Endless Interstate

Date: 09.17.2224
Location: Elevated Interstate, Unknown Sector
Status: Weary, Moving

Been walking this raised road for what feels like a lifetime.

A concrete spine stretched over marsh and broken earth. Sometimes the ground disappears beneath the morning haze. Sometimes it returns just long enough to remind me what I'm walking above—mangled trees, collapsed roads, flooded fields where neighborhoods used to breathe.

Far ahead, I caught sight of them.

Skyscrapers.

Thin against the horizon like broken teeth.

Could be Louisiana.

Could be another ghost.

Either way, the thought of home put strength back into my legs.

The carcasses came next.

I smelled them before I saw them.

Then came the flies.

Then the Stingwings.

They circled low, drawn to the dead. I dropped them before they could settle on me and harvested the venom sacs. Don't know what they'll be good for yet.

Out here, useful usually introduces itself before necessary does.

Rad-X keeps the worst of the poison out of my blood.

Old Negro spirituals keep the rest of me together.

I caught myself humming under my breath as the miles disappeared behind me. Those songs carried people through things far worse than long roads. Seems they're still doing the job.

By late afternoon my legs gave out before my resolve did.

Found an abandoned delivery van stranded on the interstate. Climbed inside, checked every corner, then let exhaustion win.

Tomorrow, I'll keep following the road.

Those towers are still out there.

And every step makes them a little less like memory.

A little more like home.

— Big Chief Mike Marcel