The Black Seas of Infinity Read Online Free PDF Page A

the
four-wheel-drive switch, popped the shift lever into neutral, and
climbed out. The treetops whistled softly, swaying in the wind.
Whatever happened, I had no doubt this night would be etched into
my brain, the prologue to a fantastic adventure—or the beginning of
the end. I walked over and clipped the metal fence, snapping each
link with a wire cutter. I hack-sawed the top pole, gripping it
with one hand and tearing away at it, the blade awkwardly cocked
above me. My shoulder kept cramping up, and I’d have to stop and
rotate it for a second. After what seemed way too long, I could
feel the metal giving. Suddenly, it lost all tension, my hand
slipping off the pole as I fell backwards into the tall grass. I
jumped back up, pulled open my passenger side door, tossed in the
saw, and jogged back around to the driver’s side. I pushed the
lever into four high and powered forward, the dangling metal edges
screeching holy murder as they scraped the sides of my Jeep. It was
enough noise to make me flinch, but the area was far enough from
earshot. On the other side I stopped the Jeep and vaulted out. I
grabbed the edges of the torn fence and pulled them back together,
using zip ties to bind the edges. That wouldn’t pass any close
inspection, but in the dark it would suffice until daybreak.
    I broke the connection to the taillights,
pulled the switch halfway, and drove slowly using the parking
lights. The underbrush here was routinely burned out to cut down on
insects, so the ground was fairly smooth, coated mainly with pine
needles. Navigation shouldn’t be a problem. With some luck I would
avoid hitting one of the foxholes or trenches left over from World
War II training exercises. The terrain was littered with them,
randomly placed and disguised by low-lying foliage. When I lived
here I would jog in the woods. This whole area was crisscrossed
with old, badly weathered roads. The asphalt was pitted and
cracked, half-covered by debris, the edges worn by the ravages of
time. Breaking out of the woods and onto one of the old roads, I
turned right, then right again as the road abruptly twisted. The
Jeep bounced over a fallen cluster of branches and into a huge
pothole. The skid plate under my tranny grated as it ripped through
loose asphalt. It tore at the metal as I lumbered back out. A slide
through sandy concrete, and the road suddenly ended, a dirt trail
picking up the slack. I slowed down, the wheels slipping in the
loose white sand. After a short stretch and another jolt, my front
tires grabbed onto asphalt, the road scaling up into pavement once
again.
    A small bridge was coming up, and I switched
on the headlights. The last thing I needed was to end up in a
creek. I drove slowly in the sand, the gentle padding accompanied
by the rustle of branches in the mindless gale. Everything was
folding into itself, the creepy desolation intensified by the
unnatural residue permeating the hills. I bypassed a few old
foundations, probably the remnants of old WWII buildings, the
ghostly bedrock staring down at me through the shackle of trees.
The dilapidated bridge, if it even qualified as that, came into
view. The headlights highlighted the rotted structure, two round
posts straddling both sides, yoked by a walkway of old planks. I
slowed down as I crossed, hoping the rope bindings would hold. The
wood creaked underneath, the ancient lanyard grunting with the
strain, but in the end it held. Past the bridge the road split, the
wider passageway continuing forward, with a smaller one forking off
to the left and tunneling up into a nest of trees. This was the
route I needed. Rolling up the small hill, the pass narrowed into a
dark tunnel. Bordered by white banks of sand that preceded the
overhanging trunks, their canopy a writhing mass of contorted
branches. I’d never been here at night before. It seemed so bright
and genial during the early morning hours, years ago. But all that
had changed. I’m not the young man I once was. That