Dissonance - Book One

forty

"Have you figured out the code yet?"

"If I had, do you think I'd be sitting here staring at this computer screen?"

"Well at least your sarcasm is intact while the rest of the world falls apart."

"Yours too."

"What about the girl?"

"We believe we spotted her on a surveillance camera at a gas station, just outside of Sacramento."

"That's only 650 miles from here! Do we have a team on the move?"

"They're headed in the general direction, but there's a bit of a problem."

"What problem?""

"We...um...lost her."

"You, um, lost her?"

"Is there an echo in here?"

"If you want to sit there being a smart ass then that's your prerogative, but let me just remind you that the launch is happening and seating is limited. It would be unfortunate if you should lose your spot."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, it's a fact. Now find the girl or find yourself another way off this sinking ship."

***

It's getting late by the time we pass the sign indicating we've entered Washoe County. Tumbleweeds bounce across the land like out of one of those old spaghetti Westerns my father used to make me watch. For years we didn't have cable TV. I think it was just another way for my parents to shelter me from the outside world. Instead, we watched old movies (or classics as my dad called them) and read books. It was the main reason I became such an avid reader. For most of my youth, it was my only outlet to the outside world.

The road bends and twists as we make our way through neighborhoods with rows and rows of cookie cutter housing developments: beautiful new homes in the middle of nowhere. "Desert Oasis" reads the sign of one community. The curtains are drawn in most of the windows and no one walks the street. My gut is telling me that we shouldn't be here, but we've got nowhere else to go.

We continue down the road for seven miles. It transforms from a smooth paved street to a bumpy dirt path. The landscape of homes begins to change drastically. The shiny new construction quickly turns into mobile home communities. I realize now why my parents didn't visit often. It wasn't exactly a great vacation destination.

"Where the hell are we?" Lex asks in disgust.

I don't respond. I'm in a trance, lost somewhere between reality and my dreams. There's something eerily familiar about this place.

"Make a right here," I say. Somehow, I know where to go. "It's just down this road a little ways."

"I thought you've never been to your aunt's house before?" Lex asks.

"Me neither."

"Then how do you...you know what, never mind. This is just getting weirder and weirder by the minute. I'd rather not know."

We pull up to a doublewide trailer at the end of the road. Its once white façade is now a shade of brownish-gray. Dirt cakes the exterior, no doubt a result of the tiny tornadoes of dust that spiral across the front yard. The shutters clack loudly against the house and piles of trash are stacked on the side. It looks terrible, like something out of one of those Texas Chainsaw Massacre movies, but it hasn't always looked this way. I can't tell if it's déjàvu I'm experiencing or just the memory of a photograph that my parents once showed me, but something tells me I've been here before.