The Enthusiasts

3

Emerson stood atop the first of several tall buildings he would need to traverse if he intended to make good on his agreement to meet Sasha by Raven's Tower, regardless of how unlikely the odds may be that she had made it there.

Her last-minute diversion at the data center had worked well, allowing him to retreat to safety through the facility's underground aqueduct system. After waiting for an hour at the drainage ditch they'd entered from, he concluded that she'd been detained. His Quick-Dry enhanced overcoat deserved another moment of praise for staving off hypothermia as he trudged through the snow pile outside of the aqueduct. With its airtight waterproofing technology, his pack also proved to be a miracle worker in keeping his gear dry. But, as he observed his surroundings from the secluded perch above the city, he remembered that his luck seemed to be running thinner and thinner as of late. He made the conscious effort to trust that what he needed would continue to manifest on its unknowable schedule.

Inquisitiveness was his nature, almost to the point where it became his master. His inherent fear and discomfort of the unknown was often driven out of him under the cracking whip of his determination to experience the illumination of discovery in his environment. He didn't want to look over the side of the high-rise for two reasons: 1. What he might see; and 2. His fear of heights had grown outright debilitating for him today. He realized he would have to eventually look down, and so he did.

A mass graveyard of abandoned vehicles paved the streets below for several blocks before thinning out closer to the Spectra compound main gates seen up ahead with Raven's Tower appearing as a personalized destination marker for him to follow. Cars ranging from compact to midsize in every make and model produced in the modern age were crushed, crumpled, and dumped into the street like an over-filled waste basket. Scooters, bicycles, motorcycles, and shopping carts added their artistic components to the dense scene of vehicular depravity. It could pass for a set on The Walking Dead, with The Sketch basically acting as zombies as far as Emerson was concerned. Emerson had read and watched some of the "dystopian fantasy" media that was popularized in the late 1900s through mid-2000s, but today he found no wanting for it in his mind. Situations and circumstances in those stories hit too close to home. Were the writers of such fiction acting as a guileless Nostradamus in their day? Predictors of futures and fates? he wondered.

He was certain of a rich, dependable history featuring much better times for the people of Earth, in great contrast from what society had become subjected to now. Most of the historical data from the previous generations had been lost, stolen, or discarded to his best educated guess; yet, he counseled himself independently, he just happened to be born and raised in a "valley", and Emerson felt it was his job, his obligation, to begin the climb up the hillside of human evolution again. And I'll carry the rest of society on my back if need be.

Once again, taking in the scene of the post-carnage-stricken streets below, he desperately wanted the director of this apocalyptic mini-series to yell "cut!" so he could take five, check out the snack table layered in tiny club sandwiches, and refresh himself with an espresso shot while sitting in hair and makeup.

"Mr. Myshkin would like to head to his trailer!" Emerson spoke loudly, letting his voice carry through the open air around him as he felt so close to the clouds on this cool winter's afternoon. So close I could touch one, he thought, reaching with outstretched fingers to clasp at the empty air streaming around him at such a height. The craziness was setting in again, the kind where he endangered his safety for the sake of amusing himself. Not smart, his sane self reminded his insane self, while sane self attempted to regain control of this wayward ship.

The rooftop path, unlike below, looked clear of potential turmoil. Habitually, he pulled the straps of his backpack tighter around his shoulders; and next, secured the fanny pack he had chosen to wear today around his waist with a few extra supply items held inside. He didn't love the way it hung down over the waistband of his cargo pants in the front when he walked, but they had planned this trip for so long back at camp that additional "must-haves" kept creeping into his carry-ons.