The Sun

Sometimes when you're driving, and it's hot out, and the air conditioning's busted, you lose track of time. You just drive. One hand on the wheel, one hanging out the open window, eyes glazed over as you stare ahead into the empty, sun baked road. It doesn't matter where you're going, it doesn't matter when you get there, just for now, you drive.

"Hey."

A sacred bond forms between man and machine, the constant rumble of the engine is all the music you need to keep you awake. The car is your passage to another world, another state of being, another reality...

"Hey!"

It's easy to lose focus, to slowly drift into a state of semi-consciousness as you drive. You feel like you're melting into a puddle of sweat under the relentless, endless sun, staining the seat and-

"HEY!"

That is, until someone deems it necessary to break your delicate concentration by violently shaking your arm.

"Cut that out will ya? Arm's still sore from yesterday."

"Oh shut it. Don't fall asleep. I want to get to the next refuge alive."

"Well don't break my concentration then. Drivin's a delicate business."

"Bullshit. I saw you closing your eyes."

"Whatever."

Silence again. She only talks when she needs to, that partner of mine. Pretty face, but it hides a serpent's tongue. I take my eyes off the road for a second to catch a glimpse of her. She's staring straight ahead, looking the same she always does. It's the same way we both look now; sweaty, dirty and tired. We're used to it now though. That's how it's been ever since the last job went wrong. Still, she wears the same look she always did, even before the incident.

"You know you'd be prettier if you didn't always look like someone pissed in your coffee."

"Keep your eyes on the road, asshole. Look at that sign, there's a motel coming up."

I smirk as we fly past the sign, keeping my eye out for this motel. The faint grin that is quickly replaced by a scowl is my reward for my teasing. Jean sure can be cute sometimes...

After about ten, maybe fifteen, minutes, we arrive at a beaten up, run down hotel. Back in the day Jean and I didn't wouldn't have even given this place a second glance. Now, though, it's like a castle to us.

"Jesus, I'm not sure when I last slept in a bed," Jean says as she climbs out of the car and stretches her arms.

"Let's hope we got enough to spend the night then," I reply, looking slyly my shoulder at my partner. "We might only be able to afford one bed, you know."

"You're such a perv, Joel. Come on."

I begin to follow Jean into the dusty old building, but take a quick look around the parking lot before I enter. Only one car accompanies my old rusty Dodge. It's most likely belongs to the manager of the motel. Odd that this place isn't busier, seeing as it's the only place we've seen for miles where you can probably sleep safely. The car is fairly clean for being in this desert, too. Something about this place seems... odd. I turn to point this out to Jean, but she's already inside, bickering with a large, mustachioed man in beige overalls and dark sunglasses. She doesn't seem to sense anything, so I shrug. No cars means they'll have rooms available, I suppose.

The entrance area is fairly small, furnished by a dusty rug, some dusty old chairs, and a dirty, dusty reception desk. Seems like the whole place is made of dust. Then again, what isn't these days? Ever since the incident, things haven't quite been the same. I brush some dirt off my shoes before stepping in. Just because it's already dirty doesn't mean I have to add to it. It feels to get out from under that relentless sun, even if the building isn't air conditioned.

Jean's done arguing with who I assume is the owner and comes back to me with a room key. I read the number engraved on it, 13, and can't hold back a chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Jean asks.

"13. That was the number of the vault, wasn't it?"

Jean stops and looks at me fiercely for a moment, then turns on a dime and continues walking to our room at a faster pace. Guess I struck a nerve with that one. I jog a little to catch up with her, then match her brisk, angry pace.

Our room is what you would expect; decent, but not extravagant. Two beds, one window, a bathroom that hopefully contains a shower, and a thin layer of dust and dirt over everything. Livable. Jean throws her things at the foot of one of the beds, then throws herself down onto the bed itself. I lay my own things at the foot of the other, taking a routine inventory check of all our equipment. Food, water, our guns, our money.

"You can't keep blaming yourself for what happened, Jean."

"I'm not."

"They why do you get all pissy when I talk 'bout it?"

"I just don't see what there is to talk about, Joel."

"I'm just sayin' I should be able to bring it up without you lookin' daggers at me."

I don't get an answer, so I go to look out the window. We have a nice few of the parking lot from here. That's good. You can see the heat rising up off the pavement in waves. Makes me glad we have an AC unit in our room, even if the monster sounds like a Mack truck carrying smaller Mack trucks trying to make its way up Mount Everest.

"I'm going to take a shower."

I lay back onto the bed I've claimed. Strange how tired sitting in the hot sun with your foot on the gas pedal for hours makes you. I close my eyes and feel myself slowly drifting away...

I dream. I'm dreaming of life before the incident. When we had day and night. When we weren't cursed to live out our days under this endless sun. It seems like that time was a whole 'nother life. In reality it was only about five years ago. What a time that was. We were seeing technology breakthroughs like never before. The rich were getting richer. Life was good. Relatively. Jean and I actually had jobs back then. We were the best in the business of theft. Any bank, any vault, any rich asshole's security box, we could crack it. Right up until we got screwed.

It was a job Jean took. She didn't do anything wrong. She was smart, went through all the proper background checks, just like I taught her. Problem was, they were smarter. They set us up. When we hit the vault they wanted us to, it was empty. Vault 13. I remember that night far too well. I made sure Jean got out safe, made sure she got away, but it cost me my right arm. Got it replaced with some mechanical doppelganger that was all the rage back then. Damn useful at stopping bullets.

Not too long after that, everything went to hell. Literally. Something they were doing up in space screwed with the Earth's orbit. Slowed it right down to a crawl. Now one half of the earth cooks, and the other half freezes. There's a hospitable strip right between 'em though. One side it's always night, the other side, it's always day. Right in the middle is the Twilight Zone. It's a lawless hellhole of bandits, gangsters, and generally bad company, all under the thumb of some people calling themselves the Twilight Kings. They're the most powerful people on earth right now. And they want us dead.

Thing is though, we ain't that easy to find. We've been running between the Night and Day Zones ever since the Kings put out the bounty on us. We've had a few close calls, but we're still alive. That's good enough for-

"Joel."

My dreams crash around my ears. Jean is shaking me, trying to wake me. I can hear the urgency in her voice, the panic.

"Joel, wake up. Someone's outside."

Those words, and Jean's tone, send me springing out of my bed and throwing my jacket and pants on. Jean's rushing to get dressed as well. I toss her a handgun, checking to make sure mine is loaded and ready.

"I think they're the King's men."

I can feel the slight tremble in her voice, the tiny quaver of fear, and it puts me into a cold sweat. Jean isn't afraid of anything, so if she's scared, I should be double.

"Okay," I reply, keeping my voice steady as I can. "Come on, we'll sneak out a back way or somethin'."

I open the door a crack, letting in a small ray of light. There are some men in suits and dark glasses talking with the portly owner. He's nodding and points down the hall to Room 13. Our room. The men in suits start walking. We aren't getting out this way.

"Jean," I say, turning to look at her. Her face is flushed and defiant. She's ready for a fight. "We need to go out the window."

"Okay."

I close the door, locking it and barring it with a piece of wood I bust off the old bed frame. The window isn't anything special. Just regular, single pane glass. I smash it easily with my right arm, brushing away any protruding shards of glass that might become a hazard.

"Okay, you first," I whisper, motioning her toward the window. She nods and climbs out, crouching low when she hits the ground, barely making a sound. She's a panther, where I'm more like an elephant. Jean turns and glares at me as I attempt to quietly extricate myself from the window, making the "shush" sign with her hand.

Our attempts to leave stealthily prove fruitless anyway. The suited men were close enough to hear me shatter the glass of the window. I can hear them shouting and trying to break down the door.

"Go," I shout to Jean. "Go!"

We both run to the waiting silver Dodge as fast as our tired legs will carry us. I dive into the driver seat, ripping the keys from my pocket and plunging them into the ignition. Not much time now. I twist the keys, and the engine groans in protest of being wakened from its slumber.

"Come on, come on..." I plead.

"They're coming!" shouts Jean. The suited men charge out the door, waving guns and shouting. I don't care what they have to say. We need to leave. Now.

The engine finally roars into life as the suited men open fire on us. Jean ducks as bullets shatter the passenger side window and scream past our heads.

"Shoot their tires!" I yell, firing a few wild shots to give Jean some breathing room. She works quickly. Soon all the shiny black cars are whistling through a new holes in their tire walls.

"Get us the hell out of here!" she screams at me. I need no further persuasion. My foots stomps the accelerator to the floor and we tear out of the parking lot and out onto the open road.

And a few hours later, we're back to where we were before. Just the two of us, alone on the open road, the sun beating down on our heads. And we just drive, not knowing where we're going or when we'll be able to sleep properly without fear of a bullet in our brains.

I look at Jean. She's fallen asleep, resting her head against her hand still holding tightly onto her gun. She's never told me how old she really is, but when she's asleep like this, she doesn't look older than twenty. It's not right that she had to grow up like this. I need to fix this. I need to find a place where Jean can be safe.

"Joel?" Jean mumbles to me in her half-asleep state. "When are we gonna be able to stop running?"

"I don't know Jean. Soon as we find a place to sleep where they're not gonna shoot us I s'pose."

No reply. She's asleep again.

So we drive ever towards the sun that never sets.