Mark Tufo: Whistlers

The smell of smoke is heavy in the air, carried on a light breeze blowing against my back. It’s not the friendly scent of wood smoke drifting from cheery fireplaces or wood stoves on a chilled day, it’s the cloying odor of something manufactured, and it permeates the air. The high cloud cover is almost obscured by the thin, dark smoke that is pushed along by the higher winds aloft.

This has all of the essences of a dream. After all, I was just sitting at a table with food planted in front of me, but it feels different. For one, I don’t ever remember smells being in my dreams. I pat myself and feel solid enough. That’s another thing, being in total control was never something in any of my dreams either. I couldn’t tell myself to pat myself and have my dream-self actually do it. No, this seems real enough; although where I am or what this place is remains a mystery. It’s real to the point where I wonder if the last events weren’t the dream.

What the fuck is going on? If that is a dream, where in the hell are my kids? Where’s Lynn? Where in the fuck am I?

I look down to find that I have on the same black fatigues I was wearing, along with my tac vest. Checking the pouches, I have a full complement of mags. I look over the M-4 in my hands. It seems real enough and appears to be in good working order. If I didn’t know any better, I would say it’s the exact same one I was using in the real world — down to the suppressor and mod package. I guess dreams can work this way, although this seems like the oddest one I’ve ever had. That’s the only way I can explain it even though I don’t remember falling asleep. I guess I must have just passed out at the table, and everyone is probably worried. I notice I have a Beretta in a leg holster with several mags attached. I also feel the straps of my knives around my lower legs. Letting the carbine dangle from the single-point sling it’s attached to, I pull each mag out one at a time. They’re full.

That’s handy , I think, grabbing my M-4 again and checking over my surroundings.

I’m standing in the middle of a tree-lined highway. Abandoned cars, some with their doors open and others sealed, stretch into the distance. It looks like a mass exodus occurred creating a massive traffic jam. There are vehicles of every description stalled in the lanes, off to the side of the pavement, and in the median as drivers apparently attempted to get around the congestion. The side of the highway is also clogged with cars heading in the same direction.

Bringing my M-4 up, I switch on the SpectreDR optics and verify it’s working. I test the laser and light mounted to the top and side. Reaching up, I feel a raised set of NVGs perched securely on my head.

What… in… the… fuck? I didn’t have these at the table. Not that I’m complaining .

The breeze blows a piece of paper, its edges charred, past me and along the pavement. I look over the tops of cars and the seemingly endless stretch of vehicles. My view is blocked to an extent by several motor homes and campers wedged in amongst the other cars. A number of the vehicles have belongings tied to their roofs. Some of the ropes have been cut, the items once held spilled to the ground. In all, it’s a confused mess.

To go with the absolute stillness, a quiet pervades the area. The shock of finding myself suddenly in a different place is wearing off and I feel fully conscious of being in this time and place. I mean, I still don’t know where the fuck I am, let alone the how.

There is an avenue wide enough to walk through between the jam of cars along the stripe dividing the lanes of the highway. On both sides of the wide road, across strips of grass, a line of fir trees march along. The dim light making its way through the smoke and clouds isn’t reaching far inside the forest, making the woods seem dark and foreboding.

Yeah, like the rest of this shit isn’t forbidding enough , I think, turning to look behind.

The congestion of vehicles continues in that direction, but disappears as the road drops down a hill. The trees to the side thin after a distance, creating an opening. The widening of the trees and the road’s descent allows me to see what these people were apparently fleeing. In the far distance, a city burns.

Large and small plumes of smoke rise from the vacated metropolis. At least I assume it’s vacated by the number of cars littering the freeway. It’s too far away to see any flames licking through the dark columns, but it’s apparent that it has been burning for some time. Most of the skyline is hidden behind the pillars of smoke billowing upward. The very tops of tall office buildings become visible for moments as the smoke eddies and swirls around the structures.

I guess I’m not going that way , I think, staring at the ruin.

As far as that goes, I’m not sure where to go. Being suddenly deposited in the middle of wherever this is, seeing the snarl of vehicles, and now a town going up in flames has pushed my anxiety meter into the red. I can usually tell myself ‘this is just a dream’ at times like this, but this certainly doesn’t feel like one. This seems all too real.

The smoldering city worries me and I wonder what happened. It couldn’t have been anything nuclear or there would be a bigger hole, and the buildings wouldn’t be standing as they are. The only thing readily obvious is that something big occurred that grew rapidly out of control.

Well, let’s see what I’m dealing with , I think, turning back to the long line of strewn vehicles.

I glance down at one of the cars. It’s not rusted and appears in fairly good shape, so whatever happened must have been relatively recent. The billowing of smoke rising above the beleaguered city gives evidence of the same. The car windows are covered with grime so there had to be some passage of time. The inside of the nearest vehicle is obscured but it doesn’t prevent me from seeing that it’s empty. Of people that is. Clutter lies on the front and rear seats, adding to the fact that everyone seemed in a rush to leave. I don’t blame them with the intensity of the fires behind me.

But what started it?

Wanting to see if anything inside of the car will give me a clue, I let my M-4 hang at my side on its sling, draw my 9mm, and open the door. It opens with a slight metallic squeal. Dust and soot slides off the door — another indication that things have been like this for a while. The silence of the area makes the opening of the door sound like I’m putting the car in an auto crusher. The air that seeps out of the vehicle smells old and carries a slight stench of rotting food. Several backpacks and small cases line the floorboards, along with filled plastic sacks scattered on the back seats. I turn a set of keys dangling from the ignition, expecting to hear the chime that indicates a door is open. Nothing. I rotate the key farther. No lights or anything else. The battery is dead.

I try a couple of other cars nearby with the same result. It appears that whichever direction I’ll be heading, it will be on foot. It’s not like I could have driven anyway with the traffic congestion. I have plenty of ammo but am a bit shy of food and water. The floorboards of several cars yield a few unopened bottles of water and a box of Cheez-Ems.

Cheez-Ems?

With a shrug, I take them, thinking they’re a knock-off. There are a few other sundries. I take one of the smaller rearview mirrors so I’ll have the ability to see around obstacles should I need to. I even locate a compass stuck on the inside of a windshield. The indicators around its edge aren’t the usual N, S, E, or W, but a series of symbols. It is, however, easily identifiable as some form of compass. Turning in a circle, I note the needle steadily point one direction, tracking whatever serves as north here. I may not be able to use it as normally would, but I will be able to keep to a direction. Emptying a backpack containing some clothes, I fill it with my finds. I’m sure those departing in such a hurry packed some food and water, so finding those shouldn’t be a problem as long as I stay close to the road.