NightRacer

Chapter 4

Government satellites were usually programmed to calculate consumption rate, grass advance rate, spore density, grass discoloration rate, as well as many other useful macro-indicators. Some business-owned satellites had been known to keep track of the addicts in the strawberry fields and to survey damages to private property, as well as anything else that smelled like a lawsuit. The one thing no satellite was looking for was a garden.

NightRacer scanned the area. The garden was sitting on Providence's receptor. The devil in the ground was listening to the sounds in paradise.

This vegetation wasn't completely invisible on the maps. It looked like a slightly greener spot south of town, but if zooming all the way in, one could see there were no trees or flowers, just a dull green. The satellites and maps were programmed to hide it, and they were doing a pretty good job. From Racer's perspective, the place looked very Earth-like. The soft grass reminded him of a variety from some dreamy Alpine meadows, with smooth, lush leafs. The trees and bushes seemed tastefully arranged according to their color, size, and texture.

A movement caught his eye again, and this time Racer controlled his urge to grab the gun. Instead, he slowly reached for his binoculars, lost somewhere at the bottom of his backpack. He raised the field glasses, pretending to casually survey the area. When the digital stabilization kicked in, he turned around and saw a teenage kid, maybe sixteen or seventeen years old, hiding in the bushes, spying on him.

Easy now, he thought. Don't run away.

Racer crouched. With his eyes he followed the trail where the guy walked in the wet grass. It didn't take the kid long to realize that the trail was leading to his hiding place. He took off, and instinctively, NightRacer followed him.

The guy was fast. Racer lost him after a mile, but this didn't bother him much.

In the middle of the garden was a pond with lilies and dragonflies. The bed of leafs under one tall pine tree looked especially inviting. He laid down and stretched his back, then rested his head on his backpack and closed his eyes. The air smelled of leaves, hay, and flowers...daffodils? So nice, so relaxing. Racer didn't even realize when he fell asleep.

***

It was cold, too cold to sleep, and his back ached. Whatever little charge had remained in his smart uniform was probably drained in less than an hour keeping him warm. Racer reached for the emergency tent inside his backpack and wrapped himself in it as well as he could. A red sunrise was bulging at the horizon. Racer checked his Com. The screen was foggy, but he managed to read the time-it was 4:30 a.m. A list of red warnings was on the screen, but he ignored them. A lucid dream was coming. He could feel its pressure.

Racer closed his eyes and found himself in a city, looking for his lost car. Even with his eyes half open, squinting at the dark sky, he felt the urgency of that search, the urgency to jump into the car and find a place, a very important place. Why was it important? Damned if he knew, but he got into the car and drove, drove, and drove.

***

I'm in New York, in Paris, in Berlin. I'm in Vienna, looking at the walls of the Great Danube barrier. I'm in England, building the Channel wall. I'm in Moscow, in Beijing, in Hong Kong. I'm driving, driving south. I'm in Sydney, making a desperate last stand. I'm driving south, first on large empty highways, then on narrower streets. I'm not alone. Julie and Hellen are with me. The streets are getting cluttered, and to keep moving, we have to abandon our car. We're running along corridors, running through people's living rooms and kitchens, running, rushing to get to a town. Julie and Hellen are with me, and a couple of trusted friends. We're running, and running out of time, and we're leaving everything behind, so we can keep moving. We're abandoning our stuff, and bags, and Hellen's toys, and she doesn't even cry, and we're leaving all our food somewhere in a room. We're running down narrow halls and through a couple's bedroom, and they are frozen-motionless in bed, like time stopped for them, but we are running. We're running late and now, to get there in time, I have to run alone. "Run! You have to get there! Run!" an old man tells me. He sounds like Gardener. He's an old man who knows where I'm going. I'm running and I have to find a small town in the South, some place with a P in its name. I'm running and everybody is looking at me. Everybody just stands there and looks at me, like time stopped for them. Where is that place? What is its name? Para? Pary? Pery? Por? Providence!