All The Nice & Lovely Things

2 - Crazy?! No No No...

She searched the fields she passed for her mob, saw none, wasn’t relieved.

Hundreds of miles above, clouds parted and lightened, disappearing as heat seared through them, ducking around molecules of young rain and seagulls to scald the paint of passing cars, turning the Jeep into its true shade of navy and sending prisms of red and green off the silver edging.  Kere pumped the cold air and slid the window down, leaning head outside to cool.  The road beyond spread out, then stopped and retracted inwards, smoothing into a T that slid quickly behind two grass ditches.  It was at this point that she killed the engine and parked the wheel atop a curb, and sat there, hands on wheel, lower lip in mouth.  Before her, the two-headed road sign sent sharp reflections, the black letters bubbling and aged.

Deaf against the voice of Joans Grace roaring inside her head, and the ticking off the clock, she unlocked the door and stepped out.  The road was quiet, catering for only two or three houses before her own, but the junction ahead buzzed.  Kere crept along the ditch, stepping over beer cans, until the ditches parted and a full view of the Gap was visible.  The road went straight, then bent down with a rather large valley that led to the next town, slipped out of sight under the girth of another crest.  The simmering beams of light shooting off the bonnets of cars in the distance.  Ten perfectly parked cars.  One of them would be the priest’s.  Trees and gradient kept all from view.  Kere swore and turned back to the Jeep.  The cars taking to the Gap slowed as they met the bottom of the crest, something down there in their way.

Curiosity very much alive, but survival instinct rallying her, she got back in the Jeep and pulled away to the right.  She drove the rest of the way to town dangerously, skirting pavements and annoying stray dogs.  Mind creeping over ten parked cars.  She’d hadn’t been through the Gap in weeks, preferring the life of a pretty hermit to spending time with friends, and the only horrific thing she'd ever done there was run over a fox.  She’d grieved for her headlight while she’d buried the thing.

The forest – the Grey - nicknamed as so because it got more valley fog than the rest of the country, was clear this morning, but the heat would haul back the stuff at sun fall.  It opened into thigh-high ditches, irrigational treks and spring trees, the tips of the awnings turning red as they burned.  Thatch fences kept the animals off the tarmac, smoggy visibility already keeping the drivers on edge, and yet deer still ate their way through, leaving heaps on the edges and carcasses on the white line.  The stretching bark above kept the sun off.  Forest bridges somersaulted over the road every once and a while, leaving vehicles vulnerable to a stoning in the summer and a snowballing in January.

The roads came alive when she got there, everyone out for late lunches, or younger kids getting ready to be taken home for lunch.  Pavements gave little room for two-way foot traffic.  She sped the cars on in front with her horn, seeing a jam in the works as an oil carrier decided to overtake ahead.  Five minutes.  Gnash was alive today.  It was the heat.  The scent of something odd.  Gnash was the only town that could sweat.

No one left the town happy they’d come, probably duped into spending a night by fancy pictures of trees and otters, and breath-robbing views from the cliffs.  The outskirts were presentable enough and looked good when it was foggy, but everything inside the “Welcome to Gnash(Ville)” signs could pass as a bad western set.  Town spirit strove to build up something that didn’t exist, and instead of paying for new roads to lead more tourists to disappointment, they would be better suited forking out some cash for weed-control.  Limp, dank, lifeless?  The first half of any shampoo ad would give you the gist.  If Kere ever watched the news and took in the taped assaults in ochre Iraq, she would burst off her seat and roar “I’ve been there.” 

Apparently, a vinyl player had factored in with some GIANT EVENT OF GNASH’S HISTORY, which had happened way-back-when-no-one-cared, which some intellect had decided to honour.