Yellow Stone National Park
What was the worst nightmare you've ever had? When was the last time the echoing beat of your heart matched the pounding steps of something in your head? The figure of a murderer/monster/Thing at your window, just a few feet away who will hear you if you so much as breathe, so much as move. Every muscle in your body frozen, the scream heavy in the back of your throat
When all you can do is watch as time moves so slowly around you, and you can't do anything but stare and try to cry for help… but if you do, you're dead.
And the figure/monster/killer slowly starts to turn, to see you, he must see you and you can't move and your stomach starts crawling up your throat as you feel like you're falling, falling...
Now, when was the last time you actually saw your nightmare happen? In real life?
This isn't happening.
Shard sat on a bench, shielded by a crowd of tourists, sucking on the splitends of her long hair.
They had been doing well. They had made it back to the car and onto the freeway, heading away from the cloud, making the best use of Montana's "speed limit."
Shard remembered when they had stopped at McDonald's outside Olympia, two days ago. She had got a chicken salad while Bryce had poked questioningly at the air bubbles in his Chicken McNuggets.
The car had stalled at the North entrance to Yellowstone National Park. They debated camping the night, but when the first stutters of choppers drifted through the trees, they stuck out their thumbs and hitched it into the park with a nice German couple in a Geo Prism.
They had sat down at the plastic red table and white seats. Bryce had snagged the comics section from the front counter. She had squeezed some Ranch dressing out of a tube as Bryce pointed out the latest Calvin and Hobbes.
They finally hiked their way through the park. They stayed clear of the main paved paths, and headed off into the woods. They were doing fine until they stumbled clear of the trees and out onto the black and gray scablands. The forest fires had carved out a massive area of forest, the ugly ground studded with the charred remains of tree stumps, decorated with dozens of slimy white mushrooms.
The helicopters droned into sight above them.
As Bryce ran, Shard found that her legs had sunk into the wet, muddy soil up to her knees.
Bryce turned back toward her.
When she had tried to light up, the lady at the counter had pointed to the NO SMOKING sign pinned to the wall. They moved to the tables outside next to the playground area, and she had complained about how the Smoke Nazis could never take away their right to smoke outside.
Shard saw his shoulder jerk sharply backward. She never did remember hearing the gunfire. She did see the slow trickle of gray smoke that floated out of his shoulder.
Shard was at least twenty meters away from Bryce. But somehow, she could still see every detail of his face. Could see his light brown hair shifting slightly in the breeze. The confusion filling his face as he stared at the stuff issuing upwards out of him.
She could remember how he had burst out laughing, pointing over her shoulder.
The look of confusion that flashed into sheer panic.
Pointing to the picnic area sign above her head that read, "Please do not smoke outside."
Shard felt the scream in her throat, aching to come out. She wanted to make her legs move, to run, to scream... to do something, anything.
Shard heard the whoosh of the rocket launcher as it zoomed out of the chopper.
In her mind, she could hear his quiet laughter, as her eyes saw him look at her across the ash and mud and death.
And the world went white.
Imprinted on her retinas was the bluish blur of his hair burning, and his eyes crying.
When Shard woke up, she found herself lying face
down in the bushes. She gave the newly charred area a brief, pained
glance and ran.
Now she was sitting on a bench, shielded by a
crowd of tourist, sucking the ends of her hair.
This can't be happening.