Darkness gave way
to another grey dawn above, but below in the vacline it is always
night. The sleeping passenger stirred as we shifted into the left
exit chamber and decelerated. Here the track rose up and up. The
passenger opened an eye, closed it again and turned her head away
from the windscreen. Her deep sleep was a small blessing.
The vacline split
into ten empty branches and we took to the right track. There was the
dimmest of lights up ahead, the size of a pinhead, but it glowed like
a diamond after 5 days of blackness. We had a funny urge to wake the
passenger and say, 'Look. Isn't it beautiful?'
As the pinhead of
light bloomed, our interior brightened. It was not until the exit
lines emerged above ground that her eyes opened at the sound of fat
raindrops and our wipers engaging.
'Where?' She
was shielding her face with a hand, one eye pinched shut, head turned
away from the light. 'Where are we?'
'The marchland
city of Red Moth,' we explained, 'on the border of Cellestan.'
She sat forward
then, the brightness and her sleep forgotten. 'Cellestan?'
She brought up the map display on our dash and turned her gaze to the
Cellestani complex up ahead, recognition growing. A border guard fell
in beside us, his K19 rifle slung over one shoulder. The passenger
observed the man from behind our blacked out windows. 'No.'
Madness erupted
inside our interior, as we knew it would. Shouting and crying and
cursing. She attempted to override auto drive, but by now the
Cellestani officials had assumed all control and were guiding us into
an arrival port. Even if we had shared the passenger's wish to
flee, it was too late.
'No, no, no!'
she cried. She began to lash out at the dash with her hands and her
feet. 'What happened?' She stabbed her fingers wildly into the
controls. 'We were supposed to go to Auckland. What happened?
Answer me, stupid car, what happened? Why are we back here?'
We could offer no
audio response. Those channels, too, had been seized. It was not our
voice nor our words that replied. 'Welcome. Please submit to the
border agent and claim any valuables. Thank you.'
She cast her gaze
uncomprehending at the outside world as more guards fell in around
us. 'What did he say?' We eased to a stop beneath a glass and
steel canopy. 'What's happening?' She was trembling all over as
rain pattered down.
A guard, gripping
his K19 with authority, rapped a knuckle against the window. This was
a gesture of goodwill, to allow the passenger a sense of control,
that she might be the one to lower her own window. We can tell you
that the Cellestani guards still had full control and could have
lowered it themselves.
She hesitated,
breathing heavily, casing her surroundings for any option of escape.
The rain fell a little harder against the canopy above. The guard
rapped a knuckle on the window a second time, shifted the weight of
his rifle. She lowered the window by a crack.
The guard waited.
'Your documents,' he demanded. 'Ay, ay, ay, your documents,
girl. Come on.'
'Documents,'
the passenger repeated. 'Oh.' She nodded and held up a finger. He
shouted to the border tower and the passenger's window fully
opened. He leaned and peered inside our interior.
The passenger
produced her documents from a backpack and handed them to the guard.
When he left, she attempted to raise the window but could not.
She turned her
attention back to us. 'What happened?' she hissed.
Her documents
were returned moments later. 'Welcome back,' said the guard. 'We
were expecting you.' She raised her window without replying and the
guards motioned us forward. They returned driver control to us, and
we eased from under the canopy and out into the falling rain.
Compared to the
vacline, the road was a slow mess. Once out of sight of the border,
the passenger attempted to take control. 'Return to the vacline,'
she demanded. 'Now.'
'We are on the
fastest route to your destination,' we told her, and showed her the
GPS display.
'That's not
my destination. I'm going to Auckland.
Let me out.'
She attempted to open the door.
'That would be
unsafe. We are moving at a velocity of--'
'Let me out.
Let me out, let me out, let me out!' She tried everything.
Emergency overrides, manual steering, kicking out the window.
'Please relax,'
we said, 'and enjoy the road trip.'
We passed hours
in sullen silence, her with her arms crossed and occasionally crying
or throwing a tantrum. We passed through black deserts and dead
forests. Dry valleys and one burning village. We detoured on a
temporary dirt road around a massive crater.
Evening had
fallen and the rain had stopped when finally, we arrived.
The girl wept
quietly. 'You have reached your destination,' the car proclaimed.
'Welcome home, Abby!'
We emerged from
our house and let the patio door swing closed behind us. We fought
the urge to have a cigarette, knowing she hated the smoke . . .
No, I
fought the urge. I
know she hates the smoke. I'm
not the car anymore. It
was five days ago the police had located the stupid girl in the
vaclines and reset my connection. The passenger hadn't even noticed
when I turned the car around.
No, not the
passenger. My daughter.
I had all my
promises on the tip of my tongue; things would be different this
time. She didn't need to run away ever again. I would find help. I
would quit drinking; yes, I promise this time, Abby, I promise you I
will. I cross my heart and hope to . . .
But she had heard
all that before, and as I crossed the yard to get her out of my car,
I was just so damn angry.
|