NightRacer

Chapter 2

Racer slowed to a walk before entering Providence. The cool night was almost over, and a bleak sunrise revealed an abandoned town of long, sharp shadows.

The first thing that struck anyone entering a touched town was the creepy silence. This town was no different. There were no crickets chirping, no dogs barking, no birds singing, and there were absolutely no lights. As he wove his way through the debris, grit and glass and rubble crunching under his boots, he saw that, like always, all the doors and windows were broken, and every object that could be lifted off the ground was trashed on the streets. Addicts had long since reconfigured things in their own way, and not all of it made sense. Most of the roofs were busted, and long vines threaded through the cracks from inside, making sure that the damage was permanent. The trees were dead, the manholes on the streets were uncovered, and long stalks—like bamboo shoots—peaked up through them. Everything smelled like rotting meat. 

The wind changed direction, and he had to put on his respirator mask to escape the offending smell of decay. Racer couldn't see it from there, but in the middle of every touched city, there was a giant sinkhole. People called a town's sinkhole the maw. Scientists wasted years examining these holes, calling them "important access ports," but Racer took them for what they really were—garbage dumps.

Every maw was attended by a pair of caretakers, usually two old males, who tossed the bodies of the dead—people and animals—into the sinkholes. Caretakers were also in charge of breaking windows and busting roofs. One thing that always intrigued Racer about these fellows was that they never looked happy. Regular addicts had permanent smirks on their faces, as if always dwelling on some inexplicably funny thought or other, but the caretakers always look gloomy and reserved, as if they knew some unspeakable secret. Maybe they did.

Closer to the center of the town, he spotted the old city council building and the library. There used to be a farmer's market next to the library every Saturday. It was quite popular. He smiled at the memory of people coming to Providence from everywhere—even from some other stations—to get fresh produce.

He stood for a moment and did a slow three-sixty through his memories. On market day, Racer, Julie, and Hellen usually arrived late and parked as close to the library as they could find a space. They'd stop at the ice cream cafe at the corner of Main Street and Sydney. Julie used to get green tea ice cream. He preferred vanilla, and Hellen would always get a random combination of scoops, as long as they contained some kind of chocolate.

He stepped over to the dry fountain. Coins on the bottom had bled rust into the now dry mud. Racer looked closer. Some of them could've been theirs. They used to buy what they called fountain silver from an old man at the gate. All the coins had funny pictures on them, like The King of Earth, or Flying Pigs, or scenes from Earth fairy tales.

"Throw one in the fountain and you'll come back!" The old man used to say.

Racer looked at the devastation around, again getting the eerie feeling that he was being watched. Seemed like the old fool had gotten it right. He did come back.

The memories brought back a certain craving for something he'd resisted for many years—Jolts—a combination of vitamins, caffeine, happy pills, and all kinds of neurotransmitter precursors that delivered a nice thunderbolt of energy. This was an Earth cut-rate medicine for keeping workers and soldiers active and smiling. Racer had a couple old Jolts in his backpack—a just-in-case stash he kept buried in a flower pot for many years. His fingers and toes were already tingling with excitement when he reached for the worn-out plastic box. 

Racer turned away from the rising moon and took a quick inventory of his stuff. He had three Jolts, two alcohol capsules, and three salty water cleaners, marked PCS for "Placebo Cleaning Solution." Ideally he would've used two placebos with one alcohol cleaner, but now, with limited supplies, he would had to improvise.