The alarm was ringing. Lights were flashing. I blinked and looked at the road. The autodrive guidance signal was weak out here, the truck had woken me up to take control. I shook my head to clear it of sleep and put my hands on the wheel. Looking down at the trip meter, I saw the numbers click over 600. Yeah, this is about halfway.
I always seemed to have the bad dreams at about this point. And the truck always woke me up in the middle.
The highway was deserted. The radar told me there was another truck about seven Ks ahead, travelling in the same direction but I couldn’t see it. Outside the sun was about to rise, a red purple glow on the edge of the desert. Gradually, it made its way up over the edge of the sand and rocks. The mounds spaced intermittently along the side of the road cast shadows that flickered by underneath the wheels.
The road seemed flat but in fact was sloped ever so slightly upwards, I barrelled through at 170, the horizon creeping forward and then I was past those creepy mounds and cresting the rise. The sun broke over the crest and the windows of the truck darkened to compensate. I chastised myself to stop thinking what I had been thinking, took a deep breath and pushed the accelerator down further. The truck sucked itself down on the road and the speed grew. One-eighty, 190, 200—you could actually watch the trip meter tick over at this speed, every 17 seconds or so it clicked over one more kilometre. One more kilometre closer to home.
I don’t know why I was in such a hurry, there was no-one there waiting for me.
I kept up the pace for a good hour and a half, trying to catch the truck in front of me, but he must have had his foot down as well—I never caught sight of him. There we were, together alone; racing the sun as it arked up into the sky. Nobody liked this part of the run—it was too quiet; too much time to think.
The road got hotter. Then the tires got too hot, the computer took control and slowed the truck down. I was back in signal range now so I switched it back to autodrive and looked out the window.
Rocks and sandy red dirt. The occasional burnt-looking hill with withered, black-barked trees clustered in the more shaded gullies and furrows. Venturing a little further into the sun grew grass trees, hundreds of years old.
By now we had hit 10 o’clock. The road disappeared into a heat haze and a piercing blue sky. The temperature gauge told me it was 48 degrees outside. Computer-controlled valves in the wheels were absorbing the air in the tires as it expanded, keeping them at an even 80psi. And still it got hotter.
The photovoltaic skin on the truck provided power to keep the cargo space cool, to keep the heat from damaging whatever it was I was carrying—they never told me—to keep the airtight seals from rupturing like a can of beans in a fire. The PV skin generated power for the cabin systems too, driving the air conditioner, but looking at the land outside made me feel warm. I turned the thermostat down to 21.
Outside now it was 54 degrees. Imagine breaking down out here. Imagine the fear knowing how far you were from civilisation. If you survived long enough for someone to come along, would they even stop for you?
I would stop. Wouldn’t I?
But I had heard bad stories about people that stopped. I had heard that there were people living in hidden settlements outside the cities, underground. That they had no empathy, that they would rob you, even kill you. But nobody really did that anymore… did they?
The trip meter clicked over. Less than a 100 to go.
Do people still kill people? Do they?
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. I lay down and went to sleep.
