The Days and Months We Were First Born- the Post-New York Edition by Christopher Hunter

Author:Christopher Hunter [Hunter, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Science Fiction
Amazon: B0082ORFRW
Published: 2012-05-11T00:00:00+00:00

Welcome to Midland, Heartland of America HELL!!!

Population: 179, 675, 809 NOT ANYMORE!!!

President Oscar Gutierrez DICK WRAP!!!

Very charming, I thought.

The next sign was supposed to signify crossing into the state of Ohio, but there was no way to know for sure. The sign was covered with blue paint, and in the middle, there was a detailed rendering of a human skull with devil’s horns. The eye sockets were looking down upon us, and the toothy mouth was curved in a welcome to hell smile. This was no doubt the marking of gang territory. The only question was: Are the bastards still around, or are they gone?

And as the Russells and I churned with tension, Melinda was still knocked out. Bless her heart. She was oblivious to it all.

The latter end of the bridge was decorated with graffiti: a ridiculous collection of gang markings, doodles, and other nonsense. And the “artists” had not been shy where they tagged.

There was paint all over the pavement, paint all over the security booth, paint on every single sign, paint on the support beams, and paint on the night-lights. Hell, there was paint over our very thoughts as we observed everything. It was just a collage of colors, too chaotic for me to give you a coherent description. It was enough to put Elizabeth, NJ to shame.

At the foot of the bridge, the road was divided into nine columns. This location didn’t have a duty-free store, a restaurant, or a large port house for the masses. By design, the columns were set up with an overhead sensor in the front, a man in a booth to see everyone’s passports and ask questions in the middle, and another man in a booth to collect tolls in the back. Only the cargo trucks and buses had to pull to the side and enter a redbrick building to get processed for entry.

But now, that whole scene was just an empty and elaborate relic.

Mary lined the van up with column number four. Then she slowed the van to a brief stop.

“Brace yourselves.”

And she took off.

The speed pushed us back in our seats. Carl and I clutched our weapons at the ready as we scanned for any signs of trouble. The van roared underneath us.

One second, two seconds, three seconds, four seconds, blump blump! We ran over a speed bump, and now we were in a new country.

Our road was now a highway overlooking a roughshod town called Mingo Junction. The first difference I noticed was the rough pavement. Our tires made a grainy noise. Midland still used asphalt to pave their highways. The second difference was how old everything looked. Everything! It was obvious no new construction or maintenance had taken place in this town for decades. The sidewalks were cracked with weeds growing up in between, the sidings of buildings were brown with dinginess, and the graffiti was endless. The van shook violently when we ran over pockmarks we couldn’t avoid. Melinda murmured in discomfort as the van rattled, but still, she slept.

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