The Sands

 

                The sand twisted and curled through the desert air. Sam adjusted the handkerchief covering his mouth. He reset his sand goggles over his eyes. The desert sprawled before him. An impossible dead landscape, void of any signs of life. The Earth baked to a crisp under the tires of his desert Jeep. Sam knew where he was going but wasn’t entirely sure of the direction.

                 The road was long gone in the shifting and blowing sands. Eroded or covered by the infinite grinding of sand scouring the land. Sam reached for his GPS monitor on the front seat. He was still on-course to make it to the bunker. If anyone was still there to make it to.  The sun was at midday now. Four more hours through this parched desolation and he’d be there. He wondered if he might be the only one to make it out alive.

                 “Surely the others made it,” he thought. They had a two-day head start over him. He had to stay behind to make sure the viruses were well contained, and the facility was completely locked down. He didn’t want to be the last man, or the Omega Man, or any other classic sci-fi trope about the last survivor of a doomed world. He wanted others to be there. Other people to be with. To go on with. He didn’t think he could make it all alone.

                 The Jeep swerved on a mound of sand causing Sam to be thrown up from his seat. His seatbelt keeping him from flying out of the vehicle. “God damn it,” he shouted as he wrestled the steering wheel straight. His handkerchief fell down from around his nose as he hit the brakes. He came to a hard stop in the blowing sand. “That was no ordinary mound,” he thought to himself. He looked in the rearview mirror.

                 A flicker of metal shining in the bright desert sun caught his eye. Sam swallowed hard and pulled his handkerchief back up over his nose. He unbuckled the seat belt. He turned the Jeep off, hoping it would restart. He looked again in the rearview. The metal flickered again. Winking at him. He fixed his goggles and took a deep breath. He opened the Jeep’s driver’s side door and felt the heat and sand as he stepped out. The wind howled as the tiniest of granules peppered Sam’s body. They were so small, but he felt like he could feel every single grain.

                 Sam made his way to the mound of sand. He could see the small bit of metal protruding from the sand. He knew what it was without having to dig. It was the passenger side rearview mirror from the convoy. Sam bent down over it and tried to pull it from the sand. It was stuck. Sam knew it was still likely attached to the truck, which was now buried under the desert sands. He began brushing the sand away with his hands. The wind pushing the sand back almost as quickly as he could brush it away. He pushed the sand away from the side of the door revealing the University logo emblazoned on the side.

                 Panic started to creep into his mind. “Connie was on this truck,” he thought. He started digging faster, tossing clumps of darkening sand over his shoulders in a frenzy. The wind, swirling the sand above his head, twisting sand devils. He brushed the sand away from the passenger window. The cab was empty. There was no one inside. “Oh god,” he thought. “They made it out, but where…,” he wondered.

                 He stood up and scanned the barren desert, shielding his eyes from the Sun. No tracks, no footprints, no way to follow anyone who got out. He felt his heart breaking in his chest as he turned around and around, looking for any sign of anyone, of Connie.

                 “Two-day head start,” he said. He turned away from the wrecked truck and jogged back to his Jeep. He got in and luckily the engine started. “They made it. I know they made it,” he said. He stepped on the gas and Jeep roared forward over the sand.  He had to hurry.