BACK ROADS by Evan Camby

Author:Evan Camby
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Evan Camby

Tom was running down a sunny street. It was warm, but a kind of cloud-like fog had settled over the ground.

Why am I running?

He didn’t know, but kept going. Recognition washed over him after a moment. It was his old neighborhood, the happy home where the three of them lived together until the unknown ripped them to shreds. A tree-lined suburban street with modest Cape Cod and colonial styles on each side. The sun on his face was welcoming, and his skin was pleasantly warm, as on a perfect day at the beach. The air tasted so clean and crisp that the fog made little sense, but it added a surreal, almost beautiful glow to the scene. He couldn’t see his feet as he ran, but he could have gone on forever. He’d never tire or run out of breath. The bad knees from years of competitive track were completely healed. After what seemed like days of this painless, exhilarating running, he saw something materialize in the distance. A small, person-shaped figure. He squinted and ran faster, but it seemed farther and farther away the more he sped up.

“Hey!” he called out. “Hey, wait up!”

A tiny, innocent, familiar laugh erupted, and his stomach dropped. He began to sprint.

“Owen!” he cried, his pace faster than any he had ever maintained. “Please, slow down! Let me catch up to you!”

The sweet little voice spoke again, saying, “You have to wake up, Daddy. It’s not time yet.”

Suddenly, Tom was back in the cabin, in his bed. He opened his eyes reluctantly. “No!” he screamed, furiously pounding his arms on the bed. After a moment, he stopped, caught his breath. “I want to go back,” came out of his mouth in a soft voice. Despondent, he turned to look out the window. Tom wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep, but enough time passed that nearly six more inches of snow had fallen.

“It’s not time yet.”

“Says who?” Tom said aloud, running both hands down his face before stretching and sitting up, tossing his legs out of bed so that they landed on the floor. It was ice cold and wet. Tom’s eyes darted to the front door, which was now wide open.

“What the…” he trailed off as he walked, dazed, to the open door. His socks were damp from the snow that had blown in, and he peeled them off as he stood looking outside. Something in him rose to alert, like an animal who has been cornered, as he saw what lay in the snow. Tom’s face twisted in confused horror.

Dozens of footprints covered the yard. They seemed to come from every direction and stop at the front door and at the windows. But there were no tire tracks in the road or on the path that led to the cabin. Tom stared at the deep footprints for just a few seconds before slamming the door and carefully locking all six locks. He backed away from the door, hitting the table with the laptop.

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