The Road is a Lie
Susan reared up and opened her eyes, her face peeling away from the frigid steering wheel. It was freezing. Her body felt almost numb with the cold. Her hands—which had been resting between her legs—were stiff and clawed, as if her entire body had been clenched while she had been unconscious.
Describing the feeling of cold was tough to do. A painful dull stab that ran across your every pore like a white flash, causing goosebumps to erupt in waves and shivers to shake your bones. Susan felt like that now, but colder.
With her teeth subconsciously clenching down to bite back on the low temperature, she studied her surroundings. She was in a car: a large van to be exact. She looked to her right at the passenger seat, noticing a flashlight, a first-aid kit, and a coat. She launched herself forward, desperate to grab the coat and let out a huff of escaped icy air as her seatbelt yanked her back. Stupid. She unfastened herself and grabbed the coat, contorting her body in the driver’s seat to put it on. The material was cold but quickly absorbed her weak body heat.
She turned in her seat, expecting to see another row of seats but instead gazed into a large open cabin space. This was definitely a large van. The space wasn’t empty though. Stacked two deep on large neat rows in embedded shelves on one side of the cabin were multiple red containers with black screw-top lids. There had to be at least thirty of forty of them. Susan didn’t recognize what they were at first and so her gaze moved over to the other items in the large space. Four large gray plastic tubs piled against each other on the opposite wall. They weren’t labeled and Susan could only guess as to what was inside them. The shelves and the tubs took most of the space, only leaving a narrow isle to squeeze through. She could see double doors at the back of the van.
It was then that she noticed the silence. The only noise she had heard since she woke up had been her own rustling and heavy breathing. Turning back around, she finally looked out through the windshield, noticing her surroundings for the first time. Apart from the gray cracked road in front of her that wound off between white smooth hills, it looked like Antarctica. Everything was blanketed in snow. Quiet flakes drifted downwards around the vehicle, conjoining with their fellow fluff. There was nothing that marked the landscape. Nothing even on the horizon. All she could see was gray sky and white ground—oh, and the road of course. Maybe those were mountains way out in the distance? She couldn’t tell.
How had she ended up out here in this van? Had she been in an accident? That didn’t make sense. The vehicle wasn’t hers, there was no trace of any crash, and no sign of anybody else—or anything else. Kidnapped? No, there was no one around and it was so cold she doubted anyone with any sense of self-preservation would have wandered off into the white-washed waste. Where had she been before this? At home? At work. She couldn’t remember. What was her last memory? A faded-out image of petting a dog came to mind, but she couldn’t associate it with anything.
Susan felt panic start to encroach—a bubble that slowly rose up her throat. There’s no point. She tried to tell herself. No one will hear you scream. It’s not going to get you out of this situation.
She racked her brain, trying to organize her thoughts. She was in a van, it was full of unknown stuff, and in the middle of nowhere. She didn’t know how she got here and there didn’t seem to be any sign of civilization for hundreds of miles except for the road in front of her. Think, think. Why? Why was she in this situation? She didn’t know. How? Didn’t know. Who put her here? Didn’t know. She did know she was cold though. She adjusted herself in her seat, trying to find a more comfortable position and her right knee brushed up against something, making a clinking sound. She examined the spot. Two keys. One was in the ignition.
She reached out and turned it, terror gripping her. If nothing happened… if the van didn’t start… The engine purred to life. She let out her breath. The vehicle must have a great cold-start battery plugged in. She turned on the heater, feeling her seat rumble slightly as the engine idled. Within minutes the inside of the van would feel great. She had a quick thought and checked the gas gauge. Full. That was good, full was always good.
Back to solving her problem. She had no answers but she did have something to do, a goal: get out of whatever situation she was in. Call someone, she could do that. She patted her pockets, feeling for a cellphone. Nothing. She reached over to the glove compartment and opened it. It contained a pocketknife, a set of batteries, and a flare gun. No phone. She contemplated pulling out the flare gun but there was no point, the way her surroundings looked, she doubted anyone was within distance to see the flash of light. In frustration she honked the van’s horn, loud and long. When she depressed on the steering wheel, the sound faded away and was replaced by the muffled silence produced by the snow and the gentle rumble of the engine.
It looked like the only way she was going to get out of here was by driving. She examined the driver’s seat. The van was an automatic; the gearshifter only showing park, reverse, neutral, drive, and four-wheel-drive. At least she could pull herself out of snow drifts, she thought bitterly. She almost put the van into drive when she decided to check out the back first. Curiosity had a hold of her and she wanted to know what the containers held. She maneuvered her legs around her seat and angled her body to slide into the narrow alley between the shelves full of red containers and the gray tubs. It was tougher than just going outside and opening up the back doors but no way was she going to step out into that cold.
She couldn’t fully stand and that made her feel claustrophobic. The only way she’d be able to stretch out her body would be to go outside. She grabbed one of the red containers, noticing it was about as large as a medium-sized backpack. She felt something sloshing inside. Liquid. She had her suspicions of what it was but unscrewed the lid and drew her nose close, taking a sniff first. Yep, gasoline. She counted out all of the red containers. Thirty in total. All full of gasoline.
Is this all backup in case the tank gets empty? Susan knew that was a bad sign. It meant she must really have a long way to go to arrive… somewhere. She turned and opened one of the gray tubs. It was full of water bottles. Probably a hundred of them. She opened another tub. More water and a large blanket. The third and fourth tub contained assorted food. Soup cans. Bags of trail mix. Crackers and fruit bars.
She swore. This many provisions spelled only one thing to her. Survival. Here she was in the middle of nowhere in a vehicle full of survival gear. Taking into account the flashlight, first-aid kit, pocketknife, flare gun, and batteries—she made up her mind. Whomever had put her here wanted her to fight for her own survival. The van was her shelter and transportation.
She imagined a world map in her head, trying to connect what she saw with a place. Russia? The North or South Pole? Alaska or Greenland? She had no idea. There’s no way it’ll take me longer than a few days of driving to get to something—whether it’s the ocean, civilization, or somewhere without snow. There would also be signs of human structure too—telephone poles, mile markers, maybe some run-down shack. Maybe she was on some twisted game show. She could picture thousands watching her right now. Oh look, a woman stranded by herself. Bet she’ll start crying in the first five minutes.
Susan pursed her lips. She remembered hiking the Andes with her uncle Taylor two years ago. That had been cold. They had gotten lost three days in, crawled into a crack between two rocks and survived for two days while trying to use their shortwave radio to signal for help. Her uncle had lost a couple of toes and a finger to the frostbite. She had gone out to scavenge for food and found a llama sheltered in a rock indent. A frikin’ llama. She killed it with only her hands and a small knife. It fed her and her uncle until help arrived. Whomever had put her here didn’t know her; didn’t know what she could do. She could play their game. She’d survive.
She grabbed a fruit bar and tore it open as she crawled back into her seat. She put the car into drive and pushed the gas pedal. Out of habit, she hit the radio button. There was nothing but static. She turned it off.
She eventually needed to pee. She had been driving for over four hours already. She stopped the vehicle, leaving it running in fear that she wouldn’t be able to start it back up again if the engine cooled. She jumped outside, did her business in the freezing agony, and hopped back into the van. It had to be in the negative digits outside.
She drove another eight hours, the monotony making her both drowsy and bored. The landscape never changed, neither did the weather or the sky. It was almost disorienting. It didn’t feel like she was getting anywhere–and the tiny miniscule bumps in the distance she thought could be mountains, they never grew larger. The sky didn’t darken or lighten, it just stayed the same. She refilled the gas tank—it had been running low—then continued. Finally she realized she’d have to turn off the car and sleep for a while. She knew if when she woke the van didn’t turn on, she’d most likely die out here. But if someone went through all the trouble of putting her in a van full of provisions, surely they wouldn’t let her die?
She made the difficult decision and turned off the vehicle, grabbed the blanket from the back and tried to sleep. It came with difficulty—the inside of the vehicle grew cold as the minutes passed by and the blanket only helped a little. She dozen on and off, turning the van on to let the cabin heat up, then turning it back off. After a few hours she sat up, not being able to take it any longer and continued to drive. The van never stalled when she turned the key. It always came to life on the first try. A good vehicle indeed.
She drove twelve hours, taking bathroom breaks, drinking water, refilling the tank, and eating out of a soup can she punctured open with the pocketknife. She tried to sleep again. Drove again. Sleep. Drive. The scenery still hadn’t changed. The sky hadn’t darkened. No indication of life rose from the snow. There was only the snow and the road. Anxiety and paranoia clouded her thoughts constantly. The determination she first had when she had started the drive-like a hot blaze, felt only like a flickering candle now.
At one point she jumped out of the van and ran off into the snow, screaming out. There was nothing. Not even an animal. No birds or bears. Nothing. She turned but couldn’t see the van at first. The vehicle was off-white and blended into the surroundings. Panicking, she stumbled onto the road and nearly ran into the vehicle. After that, she only left the van to use the bathroom.
She drove some more, ate, refilled the tank, and slept some more. At one point she caught herself looking at the pocketknife and thinking about her wrists. She shook her head, trying to clear it. She was exhausted–physically and mentally. The monotony was driving her insane.
Drive some more. Sleep. Eat. Tank near empty. Better fill it. Everything blurred together. The knife loomed in her vision when she closed her eyes in her freezing sleep cycle.
She eventually emptied half the gas canisters, surprised at how quickly she had gone through the fuel. She sat on a gray tub and ate crackers as she counted the fifteen full containers.
Drive. Gas. Sleep. Eat. Knife. Drink water. Drive. Sleep. Knife.
If she didn’t find civilization soon, she would do it. She was going crazy cooped up in the vehicle! But what if civilization was only a hundred miles more away? How ironic, to do all that work just to kill yourself in the very end. There, she had said it. Kill herself. No. She couldn’t. She couldn’t do it yet. Had to wait and see if there was any point to it. She continued to drive.
The two figures watched from above the glass, shifting their feet. The glass was cold. Far below them, the vehicle had stopped. They watched as the woman got out, brandishing a knife. She screamed into the air, waving it around as she slashed at the snowflakes. Remarkable. The reaction was interesting indeed.
After a few moments she dropped to the snow, shoulders heaving. She eventually clambered back into the vehicle, the cold driving her back to warmth. The van started up again.
Behind the two figures, machines turned on and blasted into life. Gears and metal pistons worked and spun, hissing and clanking. The ground beneath the van began to cycle in place once more, treadmilling as the van drove, giving the illusion of moving forward. The scenario was a perfect cube, one kilometer wide at each side. The woman could leave the van and walk a ways—she’d find the doorways out—and be free. But she never distanced herself from the vehicle.
Cameras in the vehicle cabin showed the woman looking at the pocketknife once more. The two figures smiled.
Describing the feeling of cold was tough to do. A painful dull stab that ran across your every pore like a white flash, causing goosebumps to erupt in waves and shivers to shake your bones. Susan felt like that now, but colder.
With her teeth subconsciously clenching down to bite back on the low temperature, she studied her surroundings. She was in a car: a large van to be exact. She looked to her right at the passenger seat, noticing a flashlight, a first-aid kit, and a coat. She launched herself forward, desperate to grab the coat and let out a huff of escaped icy air as her seatbelt yanked her back. Stupid. She unfastened herself and grabbed the coat, contorting her body in the driver’s seat to put it on. The material was cold but quickly absorbed her weak body heat.
She turned in her seat, expecting to see another row of seats but instead gazed into a large open cabin space. This was definitely a large van. The space wasn’t empty though. Stacked two deep on large neat rows in embedded shelves on one side of the cabin were multiple red containers with black screw-top lids. There had to be at least thirty of forty of them. Susan didn’t recognize what they were at first and so her gaze moved over to the other items in the large space. Four large gray plastic tubs piled against each other on the opposite wall. They weren’t labeled and Susan could only guess as to what was inside them. The shelves and the tubs took most of the space, only leaving a narrow isle to squeeze through. She could see double doors at the back of the van.
It was then that she noticed the silence. The only noise she had heard since she woke up had been her own rustling and heavy breathing. Turning back around, she finally looked out through the windshield, noticing her surroundings for the first time. Apart from the gray cracked road in front of her that wound off between white smooth hills, it looked like Antarctica. Everything was blanketed in snow. Quiet flakes drifted downwards around the vehicle, conjoining with their fellow fluff. There was nothing that marked the landscape. Nothing even on the horizon. All she could see was gray sky and white ground—oh, and the road of course. Maybe those were mountains way out in the distance? She couldn’t tell.
How had she ended up out here in this van? Had she been in an accident? That didn’t make sense. The vehicle wasn’t hers, there was no trace of any crash, and no sign of anybody else—or anything else. Kidnapped? No, there was no one around and it was so cold she doubted anyone with any sense of self-preservation would have wandered off into the white-washed waste. Where had she been before this? At home? At work. She couldn’t remember. What was her last memory? A faded-out image of petting a dog came to mind, but she couldn’t associate it with anything.
Susan felt panic start to encroach—a bubble that slowly rose up her throat. There’s no point. She tried to tell herself. No one will hear you scream. It’s not going to get you out of this situation.
She racked her brain, trying to organize her thoughts. She was in a van, it was full of unknown stuff, and in the middle of nowhere. She didn’t know how she got here and there didn’t seem to be any sign of civilization for hundreds of miles except for the road in front of her. Think, think. Why? Why was she in this situation? She didn’t know. How? Didn’t know. Who put her here? Didn’t know. She did know she was cold though. She adjusted herself in her seat, trying to find a more comfortable position and her right knee brushed up against something, making a clinking sound. She examined the spot. Two keys. One was in the ignition.
She reached out and turned it, terror gripping her. If nothing happened… if the van didn’t start… The engine purred to life. She let out her breath. The vehicle must have a great cold-start battery plugged in. She turned on the heater, feeling her seat rumble slightly as the engine idled. Within minutes the inside of the van would feel great. She had a quick thought and checked the gas gauge. Full. That was good, full was always good.
Back to solving her problem. She had no answers but she did have something to do, a goal: get out of whatever situation she was in. Call someone, she could do that. She patted her pockets, feeling for a cellphone. Nothing. She reached over to the glove compartment and opened it. It contained a pocketknife, a set of batteries, and a flare gun. No phone. She contemplated pulling out the flare gun but there was no point, the way her surroundings looked, she doubted anyone was within distance to see the flash of light. In frustration she honked the van’s horn, loud and long. When she depressed on the steering wheel, the sound faded away and was replaced by the muffled silence produced by the snow and the gentle rumble of the engine.
It looked like the only way she was going to get out of here was by driving. She examined the driver’s seat. The van was an automatic; the gearshifter only showing park, reverse, neutral, drive, and four-wheel-drive. At least she could pull herself out of snow drifts, she thought bitterly. She almost put the van into drive when she decided to check out the back first. Curiosity had a hold of her and she wanted to know what the containers held. She maneuvered her legs around her seat and angled her body to slide into the narrow alley between the shelves full of red containers and the gray tubs. It was tougher than just going outside and opening up the back doors but no way was she going to step out into that cold.
She couldn’t fully stand and that made her feel claustrophobic. The only way she’d be able to stretch out her body would be to go outside. She grabbed one of the red containers, noticing it was about as large as a medium-sized backpack. She felt something sloshing inside. Liquid. She had her suspicions of what it was but unscrewed the lid and drew her nose close, taking a sniff first. Yep, gasoline. She counted out all of the red containers. Thirty in total. All full of gasoline.
Is this all backup in case the tank gets empty? Susan knew that was a bad sign. It meant she must really have a long way to go to arrive… somewhere. She turned and opened one of the gray tubs. It was full of water bottles. Probably a hundred of them. She opened another tub. More water and a large blanket. The third and fourth tub contained assorted food. Soup cans. Bags of trail mix. Crackers and fruit bars.
She swore. This many provisions spelled only one thing to her. Survival. Here she was in the middle of nowhere in a vehicle full of survival gear. Taking into account the flashlight, first-aid kit, pocketknife, flare gun, and batteries—she made up her mind. Whomever had put her here wanted her to fight for her own survival. The van was her shelter and transportation.
She imagined a world map in her head, trying to connect what she saw with a place. Russia? The North or South Pole? Alaska or Greenland? She had no idea. There’s no way it’ll take me longer than a few days of driving to get to something—whether it’s the ocean, civilization, or somewhere without snow. There would also be signs of human structure too—telephone poles, mile markers, maybe some run-down shack. Maybe she was on some twisted game show. She could picture thousands watching her right now. Oh look, a woman stranded by herself. Bet she’ll start crying in the first five minutes.
Susan pursed her lips. She remembered hiking the Andes with her uncle Taylor two years ago. That had been cold. They had gotten lost three days in, crawled into a crack between two rocks and survived for two days while trying to use their shortwave radio to signal for help. Her uncle had lost a couple of toes and a finger to the frostbite. She had gone out to scavenge for food and found a llama sheltered in a rock indent. A frikin’ llama. She killed it with only her hands and a small knife. It fed her and her uncle until help arrived. Whomever had put her here didn’t know her; didn’t know what she could do. She could play their game. She’d survive.
She grabbed a fruit bar and tore it open as she crawled back into her seat. She put the car into drive and pushed the gas pedal. Out of habit, she hit the radio button. There was nothing but static. She turned it off.
She eventually needed to pee. She had been driving for over four hours already. She stopped the vehicle, leaving it running in fear that she wouldn’t be able to start it back up again if the engine cooled. She jumped outside, did her business in the freezing agony, and hopped back into the van. It had to be in the negative digits outside.
She drove another eight hours, the monotony making her both drowsy and bored. The landscape never changed, neither did the weather or the sky. It was almost disorienting. It didn’t feel like she was getting anywhere–and the tiny miniscule bumps in the distance she thought could be mountains, they never grew larger. The sky didn’t darken or lighten, it just stayed the same. She refilled the gas tank—it had been running low—then continued. Finally she realized she’d have to turn off the car and sleep for a while. She knew if when she woke the van didn’t turn on, she’d most likely die out here. But if someone went through all the trouble of putting her in a van full of provisions, surely they wouldn’t let her die?
She made the difficult decision and turned off the vehicle, grabbed the blanket from the back and tried to sleep. It came with difficulty—the inside of the vehicle grew cold as the minutes passed by and the blanket only helped a little. She dozen on and off, turning the van on to let the cabin heat up, then turning it back off. After a few hours she sat up, not being able to take it any longer and continued to drive. The van never stalled when she turned the key. It always came to life on the first try. A good vehicle indeed.
She drove twelve hours, taking bathroom breaks, drinking water, refilling the tank, and eating out of a soup can she punctured open with the pocketknife. She tried to sleep again. Drove again. Sleep. Drive. The scenery still hadn’t changed. The sky hadn’t darkened. No indication of life rose from the snow. There was only the snow and the road. Anxiety and paranoia clouded her thoughts constantly. The determination she first had when she had started the drive-like a hot blaze, felt only like a flickering candle now.
At one point she jumped out of the van and ran off into the snow, screaming out. There was nothing. Not even an animal. No birds or bears. Nothing. She turned but couldn’t see the van at first. The vehicle was off-white and blended into the surroundings. Panicking, she stumbled onto the road and nearly ran into the vehicle. After that, she only left the van to use the bathroom.
She drove some more, ate, refilled the tank, and slept some more. At one point she caught herself looking at the pocketknife and thinking about her wrists. She shook her head, trying to clear it. She was exhausted–physically and mentally. The monotony was driving her insane.
Drive some more. Sleep. Eat. Tank near empty. Better fill it. Everything blurred together. The knife loomed in her vision when she closed her eyes in her freezing sleep cycle.
She eventually emptied half the gas canisters, surprised at how quickly she had gone through the fuel. She sat on a gray tub and ate crackers as she counted the fifteen full containers.
Drive. Gas. Sleep. Eat. Knife. Drink water. Drive. Sleep. Knife.
If she didn’t find civilization soon, she would do it. She was going crazy cooped up in the vehicle! But what if civilization was only a hundred miles more away? How ironic, to do all that work just to kill yourself in the very end. There, she had said it. Kill herself. No. She couldn’t. She couldn’t do it yet. Had to wait and see if there was any point to it. She continued to drive.
The two figures watched from above the glass, shifting their feet. The glass was cold. Far below them, the vehicle had stopped. They watched as the woman got out, brandishing a knife. She screamed into the air, waving it around as she slashed at the snowflakes. Remarkable. The reaction was interesting indeed.
After a few moments she dropped to the snow, shoulders heaving. She eventually clambered back into the vehicle, the cold driving her back to warmth. The van started up again.
Behind the two figures, machines turned on and blasted into life. Gears and metal pistons worked and spun, hissing and clanking. The ground beneath the van began to cycle in place once more, treadmilling as the van drove, giving the illusion of moving forward. The scenario was a perfect cube, one kilometer wide at each side. The woman could leave the van and walk a ways—she’d find the doorways out—and be free. But she never distanced herself from the vehicle.
Cameras in the vehicle cabin showed the woman looking at the pocketknife once more. The two figures smiled.
