best friend inches over to the side, afraid we’re all wrong, and they’ll actually go all the way. It doesn’t. It stops midway, and rolls back down, smoothly, though, like they saw it was gonna happen, and put it in neutral to be safe. Some of us laugh, but most are relieved, because we know how bad it can get. We’re about to go down to tell them about the dealership when their car transforms. This...laser gun—I guess you would call it—comes out from under the hood, and blasts a tunnel into the hill. We later see it’s large enough to fit a semi-truck. They even laser the other two roads, before driving off without so much as a you’re welcome.

Microstory 1720: Lone Resident of Cepheus

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I’m in a small town in Central Kansas called Cepheus. It’s Northwest of Hays, and Southeast of Great Bend. When I was born, there were only eleven people here. Now that my father has died, I’m all that’s left. I know that I’m supposed to contact someone about this. The county sheriff knows our situation, and is aware that I have no family elsewhere, as far as I’ve ever been told. I’m fifteen years old, though, and after some careful thought, I decide that I can take care of myself. What would it accomplish, being around other people? I only ever cared about my family, and the one other family we knew, who are all gone too. I bury father in the cemetery, for which we were already permitted to do so. For practical reasons, though he was young and in fairly decent health when it happened suddenly, we were prepared for the eventuality. He even already picked his casket. It was in the barn waiting for him when his time came. Once I’m done with the ceremony, I return to our home, make what was his favorite dinner, and go to bed. The next day, after breakfast, I return to my studies. Just because my teacher isn’t here anymore, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t continue to get an education. He gave me the tools I would need to go on without him, including ultrafast satellite internet. All my friends are on here, I have access to infinite entertainment, and I see no reason why my lifestyle should change. He won’t be able to go fishing with me this weekend, but I can still go by myself. I’ll even take a case of beer to sit between our seats. I never touch the stuff, but I’m sure I’ll find it comforting. It reminds me, as I’m making sure a case is still in the fridge, that I’m going to run low on certain supplies soon. The last remaining residents of Cepheus stayed for a reason, because we didn’t want to interact with the world anyway. Still, we couldn’t ever produce everything ourselves, like shaving cream, and medicine. For that, we waited for the Hercules wagon.

The next wagon won’t arrive for another few days, but I’m not sure if it’ll ever come now. We receive regular resupplies of certain items, which we use up monthly, but we send for special requests as well. I failed to do that yesterday since I was so busy taking care of my father’s final resting place. We always have special requests, and if we don’t, it usually means we’re on a long camping trip. That’s okay, I have plenty of produce from our little garden, homemade dairy from our goat, Mr. Milks, and enough nonperishables to survive in a doomsday bunker for five years. It’s going to be the little candies that I’ll miss the most. It’s never on our list, but the driver always comes with them anyway, free of charge. I shrug off the worrying about the wagon, and get back to my book, A Tale of Two Cities for my classics assignment. In fact, it’s the last assignment my father gave me, which means I’ll have to begin testing myself once I complete the report. I can always call the driver later if I do decide I want him to come after all. When I’m finished with the chapter, I head for the kitchen to treat myself to a bowl of Mr. Milks’ ice cream. It’s not the easiest thing to make, so we don’t do it often. It makes more sense to stick to the milk, cheese, and butter. Like an idiot, I drop the bowl on the floor, and worse, I don’t notice that one piece of porcelain slid far from the spill. I slip on it, and bash my head against the corner of the counter. Unable to move, I watch the blood from my head wound mix with the dessert, and now I realize why father told me to leave town when he was gone, and join society. The driver doesn’t find my body for four days.