Notes from the Future: Beyond the Gorge, Part III

[The following is comprised of journal entries made in the days following the quake.]

June 23

11:49 pm

V just woke or seemed to. She murmured something like, "Sweetie, I'm sorry we didn't go to the mountains. I didn't believe the gas tank."

"What do you mean, you didn't believe the gas tank?"

"The note is in my purse."

Then she turned away and went back to sleep. 

In her purse there is a treasure trove of Morphine and syringes. This is very tempting. Other mysteries: her journal. I was not aware. A roll of cash larger than my fist. Now I know why she always said we couldn't go to the movies. Folded up in her wallet is a note; I know this note; it's been around a long time. On the front, the side I know:

TORIE

EATS

BUGS

On the other side:

Honey,
I write this note hoping you will trust

that sometimes things that cannot be

seen or touched matter more than

things that are right there in front of us.

Trust that I know what I am talking 

about. Trust that I know how to get

us safely East and that we should go.

Now. If all else fails, trust my dreams. 

Even if -- and especially when -- I do not.

Ask me where this note is from if you

do not believe the warning on the lemon

tree.

Love,

Edward

I wake her immediately: "Honey, where was this note?"

"In the gas tank," she whispers, only half aware. "I was going to pump the gas first, remember, but you took over when I went in to buy the Red Bulls."

"In the tank itself?"

"No, on the gas cap. Okay," she sits up, slowly, watchfully, eyes scanning the smoke. "Now I'll ask: where did that note come from?"

And it hits me. Hard. If she had shown me this note, if she had trusted its message, everything would be different right now. I'm shivering. Nerves? Fever? I don't know.

"Veronica, that note is -- or was -- in my Baby Book. At my parents' house. Remember the notes Lizzie and Torie and I were writing and hiding in each others' baby books?"

She laughs, "'Our [Alien] Child, A Gift from [The Lords of Darkness]."

"Do you remember seeing this note before, 'Torie Eats Bugs'?"

She's thinking. Then I see it in her eyes.

"Yes. You wrote it, what, in High School? Early college? The one you always hide in her luggage."

"Yes. And when was the last time you saw it?"

"When we were at your parents' house. Two days before the quake. I put it in your Baby Book on top of the other notes. Right before we left."

I just sit, looking at her. Waiting for it all to land.

She's looking out into the night and I'm about to say something when we hear a child cry out, "Mommy, I want my blankie!"

It echoes in the vaguely orange night. Unfortunately. My window, broken, lets in everything.

We hear a woman's voice whispering, frantic, " ... honey, we'll get you another one, I promise, we just have to go now before the people come ... "

Veronica is gripping my hand vise-like and I am barely breathing. It's the house across the street, I don't know if it's smoke I see or people, but I think a family is getting into that SUV.  If they know where to go, maybe we can follow them. If they know how to escape, maybe V will listen to me now and we can be at the cabin by tomorrow. 

"Honey, can we coast over there without turning on the engine? Maybe I can tell them we're here. Let them know there are more --"

Green light blossoms in the trees near their mailbox.

"Oh my God," Veronica barely breathes.

Then in the middle of the street about 50 yards away.

Then in the yard to our left, about 15 feet from us.

Veronica's hand is so tight on mine that I cannot feel my fingers. I think I must be squeezing hers just as much.

Another, and another, and still more. It looks like there are about forty of them out there, they've been standing there in the dark, waiting. All this time. I was right. Was I? I think I was.

A woman's wailing scream is cut off by a man's curt voice, and headlights blaze as the engine roars to life suddenly, diminishing the green glowsticks; all of the Mean Greenies shade their eyes and the SUV revs its engine then tears out of the driveway, heading to our left. Down the hill. Toward the dirt road we came in on. The Mean Greenies go running after the SUV en masse. I wish I could have told that family that there was no escape via Bollinger. I see a street sign clearly illuminated: Ashbourne. 

"Holy shit. Honey. We're on one of the streets. We're on Ashbourne. I remember. We need to get to ... Castleville, Castleway -- something -- we should go. We should go, we should go, we should go," I'm frantic but trying to be quiet. I see one Mean Greenie hesitating, turning back. So does V.

"What if he sees us?" Veronica loves to doubt me.

"Run him down. These are not the Nazgul!" I shout this and the Mean Greenie snaps his head in our direction. "Honey, go right, go up the hill, just keep going up the hill no matter what. We have to get to the ridge, to the dirt road."

V primes the gas, turns the key, and as our trusty Honda blazes to life I hear the Mean Greenie singing in a loud, braying monotone, "The itsy-bitsy spider crawls up the water spout!" 

One or two of the Mean Greenies at the back of the pack turn. 

Veronica puts the car in drive and floors it as the Mean Greenie is pointing at us, braying, "Down comes the rain to wash the spider out!"

We hear other voices join in, distantly, similarly broken and practically screaming the words as V is turning right out of the long driveway, fishtailing momentarily, she corrects and the back left corner of the car tags the Mean Greenie who saw us, sending him flying into the driveway of the house of the escaping family. He cries out when he thuds/crunches and Veronica and I utter almost the exact same grim, satisfied laugh. It would be better if he never made sound again.

We are silent for a short time. It feels like we are escaping, like we may make it. But neither of us wants to say. Then V says, "What were the others screaming? Green shines the sun ... ?"

"I think it was, 'Green shines the sun that never dries the rain,' but I didn't hear the rest -- go left!"

"Didn't we just come from Ashbourne?!"

"Ashbourne Circle, this is Ashbourne Drive. For fuck's sake, woman, listen to me!"

"I am listening, I already turned left! Jesus, you are such an asshole!"

"Jesus is not an asshole, don't hurt his feelings!"

She laughs, glances at me a little mad that I made her laugh. We are approaching another street, she automatically drives close to the curb so I can shine the flashlight on the street sign.

"Henley. Keep going," I say. She does, and and the next right is Winsford, and we keep going. The next right is Whittenham. We keep going. V is doubtful.

"Castleville? Isn't that a Facebook game? Do you want to stop and listen to the recording?"

"Just drive, woman!" 

The road is curving left and as it does so, the entire San Ramon Valley opens up before us. We were so focused on the road and getting up the hill that we forgot some things. Now we are reminded and Veronica slows the car as we see it. Mt. Diablo, somehow larger, spewing lava down a great gash in its southwest flank, just like the guy on the radio said. The entire mountain is on fire. All of the surrounding hills are burning, everything in the path of the lava is burning, all the houses and businesses between the mountain and the gorge in San Ramon and Danville, everything in the path of the lava to the gorge; it even appears as though a further gorge has possibly opened in the earth between what was 680 and the mountain, but there is no way to tell from here, at night, in all this smoke. The air is a little clearer this high up, and now I understand where the orange light came from: the lava from the mountain has given fresh life to the lava and chemicals in the gorge; where they meet, there is a great steaming, roiling, bubbling mass of flame, and the fire seems to me growing stronger upriver as well. Nothing about this is good. Even if we survive, what are we inhaling now?  The car is still, idling, as we stare at this thing that could not, should not happen.  I even asked my uncle Edward about it, once, and he chuckled at me and said, "No. The likelihood of Mt. Diablo erupting is about as high as the likelihood of your Inner Earth theories panning out."  We watch it, silent, in awe, for longer than we should. We are watching when something reignites the lake of petrochemicals in Pleasanton and the night is lit by a giant orange mushroom of flame and some kind of vapor and it looks for all the world as though a dragon should be rearing its head and roaring in that deadly cloud of fire.  But there are no dragons.  Only seismically unfit refineries on unstable ground next to major waterways.  I look at the car clock and we've been sitting here for twenty minutes.

"Honey. Let's go," I say. 

She sighs. "If there were no Mean Greenies, we could maybe make camp and watch the world end," she turns and looks at me. There is hope in her eyes, and resignation. Maybe tears, too. That might just be from the smoke.

"There are Mean Greenies. And we have a long road, yet, until we find my parents and your dad and ... everyone else we've set out to find."

A sudden stab of pain cuts through the dull throb and I can't breathe or talk. V shifts the car into reverse, backs up a little, puts it in drive and we pass an embankment covered in trees and then there it is, a right hand turn and we both say the name at the same time:

"Cliffecastle!"

"It's a court?" V asks as we turn onto the street we've been aiming for for what seems like our entire lives.
 

"She said there's a dirt road. Just go. Might be a gate. If there is, crash it."

Cliffecastle goes up and around a bend to the right, but as we're driving up toward that bend, it looks for a moment as though we are driving straight into the flaming maw of Mt. Diablo, an illusion created by the smoke, the darkness, the size of the flames as this once peaceful valley is devoured. We both go, "Whooooooah," as we head toward that high bend in the road, and then we take the bend and the mountain is behind us and we are driving up, up, on a single lane in the darkness, and there's fresher air coming to us from over the hills, from over this ridge, from the other side where the fishkill may have eliminated any purpose to our journey. We know this. We keep driving.

We reach the end of the court -- there are no houses here. We keep driving, the road is still paved; we pass a service road branching to the right, and we keep going, and now the road is gravel. It clings to the side of what feels like a mountain, now, similarly to Morgan Territory Road back in Livermore. That makes me wonder aloud, "Do you think Morgan Territory is burning?"

V sighs, and says nothing.

Now the road is dirt, but hard-packed, and we're on a long semi-straightaway headed for the ridge. As the road curves right onto the spine of the ridge, I see a faint track to the left of the road.

"That's it! I think that's the road!"

"That? Are you sure? Doesn't look good for an 88 Honda Accord," and I can see her looking up the ridge toward ... inexplicably, lights. 

"Veronica. Re-read the note."

She hesitates. I've had it in my hand this whole time, I realize. I hand it to her. She reads it silently, then looks at me, silent.

"We take this road, Veronica. This is the way Nadine said. She warned us about the houses up here, remember?"

"Yes," she sighs, and her voice trembles a little. "But you're really badly injured. You need care. Maybe someone up there has more medical training."

"This is the point in the horror movie when you would tell the girl on the screen to shut the fuck up and drive," I say.

She laughs. "Okay, mister Bossypants. We take the bumpy dirt road going downhill into complete darkness in a leaking, hissing antique Honda. Best. Plan. Ever."

We both laugh.

"But first," I say, handing her her purse, "You're going to inject me with five or six shots of Morphine."

"Sweetie, that's a lot!" she is shaking her head.

"And that's a bumpy-ass dirt road in the dark," I say, bracing my right foot and trying to lift my pelvis and pull down my pants enough that she can get to my asscheek.

I hate injections. She does them well, but I hate them. She is quick, she is merciless, it is clean. I start to feel better, just a tiny bit better. 

Which gives me a very good idea:

"Honey, we should let Max out to pee."

Veronica agrees and stops the car, opens her door and gets out.

In a flash, Max has bounded out of the car, smacking me in the face with his tail, and is off in the wide, wild, unlit darkness of the mountainside, a black dog in the darkest of nights.

We both yell, "MAX!" 

Veronica goes running after him. Into the darkness. Alone.