Dara, Page, and the Secrets of the Multiverse

▷ 3.1

The wind turned more arid the farther Dara got from the freeway exit. It ripped through his hair, driving the strands away from his forehead and pelting his skin with scratchy particles of sand. Aboard his beat-up sedan in the middle of nowhere, he was convinced he was lost.

It was too early to judge, though. Asphalt still covered the main road, so he hasn't veered off into that much of an unknown in this backwater town yet. He glanced at the phone slotted in the dashboard. The map didn't make sense, showing his GPS location to still be on the way towards his family's summer villa. The sienna scenery dotted with greens and swathes of blue and white didn't look like the pictures Mom sent over in the family group chat. How was a fantasy-like forest supposed to come out of this wild western-esque landscape?

He shook his head and gripped the steering wheel harder. Maybe he shouldn't have driven after all. His calves hurt from balancing the clutch and gas pedals since forever. The downsides of driving a manual in a world full of automatics. Ah, a warm bath would be nice. He had been sweating buckets the past few hours, and his water bottle had been smoothed dry. Dad was right. Dara should have the air conditioning on this old hunk of scrap metal fixed.

A bend came up. Beyond it, the sheet of asphalt led off into more wilderness. The same landscape stretched for miles on end, showing Dara a blend of desktop wallpapers worth of canyons and mesas. The sun dimmed, already on its way down. Just great. He stepped on the gas pedal, coaxing his engine to hurry the journey up. He glanced at his heat meter every once in a while. The line had risen a considerable amount since the continuous throttle the freeway afforded him.

After a kilometer of rumbling along, the wheels hit a bump, sending him forward. The seat belt locked, barely stopping his face from hitting the horn with his forehead. What the—?

Dara muttered a curse, clicking his seatbelt off and climbing out of the car. Smoke curled from the asphalt, and the smell of burning rubber assaulted his senses. He crouched, coughing and waving a hand by his nose.

It wasn't a bump. The rubber had snapped, leaving him with a blown-out tire. He craned his neck to the sky. Was it the heat? Or because the rubber had lost thread? Dad was right again. Dara shouldn't have brought this car from the city. Its prime has long passed and wouldn't survive the long, cross-border ride. Then again, it wasn't like Dara had thousands of dollars lying around. Just the insurance of his current ride put a strain on his finances. His job could only take him this far.

What to do now? Dara braced his hips and looked around. Houses peppered the horizon at random intervals. Their backyards stretched for eternity. Must be nice, not hearing one's neighbors with them being miles away. It'd be a hassle though. Imagine walking that far just to return a plate or tell them to scoop their dogs' poop.

Should Dara take up that path? The one with the red and white paint looked inviting enough. The facade didn't look as if it swallowed grown men for dinner. That was a long walk for a man with aching calves, though. To his left, a green, reflective sign board glowed against the bright, afternoon sun. You are leaving New Herestead, it read. Huh. A drab name for a town that couldn't be drabber.