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Software Vault: The Gold Collection
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Software Vault - The Gold Collection (American Databankers) (1993).ISO
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S&M-12
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1993-05-30
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4KB
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60 lines
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░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░Shortcuts░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░by Michael Hahn
▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀
I probably shouldn't have gotten the Cherokee--it was four-
wheel drive that got me in trouble. A nice, safe Civic would have
meant an entirely different set of circumstances.
See, there are a lot of winding backroads around here, and not
all of them are paved. Traffic what it is, people are always
looking for a faster way to get around. After creeping along at
less than ten miles an hour on my way to work, I jumped at the
chance to drop it into mud-flap gear and try a dirt road.
It was a little more than a lane wide, and it was going in the
right direction. There were trees all around, and when the road
began to narrow, they started to brush the windows on both sides.
I was having so much fun, though, that I didn't notice more than
an hour had passed. I was chortling, bumping along a road that
had become little more than a goat-path.
Somewhere along the seventieth minute or so, it began to
bother me. I hadn't crossed another road in over forty minutes.
The woods were dense, and I realized I hadn't even seen a house
for a few miles. I was really getting worried when the road
widened out into a clearing.
Here I was, sitting in a black Jeep Cherokee at the edge of a
clearing near God-knows-where, and across the way I spotted a man
on a horse. He was wearing the uniform of a Union soldier, one
arm was bandaged, and his sidearm was missing. Lucky for me. He
crossed himself, muttered an oath, and disappeared back into the
trees. Rationality followed him. With an absolute certainty, I
knew he wasn't involved in a re-creation.
I rested my head against the wheel for a moment, glanced at
the gas gauge. Half full. I'd used a quarter of a tank of gas
getting to wherever this was, so I guess I had enough to get back
where I belonged. Part of me wanted to push on, to satisfy my
curiosity. The rest of me was terrified, though, so I turned the
Jeep around.
Two hours later, the gas gauge was down to a quarter-tank, and
I still didn't know where I was. The road hadn't widened, the
trees still brushed my windows, and the sun seemed frozen in
place. I wasn't sure which way was which, and I was scared.
That's probably why I didn't see her until the last second.
If I hadn't been wearing my seatbelt, I'd have bounced my head
off the dashboard when I slammed on the brakes. She simply
stepped out of the woods at the side of the road, stopped in mid-
stride and stared. I stared back. She knelt, crossed her wrists
in front of her, and bowed her head.
* * *
That was many years ago. Our children are tall and strong,
the Jeep is rusted, and I'm gray-bearded. Diandara and I have
lived here, wherever here is, for three decades. Some days I walk
in the woods for hours, crossing the Road at different points. I
saw the Union soldier again, and a man in armor, and a strange
vehicle that hovered and whined.
The Road never changes.
-end-
Copyright (c) 1993 Michael Hahn