I spied a dark speck further up the road. As I drew near, it resolved into a more recognizable silhouette: a steam-powered vehicle. I drove slightly closer and came to a stop behind it, a little way to the side.
Despite my faint hopes for something more, the vehicle sat to the side of the road covered in snow-white dust, its bare metal rusted to a reddish brown. I just stared out through my windshield for a while. The light of the setting sun poured into my car through the passenger window, its pure brightness dazzling me.
I closed my eyes, biting my lip. Then I slapped my cheeks and left the car.
The roadside vehicle looked a little like a delivery truck to me, and that alone stirred up a whirl of memories and longing. I inched closer, calling out for whoever might be there.
I strained my ears, holding my breath. There was no reply; the only sounds that reached my ears were the blowing wind and the swell and fade of rustling grass. There was nothing more to hear.
Circling around to the driver’s side, I put my hand on the door. As I heaved it open, the shrill squeal of the hinges joined the hoarse sound of my breath in my ears. Something inside sparkled, reflecting the dim light back up into my eyes: atop the driver’s seat sat a mound of crystals.
There was no one inside, just bottles of booze in the footwell and a pile of clothes. The passenger seat held a large travel bag with a brown hat resting on top of it, along with a piece of cream-colored paper which had been folded into thirds.
The urge to just shut the door then and there assaulted me.
My teeth clenched against a rush of emotions that even I didn’t understand. I didn’t know if I wanted to scream or weep. I hesitated. Finally, I brought my hands together in prayer before leaning into the vehicle. The crystals rattled lifelessly as I brushed against them.
The sheet of cream-colored paper—once I’d spread it open—proved to be a hand-drawn map. It depicted a road and some mountains with a river above them. Partway along the straight line of road, two lines crossed it diagonally. The rectangle with a window drawn in it probably indicated a city. There was a drawing of a bridge crossing the river, right at the top of the map. That illustration was circled several times, so I guessed it was where the driver had been headed.
Carefully, I refolded the map and put it in my pocket. I left the mound of crystals where it was, shutting the door. It felt strange to think that it might never be opened again.
Next to the driver’s door was a sliding door into the cargo area. The metal handle had rusted stiff, and it took quite a lot of effort to open it. Once I got it moving, though, the door slid smoothly to the side and I climbed in, opening the wooden crates inside.
They were packed with cans. There was also soap, a lantern, other sundries, and even some alcohol. Further inside was a huge drum of water, along with some mana stones. Both were required to get a steam-powered vehicle moving.
I returned to my own steam vehicle—the Kettle, as I called it—and moved it alongside the truck. Then I fully opened the back of the truck and began to pick out what I’d take.
The Kettle was pretty much a box on wheels; its only curves amounted to the mudguards around the big tires and the two headlamps bulging out from the top of the hood. The whole thing was a monument to function over form.
It would hold far less than the truck, and while I could put the bigger items like the water and mana stones in the metal roof carrier, anything that needed to stay dry had to be put in the main body. Despite how selective I was, the space filled up quickly. There was still a literal mountain of things inside the truck, but I couldn’t fit anything else in the Kettle.
I closed the truck door again and climbed back into the Kettle’s driving seat. Using one hand to grip the wheel, I pushed the throttle lever with the other. Steam issued forth from the boiler, running through the engine and setting the pistons in motion. With huffs and puffs, the Kettle began to move.
I passed by the truck, picking up speed as I opened up the throttle. Eventually, the truck vanished from my rear-view mirror, and all I could see was a vast white plain with sporadic patches of green. The mountains and sky made up the entirety of the view ahead of me. Huge clouds had blown in from somewhere, covering the mountains as the setting sun lit them up in a bright red.
I used my free hand to pull the map from my pocket and spread it out over the wheel. The truck would have been driving on this road, so if I could see any landmarks, I’d be able to figure out where I was.
I refolded the sheet and tossed it onto the passenger seat.
Man, I thought to myself, I really want to see another person.
Before the sun sank completely, I pulled up at the side of the road and made a campfire from the dried wood that I had gathered. I heated two cans of food to serve as a meal, and after I’d eaten, I put a gun to my head.
A slow breath left my lungs as I screwed my eyes shut.
My index finger tightened its grip, but the trigger was too heavy. My hands started to shake and great gasps of air ripped their way through my throat.
My left hand grabbed hold of my right and forced the gun down hard enough that it felt like I was tearing my hand off.
My heart was suddenly pounding in my ears, sweat was beading across my forehead, and my breath was ragged. Every movement I made felt clumsy, like I was underwater.
I was still sitting with my back against the car door. I tilted my head back and ground it against the hard surface. The dark, heavy carpet of night sky stretched out above me, unbroken by clouds and speckled with stars.
I’d failed again.
The hunk of metal still clasped in my right hand drew my gaze. Suddenly, I couldn’t bear to hold it anymore and flung it away. It buried itself halfway into the white sand with a dry rasp. The flickering light of the campfire shone ominously across the metal, and a chill ran down my spine.
I looked away, either from the gun or from my own actions, and picked up three more twigs which I dropped into the fire. Then I wrapped my arms around my legs and curled up, burying my face in my knees.
The night was quiet; not even wind broke the silence.
I was tired of this world with nothing and no one in it. It was too quiet, and loneliness was the only constant. That loneliness stuck to my skin, refusing to fall away from me. Just as it always had.
For some reason, this world was already long dead by the time I arrived.