21st Century Bogatyr: A Detour Through the Fire

"We are asleep

with compasses

in our hands"

W. S. Merwin

by Zvi Baranoff

We sat in a back room of the Red Sea Bar and Grill. We had a full spread of Italian and Ethiopian food and the privacy we needed. Frank drank the Dago Red House blend. I stuck to seltzer, still a bit wary of alcohol in any form.

We had a lot to work through. First, of course, involved counting and divvying up the money at hand. The math required was all thoroughly convoluted, with the further complications of the various currencies and their fluctuating value. Even without that consideration, there was still plenty to unwind.

Everyone needs a taste. Not everyone would receive an equal share, but each needed to feel that they were being treated fairly. There were expenses to deduct. There was now a fortune spread out across the continent, out on credit. That would require tracking, collecting and an ongoing distribution.

We spent hours counting bills and moving them about in piles and eventually settling all of our immediate local expenses. Then, we worked late into the night divvying up the responsibility of tracking our action that was by now stretching across the continent.

It was nearly dawn when we exited the back door of the Red Sea. I was very tired but satisfied that we had done all that was needed for the time being. With a little luck, in six or so months we would be flush.

As anxious as I was to go home, there were still a couple more necessary stops. I had also made a Holy Vow that I would visit Dave in Tennessee. Granted, I made that promise in a moment of extreme anxiety bordering on terror. Nonetheless, a promise is a promise, especially of this sort.

My word is my bond, or something like that. Anyway, I intended to keep that oath. I retrieved my vehicle from the parking garage and set the automated pilot to a Hyperloop Station where I could jump in the general direction of Dave's spread.

As worn raw as I was by that point, I was quite willing to let the car drive itself. By then, I wasn't even pondering on how much I dislike the computer driving or even contemplating the psychic and physical derangement that traveling by hyperloop entails. I was just exhausted beyond even being fussy and whiny, in spite of my natural inclination.

So, I gasped a bit, I inadvertently held my breath, and I swallowed back the bile as my car dropped down what had once been a mining shaft and is now a portal into the hyperloop system.

The car re-emerged in the foothills of Tennessee. The smoke from the fires reduced visibility. It instantly irritated my lungs and made my eyes scratchy to the point of tears. The air was thick and clawed at my throat.

The formerly seasonal fires were now nearly year round. It was mid day but the sunlight was filtering through an overcast of smoke and presented an otherworldly orange glow. On arrival, this is quite disorienting.

The locals seem to take it in stride. They have acclimated over the years. Everyone compensates with masks and backup oxygen. Every vehicle carries fire fighting equipment and heat reflection survival gear. All the locals have a grayish tint to their skin and the raspy voices formerly attributed to blues musicians.

I set my coordinates. I coughed and wiped my eyes. The car drove towards Woodpecker Flats. I watched the fires lapping at the edges of the tarmac.