World Gone, Chapter 1: Vanishing Roads

Hello kiddies, I thought I'd amuse only myself, and post the first chapter to the book that I am slowly working on. For the first time, I know pretty much everything that is going to happen, so that's exciting for me. This is a science-fiction, mystery sort of story. I hope you like it. The book is called "World Gone", and Chapter one is called "Vanishing Roads".

This is not the road from the story. This is just a road. A road in Any-Town USA.

Chapter One: Vanishing Roads

As the tires hummed against the pavement, the man glanced at the rearview mirror, his eyes reflecting the weariness of countless miles traveled. A dust-covered cowboy hat shaded his weathered face, but the lines etched into his skin told stories of both laughter and sorrow. He navigated the road with the ease of someone who had memorized every twist and turn, the truck's engine humming in sync with his thoughts. He had traveled this path many times over the years; so often that part of him thinks he could make the drive with his eyes closed.

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the landscape. The rhythmic beating of the truck's heart – its engine – resonated with the tunes emanating from the radio. If you were in his truck, you got to hear Rush. All the time. Every minute of every drive. He had always been a huge Rush fan, and could play each and every song in his head. Still, listening with his ears was even better. Loudly.

Through cracked windows, the scent of the open fields mingled with memories, a heady mixture that took him back to moments of triumph and defeat. The truck's dashboard held relics of the past – a collection of trinkets, faded photographs, and a road map worn at the creases, charting the routes of countless adventures.

As the night descended, stars emerged like scattered diamonds against the dark canvas of the sky. The man's gaze shifted from the road to the heavens, a moment of reflection interrupted only by the occasional flicker of passing headlights. The open road held a certain allure, a promise of home, family, and a home cooked meal.

In the quiet solitude of the cab, he found solace. The road was his sanctuary, a place where he could leave behind the complexities of life and simply be. The pick-up truck, though worn and weathered, carried the essence of his journey – a testament to resilience, endurance, and the enduring spirit of the open road.

The truck's tires hummed in harmony with the music, creating a soundtrack for his contemplation. The dashboard reflected the glow of the CD player's display, showcasing the track information as he navigated through the open expanse of the night.

The lyrics of Neil Peart seemed to echo his own sentiments, weaving a narrative that resonated with the complexities of human relationships. The power of the music, coupled with the steady purr of the engine, became a conduit for introspection. The open road, like an endless therapist, bore witness to his musings.

As the next track began, he thought about the choices that had led him to this point. The worn map on the dashboard symbolized not only physical journeys but the emotional ones he had undertaken. Each song was a bookmark in the story of his life, a melodic diary that chronicled the highs and lows.

The night pressed on, and the man's gaze returned to the road ahead. The headlights cut through the darkness, revealing only a fraction of what lay beyond. The uncertainty mirrored the ambiguity in his heart, torn between the familiar comfort of the road and the complexities of his relationships.

With a sigh, he turned the volume down, the music fading into the background. In the quiet lull, the engine's hum took center stage. The open road stretched endlessly, a metaphor for the possibilities that lay ahead. The man, lost in thought, continued his journey through the night – a lone traveler in search of both answers and peace. A peace that he was sure to find in his wife.

The truck, once a steadfast companion on the open road, suddenly vanished, spilling him to the dirt below. The engine's hum, the comforting sound that accompanied him on countless journeys, was now gone in an instant. The familiar twists and turns of the road disappeared into nothingness, and only a dirt ditch was left behind.

His mind raced to make sense of the surreal shift. Was it a dream, a hallucination brought on by fatigue and introspection? The music that had once been playing in the truck was replaced by a man screaming. It took him a moment to realize that the screams were his own.

Through the disintegration of reality, he glimpsed fragments of his past and present. The faces of his baby boy, and beautiful wife appeared like flickering apparitions, their images wavering between clarity and distortion. The unease that had crept in earlier intensified, a knot tightening in the pit of his stomach.

Desperation clawed at him as he tried to regain control. He called out in pain, but his voice echoed back, hollow and unanswered. He tried to scan his surroundings for some sign of his truck, but it was gone, almost as if it had never existed in the first place.

In the midst of this metaphysical chaos, a sense of vulnerability washed over him. The uncertainties he harbored about his relationships and the choices he'd made seemed magnified in this surreal space. He grappled with the intangible, reaching without thinking, for a steering wheel that had been there only a moment before, as if muscle memory knew what his hands should be doing.

Through the confusion of his current situation, he realized that he was in pain. An enormous amount of pain. It was this pain that was keeping him rooted in this moment, this moment of insane uncertainty and horror.

In the disorienting landscape, he attempted to push himself up, but his limbs felt like they were made of lead. The absence of the familiar weight of his prosthetic limb left him unbalanced, a stark reminder of his vulnerability. Panic clawed at the edges of his consciousness as he struggled to make sense of this surreal and seemingly hostile environment.

As he gingerly explored the dirt ditch that he now found himself in, his fingers met nothing but the cold dirt. The absence of the truck, the road, and even parts of his own physical form was disconcerting. It was as if he had been erased from the fabric of reality, left alone in a dimension that defied logic.

Through the pain, he could also feel the immense coldness. Where a moment ago there was heat, beating down on him through the vents of the now vanished truck, he was left with only the cold of the great outdoors. 

Time seemed to stretch and warp in this strange space, leaving him with a sense of isolation and uncertainty. He called out, but his voice echoed into nothingness. The echoes were haunting, bouncing back to him as a reminder of this new landscape that surrounded him.

In the absence of physical landmarks or sensory cues, he grappled with a disconcerting loss of orientation. The lines between reality and unreality blurred, and he questioned whether the events that unfolded were a manifestation of his own psyche or if he had truly entered an alternate realm.

As he lay there, a flicker of determination ignited within him. Even in this bizarre and disconcerting situation, the essence of his resilience remained. With a deep breath, he mustered the strength to rise, determined to navigate this surreal world and find answers, or at the very least, a way back to the familiar terrain of the open road. But as he tried to stand, the stark reminder of his prosthetic leg disappearing knocked him back on his feet.

Through tears in his eyes, he tried to survey his surroundings again. "It's so weird," he said with a pained voiced, "everything is gone". He looked at himself, finally noticing that he wasn't wearing any clothes. Here he was in a ditch where a road once was, spilled there from a vanishing truck, that had once passed telephone poles, and farms, also gone. 

He used every ounce of energy he had in him, and started pulling himself forward. As he crawled through the desolate landscape, his hands scraped against the coarse dirt, leaving trails of disturbed particles in his wake. The barren expanse seemed to stretch infinitely, offering no respite from the torment that gripped him.

The air all around him felt heavy, and the silence was oppressive. His labored breaths echoed, a haunting soundtrack to his struggle. Each movement was a triumph over the pain that threatened to overwhelm him, a testament to his determination to reunite with his family.

His thoughts became a lifeline, a source of strength amid the physical and emotional turmoil. The image of Delaney, and John fueled his resolve, anchoring him to the purpose of his journey. The pain, though unrelenting, became a secondary concern compared to the urgency of his mission—to find his way back to the familiar world, to the road, and ultimately to the embrace of his loved ones. At least, he hoped so. He had no way of knowing if this event had happened to everyone, or just to him.

The landscape offered no clues, no landmarks to guide him. The featureless terrain seemed to mock his efforts, stretching out endlessly. Yet, the man pressed on, his spirit unbroken. With each painful inch, he carried the weight of his love and responsibility, a beacon guiding him through the void.

As he continued his agonizing journey, the boundaries between reality and the unknown blurred. The pain became a constant companion, merging with the surreal landscape that surrounded him. And through the struggle, he clung to the belief that, somewhere beyond this desolate expanse, the open road and the comforting embrace of his family awaited.

The man's heart sank as he realized the extent of the event that seemed to surround him. The absence of the familiar structures that defined human civilization left him with a profound sense of isolation. The landscape, once a canvas painted with the marks of human existence, now stretched out as a desolate tableau of emptiness.

He pressed on, each painful movement a testament to his determination to pierce through the silence and reach the unknown destination that held the promise of answers. The stain of blood on the ground marked his trail, a morbid breadcrumb path through the featureless terrain. His stump leg, injured in the fall from a truck going sixty miles, was in agony.

As he traversed this barren wasteland, the reality of his missing limb weighed heavily on him. The loss, both physical and symbolic, echoed the desolation that now engulfed the world. The pain, an unrelenting companion, seemed to merge with the emptiness that permeated the air.

The man's thoughts, once focused solely on the urgency of reaching his family, now drifted to questions of what had led him to this place. The surreal landscape, devoid of human touch, held an unsettling mystery that begged for understanding. Was this a manifestation of his own subconscious, or had he stumbled upon a realm that existed beyond the confines of his comprehension?

Through the tears and the pain, he continued his arduous journey, propelled by the unwavering determination to find answers and, above all, to reunite with the ones he loved. The Event, which his mind had has now dubbed this strange disappearance of the evidence of man, may have swallowed the familiar world, but he clung to the hope that somewhere beyond it, the road to his family still existed.