Though it probably isn’t obvious the following short story was inspired by Jack Schaefer’s book Shane. It was written for a workshop, the requirements being it had to include the quote …

“I leave you, to go the road we all must go. The road I would choose, if only I could, is the other.”

Which comes from Murasaki Shikibu’s, The Tale of Genji https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/7042.The_Tale_of_Genji a book I admit I haven’t read. The piece also had to be under 800 words. I chopped the quote up and played with it to make it better fit the story I wanted to tell. I had planned to return to this story, but as of yet I haven’t managed to do anything further with it.

Saquin Point

We came late to Saquin Point. Not a bad thing, for if we had been early or indeed on time, I wouldn’t be here to reflect upon what we found. The fire must have died before we passed over the range that separated the town from the Shifting Plains. So, we saw no tell-tale plume of smoke. It was around midday, so likewise we didn’t note an absence of lights. From our vantage point, the town was just a smudge on the horizon.

The first hint of anything untoward came as we passed an outer lying farm, it was mechanised so it wasn’t unusual not to see a soul, but it was odd that the large machines which tended the crops stood idle. Solomon who was taking point radioed the convoy.

‘Eyes right guys,’ there was a tightness to his usually relaxed drawl.

I glanced at the field and spotted what he was referring to, in large black letters someone had scribed on the side of a disabled piece of machinery.

The Gods love Chaos

We debated who the artist might have been as we continued down the road. I suspected it wasn’t the handy work of bored teenagers, but as things were it didn’t really give me cause for concern. Solomon and Nessa, however, were both spooked by the graffiti.

A mob of barking dogs greeted us at the edge of town. We stopped, puzzled by the pack and they distracted us, preventing us from properly taking in our surroundings. I didn’t note the lack of vehicles, I didn’t consider the absence of people or the silence. It was Maya who woke us up to the oddity of the situation, she tossed a half-eaten apple at the closest dog and pulled the pistol she wore on her hip.

I thought she was going to shoot the dog and snapped at her to leave the thing alone. She threw me a withering look.

‘Catch up Bryan.’

I finally took in the ghost town, the silence, and the faint smell of smoke. We left Nessa and Burke to watch the convoy and proceeded on foot, slinking from building to building, guns in our hands. We can handle ourselves; you don’t travel the highways with valuable cargo if you can’t, but still I felt uneasy and I kept thinking back to the message in the field.

As we approached the town centre, signs of violence started to appear. Bullet holes splashed along a wall, burnt buildings, looted stores, an overturned electric wagon and dried blood on the pavement.

The remains of a huge bonfire stained the town square, where once a baobab tree brought all the way from earth had grown. More words had been painted here, encircling the ashes.

The road I would choose, if only I could, is the other

We searched what was left of the pyre. I did so with my heart in my mouth, expecting to find charred remains, but nobody had been burnt in the flames. Thoroughly unnerved we stood in a clump as I checked in with the convoy, but only static answered my hail. Ashen faced, Maya started to talk, but she was cut off by the blaring of a horn, to be precise the airhorn from Solomon’s rig. Its shrill scream came from the opposite side of town, not from the Shifting Plains Road, where we had left the convoy.

Now we moved quickly, rushing through the streets, the horn crying constantly. At the edge of town, we found more graffiti, this time on the side of the school.

I leave you, to go the road we all must go

The horn reduced to a faded ringing in my ears, as I studied the words – did I want to understand what the scribe was saying? A loud retching sound drew me back. It was Maya emptying her guts over her worn boots. Beyond her Solomon was running, pounding down the middle of the road. In the distance, I could see his rig, it sat blocking the highway. I was about to follow when my brain caught up and I properly took in my surrounds. The poles that flanked the road, and which initially I had dismissed as being related to some construction project – the things that hung upon them, not things, people. The people of Saquin Point, they lined the road that led out of town, their throats slit, their eyes gouged out, their hands and feet hacked off.

I started to run, chasing Solomon down the road, refusing to look at the grim and silent honour guard, as I rushed past them. I caught up with Solomon moments after he silence the horn. He tumbled from the vehicle cab, his face a mask. ‘No Nessa, no Burke,’ he choked.

In blood on the side of his truck someone had carefully written,

Which road will you choose?

© Juliet Robinson 2023, all rights reserved