Desolation Wilderness

The sun rose and it was hot. The heat in the parking garage was brutal. Doc woke up with his head booming, his lips like snakeskin. He whimpered softly in the backseat. Benny had already been up for some time. He sat with his arm dangling from the window, smoking a hand rolled cigarette. A few beads of sweat gathered on his wide forehead, ran down his temples. He'd known Doc for a long time now, since the bombing. That was three years ago.

"Time," Doc said, breaking the silence, "it's a pretty word if it wasn't so uncaring."

"What are you on about, Doc?"

"It just goes on. Doesn't stop for no one or nobody, not even isself."

"Yeah, I guess it does."

"When I was a boy I never paid it no mind. Now, it's all I think about; how to pass it, how much might be left. It's why I drink, to slow it down; makes it more bearable."

"Time isn't slowing down, just feels like it is."

"No, no it ain't. You're right. But feeling; feeling's everything, ain't it?"

Benny smokes.

The bottle of whiskey squeaks as the cork comes out and Doc takes a big drink.

"You know, I'm glad this one is the kind with the cork. I like the sound of it. I'd hate it if I had'a screw a cap off and on every time I wanted a drink. It's more elegant, dignified. It announces itself like a bird. Chirp. Remember birds, Benny? I haven't seen a bird in years."

"All dead, Doc."

There were no other cars in the garage. It looked like an enormous cement refrigerator. Except the air conditioning was busted, and the lights was off, and there wasn't any food.

"We can't stay here much longer Doc. They'll be coming for us soon. Ostensibly, they already are."

"Ostensibly. Benny, have you been reading that dictionary again? You've picked up quite the vocabulary. You used it incorrectly, though."

"How's that, Doc?"

"Ostensibly means they might be pretending to look for us, as though they were only fooling, trying to make us think we were bein' hunted."

"Maybe," Benny says as he starts the car. In the backseat the doctor takes off his heavy woolen blazer. He'd gotten it before everything was the way it was. It was a gift from his sister, Claire. She'd gotten it for him as an early Christmas present years and years ago, back when he lived in Kansas. The inside pocket was worn and it had a small hole it in. Every time he'd put a pen there it would be gone when he'd need it. The collar was stained and covered with dust, sweat and blood. But what wasn't? Benny turns the wheel and they roll out of the garage onto the desolated street.

"Maybe," Doc says suddenly. "What a word, Bennyboy. Maybe. It's perfect. You said something but said nothing. But even nothing is something. We're doing exactly what he wants us to."

"Not sure I follow. Who's he?"

Doc takes a drink and looks out the window of the car. In the sunlight the city looks emptier. Night has a way of suggesting infinity, of exaggerating the dimensions of real and imagined spaces.

"You ever jus feel like we was two characters in a book?"

"You must'a hit your head pretty hard, Doc."

Doc smiles and plugs up the bottle. He asks Benny to put on some music.

"We'll need to stop for gas before we move on," Benny says in reply. "We're almost out." He pushes a cassette into the dash and they drive.