Read The Sands of Borrowed Time Online
Authors: Jeffry Winters
The bikers cruised up the highway at a steady 55 mph, ironically the speed limit, even though no laws existed now. The only law was that of hierarchy; the tough ruled the weak, and the pecking order was ruthlessly enforced. The psychopaths, whether they knew it or not, naturally took advantage of the power vacuum that occurred after the star’s explosion. All that remained of it now, though, was a scattered ring, a myriad of colours around a red glowing eye that looked down upon them with indifference. However, it had sent shockwaves and turmoil through the social caste, and everything and everyone were up for grabs. No co-ordinated response from the authorities was ever seen: no martial law was imposed; there were no broadcasts over the radio of what action to take; there were no provisions given out and no shelters made for those taken unaware. Government was dead, and with it, social structure and peace. The power structures of the Earth had seemly been obliterated. The slate had been wiped clean, and the title of King was for the taking.
The bikers, a fleet of denim-clad men on Harley Davidson’s, rattled their way along the highway, leaving a stream of dust in their wake. Their jackets flapped raucously in the warm air, the fierce Sun reflecting off their shades as if their eyes were burning like hot coals. They were heading north; one of their family, Aveline, had claimed she had seen a ship drift towards the bay which had grounded on a sandbank. Apparently, it was a cargo ship with no sign of its crew. If true, this could be a potential store for them to pillage. Today was their scouting mission. They were out and about to assess the situation but guessed it would be far from a free handout. They would need to figure out how to get to the ship, unload its cargo and defend their booty if necessary. The payoff though was hard to ignore and outweighed the risks. Leon felt a rush of exhilaration. It was an adventure in waiting, especially after so many years of pillaging scraps from homes and businesses. They had finally received a call to a much bigger and potentially satisfying job. As they thundered along the deserted highway, the road forked left towards the bay, gently descending towards a sandy beach within a cove. Without a doubt, several hundred yards offshore there was a cargo ship. It wasn’t entirely grounded, not yet at least as it bobbed and turned slowly in the receding tide. It was tilting severely, suggesting the hull had been damaged and flooded with water. It was covered in seaweed, sand, and salt. The bikers came to a stop as they neared the beach, and they all looked out to sea, beaming at the ship in awe. Leon noticed its name on the bow that Aveline had mentioned. Just like she had said, in big black italics was written,
The Crow
.
"The Crow!" Leon laughed. "What the fuck name is that?” They all laughed in unison. "The fucking Crow. Fuck me blind.” There were more contorted laughs. As the ship was quite a way offshore, Leon and the others agreed they would need a boat of their own, even when the tide was fully out, if they were to get to the cargo ship. "We will need ropes an’ all," Leon stated with conviction, staring intently, feeling a deep lust for it. "There is no way we can climb up to the deck from a boat, otherwise. "We will also need cover from the shore,” he continued. “Who knows what sneaky fuckers roam these parts. We will need knives, guns, and everything!” he shouted enthusiastically. "Every fucker is invited to this little shebang! We are gonna need the whole fucking team!" The rest nodded in agreement, neither taking their eyes off the liner, their wide pupils revealing their hunger as deep as Leon’s. They all stared at the ship for a long time as it wavered hypnotically in the rolling waves. It was an island of opportunity they thought, dreaming of what was stashed inside those containers. "Come on nancy boys, let's head back and tell the others what we have seen," Leon said elatedly. "The fucking Crow," he laughed out quietly as he kicked-started his Harley.
The next day she awoke to a deep orange Sun as it peaked over the horizon, its rays extinguishing the stars one by one as its grew stronger with each rising degree. She took a gulp of water from her last bottle and put on her shades. The sky was a brilliant blue, but that would soon change as the heat stirred up the air into a stiff breeze, picking up loose, dry dirt until the sky became a hazy yellow. She decided not to wait until night. She would go now, today. It was a risk, but maybe the guys she saw laid low during the long and hot day, out of the harmful rays of the Sun. She grabbed her bag, swung it over her shoulders, and walked down the slope towards the edge of the bridge. The air was still clear as she began her citybound journey. However, the mummers of a breeze began to stir, its effects becoming noticeable on the ground, dust coalescing into little swirls, moving along the baked yellow ground like the ghosts of snakes. Her tangled, black hair wavered over her face. It smelt oily, she thought. It hasn't been washed for weeks; time to freshen up. Once Skylar had descended the slope and reached the road, she turned and started to walk towards the city. It looked daunting before her. Its colossal towers of broken glass seemed foreboding, casting long shadows out across the glistening sea. She looked down at the road. It appeared that it had long been covered in dirt. She could see the tyre tracks from the bikes, perhaps too many for the trip of last night. Maybe they came here often, she thought. She lifted her scarf to cover her nose and mouth as the wind became more spirited. The road into the city was deserted. She imagined how busy it would have been at this time in the morning not so long ago. Cars, buses, lorries and motorcycles, making their way slowly into the city as it awakened from its slumber to another hectic day. Horns blaring as people battled for position, trying to make their journey short and quick through this clogged artery to their offices, their stress, and frustrations would clearly have been evident on their furrowed brows. Today, however, nothing; just silence and the occasional stirring of the wind as it too awakened, the Sun’s rays penetrating deep into its cold mass as it rose above the horizon. She looked ahead, the road flanked by telegraph poles, some leaning and broken, hanging from the wires that they were meant to hold up, pulling them sideways, looking taught and ready to break. The road was dusty, all the way into the city. It had become uneven and broken as if an earthquake had hit. It was a possibility, she thought. She had felt some gentle tremors a few nights before, maybe they had been stronger here. Vines and branches, some of which had grown through broken windows, choked the tall buildings in the distance at the heart of the city. A few buildings looked entirely overrun by plant life, looking like giant hydroponic vases.
So hot,
she thought, as she wiped her brow free from sweat on the arm of her blouse, pushing back her dark, damp hair behind her ears. Her once-white blouse, now moist with sweat. As she walked onwards, bushes and small trees began to appear along the verges of the road until they got bigger and taller, forming a canopy of swaying leaves. Many were dry and turning brown, not because autumn was approaching, there were no more seasons, but because the burning Sun and the sandy wind had ripped the water from the soil. They were dying. She felt sweat trickling down her brazen thighs as the Sun beat down on her back, the dust still swirling down the road ahead, accumulating against the verges in little brown heaps. She pulled her rucksack from her shoulder and took out the bottle of water again, taking a few thirsty gulps. The water had become warm but was refreshing, nevertheless. She looked around into the bushes that had quickly spread and grown unchecked in the absence of man, but the party was over, the water had long gone and soon would they. She turned quickly, startled by a rustling in the hedgerows.
Just the wind
, she thought as she held her palm towards her chest, gently tapping it.
Just the wind stirring the leaves.
She walked closer to the verge, looking deep through the fine branches, hoping to confirm her assumption.
Nothing.
She could see the deep river bed, its rocky bottom, and clay banks baked dry. There was no water there, either; life had tried and thrived, but now it was being denied, dying a slow, thirsty death.
There’s nothing here Skylar; not even the river flows anymore.
She turned her head again, this time it was more obvious like someone had jumped through the bushes, the branches breaking in a series of sharp cracks. She instinctively crouched down behind a dense area of bush, peeking through its branches.
Whose being watched here; me, or me watching whoever is out there?
She pulled apart the branches gently to get a better view. She could hear faint rustlings but saw no-one.
Perhaps a rat. I guess there would be plenty around here, feeding on the last remnants of life.
She looked across, seeing bushes sway vigorously several feet in front of her.
That’s no friggin’ rat, no rat at all!
she anxiously thought. She looked ahead intently as the swaying branches slowed to a stop, feeling every heartbeat, hearing every breath, too scared to move. She gulped with fear as she saw a glimpse of something move through the bushes, their branches swaying with a rustling sound as it did so.
A person, a child perhaps; whatever, he or she is quite small and agile.
There were further rustlings behind the figure.
Fuck, there’s a group of them. How many!
she thought, looking frantically back and forth. She watched nervously as she saw a wave of moving leaves stream through the bushes.
They can’t have seen me; they’re running away
, she thought, catching glimpses of movement, small dark figures sweeping through the bushes.
Maybe they’re hiding from me?
As the rustlings stopped, Skylar stood back up, turning around full circle, feeling terrified and exposed. She looked down the road towards the city, then quickly over her shoulder with paranoia, feeling a cold shiver run down her body even the burning rays of the Sun couldn’t stop. She had never felt so alone or so afraid. She took the bottle of water again from her rucksack; her throat had become dry from terror. The water was even warmer now and went down her throat in choking gulps.
Deep breathes. Stay calm and focused. Don’t panic.
She walked onwards, now with a thumping headache from the stress, the drone and whine of the wind also making it difficult to hear which didn’t add to the lack of confidence that was building inside of her. The dust stung her already sore legs. The road widened and branched into many like a capillary system, once the lifelines of the city, but now long dead. The once busy highways were deserted. She soldiered on; pavements began to appear, ornamented with trees and plants. They were long dead, though, standing in scorched soil within cracked wooden pots, their shrivelled and yellow leaves hanging and twirling in the breeze, ready to fall anytime. There was a fair amount of litter; newspapers and empty coke cans, their print and colourful logos bleached almost white from the Sun. There was also discarded food, hanging from overfilled bins, most spilling onto the streets, dehydrated and unappetising, looking long past any nutritional value. She had arrived in the city, and so far there was no one to be seen, not a soul, she thought. At least as far as see could tell. Everything looked barren and desolate. In her isolation, her mind began racing; she felt a wave of paranoia and felt an urge to hide. Maybe they were watching her; biding their time, waiting to pounce. Maybe the city is infested with people, she continued to think, all getting along in their little groups but pitted against each other overall. She thought it best to get some cover and a place to stay for a while. She looked up at the building immediately before her. It was towering way above her, taller than most of the buildings in the entire city. She decided this was a good place to stay for a while. Getting in was not too hard, she kicked in the wooden double doors a few times, and they yielded. They slammed open with a thud. She entered inside. It was gloomy. In front of her was a security desk unmanned, the chair tucked under as if waiting for the return of its owner. There were lifts and a fire escape. Between the two was a vending machine. Skylar’s eyes widened. It was half-f of coke cans.
“Perfect!” she shouted aloud as she kicked in the glass. She found it amusing that it was a lot harder than breaking into the building itself. Eventually, she won through and opened the first can she could grab, its clunk, its hiss, sounding very hospitable, she thought. Swiftly, she took several gulps, gasping for air after the first few. She felt dizzy from the immediate rush of sugar into her starving blood, her hands trembling uncontrollably, causing the coke to spill onto her already stained shirt and onto the dusty floor with a dying fizz. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a few seconds and savoured that peaceful, empty space within. However, the fear deep within was too much and soon it came tumbling back into her mind like mayhem. She felt a flurry of confusing emotions, wanting to cry, but held them back. She took several more cans and loaded them into her bag. She then walked towards to the lift, pressing the button knowing it wouldn’t work, then went to the staircase and walked up. Most doors were locked. She could see offices or storage rooms, but after a weary climb of several floors, she found an open room. It looked spare, as it was empty, only containing the carpet, wall sockets looking unusually conspicuous beneath the windows. She walked across the emptiness and towards the large window on the other side and looked out into the urban wilderness. The air was yellow and dusty as usual, but she could make out the buildings that surrounded her, like shadowy figures in a swirling mist. The streets again looked empty, apart from newspapers scuttling across the floor in the burning wind. If she wanted a clear view of the whole city, she would need to go to the top floor and at night when the dusty air had settled and all was clear.
She decided to rest awhile, perched on the windowsill, peering out into the misty yellow haze, her mind tired, her limbs aching. She looked back to the days when she was growing up on the farm with her parents. It was many years after the supernova explosion. She was very young, perhaps five or six years old. Things were going downhill fast. The crops were dying and there was little food for the livestock which became sick or starved and had to be culled. People in the village were getting desperate as supplies stopped coming through, their own produce also declining fast. Many left in the hope that they could find a better life, but Skylar knew from her travels that was not likely. Everywhere was the same; barren, lifeless, dead. Cosmic rays were to blame, ripping apart the ozone layer, letting in more ultraviolet light and rocketing the mutation rates of everything alive. It was also hotter and drier which added to the problem. Lakes and reservoirs dried up quickly, and the autumn rains failed to show up to replenish them. Plants didn't grow, and cattle didn't reproduce. The life force of the Earth was being strangled. People became desperate and then one night her parents were taken away from her by bandits looking for food. Murdered for a half a shelf of food. Skylar escaped and had been wandering ever since in the hope of finding a place to settle again. Hoping it would be like it was before. Where it rained in the autumn, snowed at Christmas, and the Sun shone merrily in the summer without leaving your skin red raw. When food tasted good, water was cold and fresh, when people were civilised. A refugee at six years old, she thought her early days on the farm with her dad helped her survival skills. Now, several years later at sixteen, she was proud to have survived after seeing so much death. She got momentarily distracted by a lash of dirt on the windowpane as a gust of wind swirled between the buildings and onwards down the street like a gentle whirlwind. She had walked many miles, hundreds of miles, surviving off bottles of water and tinned food found in empty houses or shops, the occupants dead or departed. Survivors of the blast were few where she had lived, taking an indirect but close blow from the explosion. Ironically lucky for her as there was plenty of food to pillage. Today was her first trip to a city. She had seen them on television when she was young. Bright, big and bustling cities where everyone was in a rush to get from one side to the other. Today, however, only the dust of dead bones blew through the city streets. The wind felt like the souls of the departed, raging between the buildings, angry at their loss.
Skylar awoke from her daydream. She checked out the nearby bathroom; she was desperate to freshen up. She found plenty of cracked, hardened soap. She opened a tap, it gave out a rude gargle and then began to splutter, but finally water came through. “Ah... water, water!” she exclaimed aloud. “Water! Water! Water!” she continued to proclaim, jumping up and down with excitement. She immediately undressed and washed herself standing up, right there on the floor of the bathroom, soapy water running all across the floor. She washed the oil out of her hair and smiled as she looked at her lathered up face in the mirror. She soaked her clothes in the sink and hung them on doors and shelves to let them dry. She went back to the window and took her diary from her bag.
She wrote,
Finally made it to the big city. No one at home, though, apart from some jerks on motorcycles. The sea looks beautiful beneath the yellow haze, shimmering all the way out to the horizon.
The predicament for most, she thought, was where to settle. Food and water can quickly run out, as she knew, but here in the city, if there are not too many around, one should be able to remain sufficient for quite some time. The wind was slowly dying as the Sun set beneath the ocean; a huge, red Sun, leaving a watery, rosy path before it and purple hues across the yellow haze. Soon the night Sun would chase her; a dying Sun. A Sun that many millions of years from now would cease to exist, folding up on itself until it’s light could no longer escape, becoming blacker than night itself. She watched until the final pulsating arc was gone, and lay down for the night, sleeping easily in her newfound freshness. She had fallen asleep quickly, into a pleasant state of mind where a stream of images began to form.