What I Did On My Summer Vacation
Or, Burn Before Reading, a Deviant Hunt
June 12 - near Mesquite
Stopped for the night off the highway- the desert’s not bad when it’s cool. Just spending the night in just the stars and sagebrush. The stars are numerous and the splash of milk arching across the sky is breathtaking. It’s beautiful.
June 13 - North of Kayenta
I don’t mind being alone and with my thoughts, and the night is comforting even as the terrain changes into towering buttes, burning bright as the sunset fades. I hear the animals rustling in the stand of sweetgrass along the creek and the cry of coyote in the distance.
Still sometimes before falling asleep, I hear “Who are you?” and I don’t know if it’s my voice or someone else’s. It cuts through my attempt to slip into dreams like a knife.
Anyway, it’s easier to process when there’s nothing but the world rather than a big city full of surprises. At least right now.
June 14 - North of Kayenta
I wish I could stay out like this, even if just for a little longer. I know this is just a brief mental rest so I’m not overwhelmed- my brain has to process everything I’ve seen and about myself, and being dropped into the world is a hard start. Or restart more likely.
The world is patient with me out here, the summer rain is hard but refreshing. It could rinse everything away and leave me as no one. Was that what happened? Did I get so bad I needed to be rinsed clean to start over? The rain washes away that sort of worry, too.
I know deep down I need to return, or at least keep moving to other towns and cities. If this is my gift or my curse, I think there’s a purpose to it; either way, I am supposed to look after people.
Heh. How terrible that most people live in cities. There are some ancient ones near here, I am told, but they do not compare. I’m sure there were big cities across the world in the past that are long gone, but would they feel like today? Either way, maybe it was good to come down from that place into Ft. Collins rather than a major metropolis. I’m pretty lucky thinking about it this way.
June 15 - Mancos
Also, I still need to eat. Gathering opuntia fruit and nopales and washing it down with piñon tea does not quite make a rounded diet. I seem to know how to prepare a meal but on the road, it means going into towns. I took a brisk swim in the morning, right at dawn, to clean up a bit before going to breakfast.
Diners are magnificent. This leads to overhearing interesting stories, things folks might not share with their neighbor but will with someone just passing through. Like today:
The waitress giving the gossip in Spanish while pouring your coffee. The old couple reminiscing about traveling Route 66, the feeling of which, I gather, can still be seen in some stretches. An artist working on her sketches of desert flora, glad from a compliment. The cowboys teaching their sons the stories of drives in the past over pancakes, honest dirt on their boots and sweat on their hatbands.
It’s like small doses to help me orient to the world again. Even if I don’t know who I am, I can know them.
Unfortunately for today, the patrons at the diner here also say that there’s a biker gang around town that’s gotten pretty rowdy. Might just check it out.
June 16 - Mancos
Followed up with some of the regulars at the bar downstairs in this old hotel I’m in. People are a bit cagey but willing to warn travelers about the bikers at least, tell ‘em to pull over if they’re trying to pass on the highway curves and not get in their way. Said I’m staying anyway, though I did not share my business in town when asked. Just led to an incredulous look like no one ever has business in town.
They aren’t ready to hear that the gang might be my business in town.
Anyways, the folks here indicate there is something strange with the gang’s leader. Minor mutant or something. Strong. Charismatic son of a bitch.
June 17 - Mancos
Finally found some rowdiness. Helped pick up the broken glass and got a couple of rounds in the bar as thanks. I Got called an idiot though, because they’ll be back. I know I’ve been made. That’s kind of the point. Sometimes people won’t learn without a showdown of some sort.
June 18 - Mancos
Finally had a first encounter with the leader. Something about this guy seems off. Not a run-of-the-mill mutant. If I could put words to it, it’s like the smell before food goes off. The smell right before milk sours, or when you shouldn’t eat that chicken. I have an older word for this, deep down in the language I woke up with.
How the hell do I know what I mean by this? What does knowing someone is about to rot actually mean?
June 19 - Mancos
The cuts from last night are mostly healed up. One of the gals tending bar thought I was going to need stitches, and noticed I was much improved today. She is a little more observant than I gave her credit. Maybe she can be a help though. Good heart for this little town.
Anyway, quiet tonight after all the ruckus yesterday. Folks coming in said they heard the gang going towards the old mine, maybe gathering up the mountain. Can’t go just yet, need to gather whatever information exists on them.
Got some of their names from the bartender. The sheriff indicated one of them had a record, and maybe skipped bail- he knew of one for sure had in Durango- it’s a good tip. There’s this program or something on the computer, when I’m on the internet, I can put the names in and see if they are wanted or have a running bounty. A few of them broke bail, so, there’s a route to taking in a few of them as examples. Or picking them off one by one.
I’m low on cash, so, if they aren’t too tough to take in, it could help me get to Atlanta.
June 20 - Mancos
Managed to cut off one of the gang for information. He wouldn’t say much but I got lucky to take him in at least because he broke bail on a DUI charge. 10% isn’t a lot, but a couple hundred should cover gas and food for a little while.
A few thousand though is needed for Atlanta. My past self was figuring out clues and established some semblance of a life with the fuller identities. If I can save up enough I can walk back into that life more easily, at least to get oriented and figure out what I was on to. There’s got to be a reason I was staying in Georgia.
And if I’m really lucky, apprehending one of them will put the others on edge and lure them out.
LATER
I take that back.
It’s almost morning - heading out. Just a note in case it all goes to hell.
One of the crew, a younger fellow, practically threw himself into the downstairs bar screaming murder. Meant it - the guy was half killed. Said his boss did it. He was crying about their gang leader changing, mutating, or some shit.
The gal bartending, Esmeralda Alvarez, asked him but wasn’t he already a mutant?
The kid said, not like this, he wasn’t. He had abilities. Persuasive and strong. But now he’s transforming. Then he just wretched up over everything. Esme took care of him after he passed out. (Worry about his bounty later - misdemeanors, but one had while in possession of a firearm tacked onto it.)
Going to follow the tracks - the leader, he’s called Kasey Snell - was spotted heading SxSW from town.
I could smell it on him. The madness. The stink of future death. He’s already gone rotten.
This is another word in the language inside my brain… and hunt.
This is the hunt.
June 21 - towards Dolores
Direction change - Continuing NW
June 22 - towards Lone Mesa
NxNE above Dolores - roads servicing reservoirs on the mesa.
June 25 - Cortez
Been a few days following sightings in the state parks. KS has some anger issues. Ripping up things along HWY 145. Not too hard to track. Local said he’s holed up in some old lady’s barn. Got to act on this before he catches wind and moves again. Can’t rest now.
I’ll need to get the details on where the barn is, and then go over with any volunteers. Hopefully, it goes quick. Hopefully, we take him alive.
But something tells me this hunt for rot ends one way and one way only.
LATER
KS does not have anger issues. Not anymore. Though if there’s any scrap of his mind under all of that pulsing flesh, I wouldn’t blame him for having anger issues.
KS is.. is there a word for it? Molting? He is changing shape. Tearing through himself. Shedding his old flesh. It made it hard to see that he was eating the old lady.
I’m going to vomit thinking about it.
Got the others out of its way but now have to follow alone - I can see it in the creek gully below where we are up on the plateau.
Got to go calmly now - don’t rush in and get killed already.
LATER
Gone. Shit! It couldn’t climb like that before!
[Heading NW]
July 3 - Dove Creek
I know it’s been a week or so. I’ve been bad at journaling. It’s like an intense focus. I have to pay attention and cannot manage the record. Not a good thing if it turns bad for me. I need to record what happens.
KS keeps changing. I will continue to follow. I’m just not a good tracker. KS lost all rational thought as of our last encounter. It must be destroyed.
July 4 - Monticello
Narrow escape. For both of us.
So close! I can taste a victory but we are not there yet. I know it poses a grave threat to anyone in its path. It must be stopped. I will have to think ahead of it and consider where - or to whom - it might be headed. If it’s not thinking straight it might go to someone or someplace it trusts or feels at home, something that feels safe. KS would have known these roads and this terrain. It could hide in the canyons for ages.
July 5 - Monticello
Got a packet of info on its record and ongoing cases against it. Looking through the information from the bail bondsman, it has a mother in Moab. She shouldn’t suffer by seeing her child like this. It needs to be destroyed before it can reach its childhood home.
Just need a few hours here, I can feel my body aching, wanting food and rest. It needs it, but I can’t let it get to town. Each moment I take for myself is a mile it gets closer to people.
Still, it is trying to get to its mother, isn’t it? Trying to get somewhere safe from the bottom of whatever brain function it has left?
It’s headed North. It has to be headed there. Maybe been doing that for a while. Instinct remembers when the brain forgets.
On to Moab.
July 6 - Moab
Couldn’t catch up until it made it to town. But it’s over now.
I could sleep for a week.
July 7 - Moab
Couldn’t put words to it before.
It was standing there in the middle of the street. At first, it held onto some semblance of a human shape. The people went inside after seeing its monstrosity. It kept changing form, over and over, shedding blood and tissue each time, like it didn’t know who or what it had become. There would be no taking this in. Just need to put it down and find something to identify who it used to be.
The small-town police went inside with the civilians. This was in their defense, too. Everyone’s. All of ours. It is not tolerated.
I seem to have no ammo left. It all went into that thing. It took several bullets to each head before going down. Wasn’t keeping track of the rest.
Its mother thanked me for ending its suffering. She seems human. Nothing feels wrong with her.
I took a few hits from it. Hurts like hell. Small price to pay. We will sleep easy tonight, won’t we?
July 8 - Durango
I felt so sure of myself earlier. Physically ill and shaking today, so stopped early, only backtracking my route. What the fuck was that? Is this who I am?
July 13 - Durango
Out for days again.
I’m in a motel with cedar-paneled walls and furniture. Real cozy. Chewing hard on a native rustica cigarillo to think through it.
I don’t even know why I’m writing this. Maybe writing helps get out the thoughts, it’s not just a record. Maybe this will just get burned. But, if I burn it, I might need to burn the rest, just burn everything else that I have been writing before I read it again.
I read the entire account of this summer so far and, if I didn’t know better, I’d say I was crazy. But it feels so right. It felt right. I am so sure of it’s rightness even now but part of me is appalled by what I did. What it might mean to do what I did.
KS was a person. A son. Yes, a criminal, but an individual. Someone with a soul if given half a chance. I feel so sorry for his mother to have to watch that horror and know that she had outlived her child. I was so cold to her. What on earth did I do?
Then I remember KS’s roiling flesh and knowing without a doubt that the person in there was gone, that KS was never really human and certainly would never recover. Like he might shoot lighting all of a sudden like that was a real possibility, not some anxious fantasy or justification. KS was… wrong, some deviation from the experience of humanity and needed to be destroyed.
This too has a word in the language at the bottom of my thoughts, but not in American English or Spanish. Ultimately it becomes an act of mercy, but that connotes a cruel kindness. I feel a boiling in my bones like justified hate.
I read through our journals, and there are places where pages have been cut or torn out. I am such an idiot for not noticing. I’ve done this before. Over and over. And hidden it from myself, over and over.
I have a horrible feeling that I am capable of far more.
I have a terrible feeling that I like this.
I am so good at this. I am made for this.
Who the fuck am I?