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It was a sign the civilized world had well and truly ended when men could haul a caged woman in the back of a pickup across several states without getting stopped. We passed lone wanderers, gangs of men, and several gun fights already in progress, yet no one tried to wave down or approach our caravan. They probably assumed I was a nymph.
A screaming, begging, coherent nymph. Whatever. I never stopped calling for help.
Atrophy set into my muscles. I couldn’t stand, couldn’t fully stretch out. So my arms and legs weakened and shrunk, and my pants began to sag off my hips. And the smell… The leather blocked the wind but sweet Jesus, my clothes reeked of body odor and stubbornness.
Still, I refused to undress, especially when we hit the snow and ice in the Colorado Mountains. There were a couple days I was certain I’d lose a few fingers and toes to frostbite, but it was the cliffs that sent my blood pressure into the danger zone.
Cliffs.
Every road we took hugged the very edge of a steep drop. How would I die? Would the truck lose traction, sail down the side of the mountain, and explode into a fiery inferno? Or would Michio yank me out of the cage at the highest point and shove me over himself?
I suffered through some minor panic attacks as the caravan made its way west through Utah then south along the edge of a nearly continuous range of mountainous cliffs. The drastic changes in elevation and climate made my stomach turn and my body shudder between sweating and freezing.
The cage grew smaller and smaller with every mile. I ached to stand, to stretch, to run. I needed out, needed out, needed out! I tried screaming, kicking and punching the cage walls, and spitting in their faces. Nothing moved my captors.
In Arizona, the interstate carved its way through narrow walls of gorges. Instead of cascades of evergreens, there were reddish-brown cliffs. My demise stretched out around me, the Thelma and Louise ending playing a continuous loop in my head. It made my desperation even more desperate.
During one of our rest stops in barren butt-fuck nowhere, I shouted for Michio’s attention, as I often did, while he dug through a supply pack beside the truck. “You remember the prophecy? The cliff, Michio? You took me to fucking cliff country! Is this your plan? You really want me to die?”
How were Jesse and Roark going to find me? I was so far away. Too fucking far. It would take a miracle.
As expected, Michio gave no indication that he heard me. But I didn’t relent. I shouted and pleaded through the Nevada desert while glaring at the towering, rocky peaks of never-ending cliffs.
It wasn’t until we reached Las Vegas that I finally calmed down enough to eat the scraps of meat Michio tossed in my cage. “Where are we going? Do you even have a destination?”
I was met with an exaggerated expression of nothingness. As he turned and climbed into the cab, I gave his back a middle finger and screamed, “Fuck you, you limp infertile dick!”
It was a moment of weakness. I really hadn’t given up on him. Besides, passion was better than indifference, right? Even if my passion was uncouth, immature, and really fucking angry. At the very least, it kept my blood pumping and my skin warm.
We drove through Las Vegas without stopping. The over-the-top, buzzing city of indulgence lay in a pile of rubble. Torched skyscrapers looked down upon overturned cars, shattered signs, and gutted slot machines. I could almost smell the singe of useless, burnt money.
Soon, the crumble of concrete and glass gave way to a brown landscape. The dirt, the dusty wind, the leaf-less vegetation, everywhere I looked was brown. It was late in the day, and the sun dipped behind us. Why were we heading east again?
All signs pointed to Hoover Dam. Literally. The road signs counted down the miles to the famous tourist attraction. If I recalled correctly, it was also the largest hydroelectricity facility in the world.
A fortress in a canyon, powered by water, with miles of underground tunnels, Hoover Dam was exactly the kind of practical, pretentious domain the Drone would choose to rule from.
I shivered despite the sun-warmed breeze.
Less than an hour passed before the massive cliffs closed in around us. I knew we were close when electrical substations began to crop up, the steel lattice, heavy-duty wires, and transformers jutting out of steep surfaces of rock.
That was when I saw them.
The truck swerved, dodging a nymph in the road. It was the first in a long line of hobbling nymphs. One, then two, then dozens of them. They walked in the direction of the dam, heads down and stringy hair hanging in their faces.
I couldn’t feel them, not a single icy prickle, and this puzzled me far more than the fact that they didn’t seem to sense me.
