how to fade away completely
Your eyes are perfect round discs of blue. Your blue eyes didn’t come from us, though. Brown has always run strong in our family, so they must have come from him. I will always find it impossible to understand that something so innocent and so full of joy and life could be born of such cruelty and hate. Blue suits you though, much more than brown ever would have.
54
We have been on the move for nearly a week now, traveling the abandoned roads and empty fields of old Wyoming. The years of wildfires and neglect have turned what once was open grass and farm land into arid tundra. There are a few green pockets left, but for the most part the landscape has been reduced to a dusty, barren scar. When the Hand of the Divine seized control of the western states they made sure little east of their new holy kingdom remained. Early reports estimated that nearly fifteen hundred miles of land had been scorched, stretching as far north as Montana and south as New Mexico. They nicknamed it the Belt. A near uninhabitable no man’s land separating the Kingdom of New America from whatever remains of the free east. At the checkpoint Dad slows the car to a stop. I’m in the backseat. My backpack is on the seat next to me. There’s a man outside who’s approaching Dad’s side of the car. Mum whispers something to Dad while shaking her head. Dad makes some motion with his right hand that stops her from talking. She wipes a damp sleeve across her eyes. Then Mum turns to put a hand on my knee. She smiles and there are tears hanging from the corners of her mouth. They’ve made her makeup run so that she looks like some insane clown and not my mother. I flinch away from her, the wrong thing to do.
Mum hiccups as she tries to slow her breathing. ‘It’s going to be okay, sweetheart.’ She chokes on the words. I don’t know what to do so I just nod. The man knocks on Dad’s window. His uniform looks military with long white robes on the outside that go almost to the ground. Dad’s window lowers. The man pushes his head inside the car to look at Mum and me. Mum’s shaking. His voice is polite and steady as he says, ‘Utah is now under the control of the Hand of the Divine of the Great Kingdom of New America. You are not permitted to leave at this time. Please turn your vehicle around, sir. Thank you.’ ‘We’re just passing through. We don’t live in Utah, you see. We’re visiting from further out east,’ Dad lies. I know something wrong is happening but I don’t know what it is. Adults always think they’re protecting you when they keep information to themselves, but really they just make you feel more helpless and afraid. The man steps away from the car, checks the front, then the back. ‘Where are your license plates, sir?’ ‘Had them stolen a few nights ago. Damn kids.’ Dad forces a laugh. ‘Sir, please step outside the vehicle. We need to check your papers. Matthews! Come search the car! This won’t take a moment, sir.’ The look Dad gives me as he turns to unbuckle his seatbelt makes me feel queasy. We reached the begging man safehouse almost two weeks ago. The contact there gave us the verbal heading for the next waypoint. Then the next. And the next. No one will tell me how long the Path is (perhaps no one truly