Does anyone remember the “free”way as a kid? I grew up in a small town in Wyoming, a place forgotten by time and the rest of the world. Our town, which had a population of around 5,000 people in the 90’s, was different from other places. You see, the US government had quarantined us, and no one could leave. Businesses had abandoned the town, and government-owned markets were all we had for supplies. I was born right after this happened, and I grew up knowing nothing but the world inside the quarantine.
There was only one way in and out of our town - a single road that stretched for miles, surrounded by what used to be farms. This road was nicknamed the “free”way because it was believed to be a path to freedom for those who dared to travel it. I remember seeing hundreds of townsfolk, desperate to escape the confines of our town, attempting to traverse the “free”way. None of them ever returned.
When I turned 13, I decided it was my turn to try. I was young and selfish back then, and I convinced myself that my family would be better off without me. I packed a backpack with everything I thought I’d need - clothes, food, a knife, and a flashlight - and said goodbye to my parents, my brother, and my sister, all of whom I left sleeping soundly in their beds.
I snuck out of the house just before dawn, the air crisp and fresh, as the first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon. I made my way through the town, my sneakers scuffing against the cracked pavement as I walked. The streets were empty, and the only sounds were the distant calls of birds and the echo of my footsteps. It felt like the entire town was holding its breath, waiting to see if I would succeed.
The “Firing Men,” as we called them, guarded the perimeter of the town and the entrance to the “free”way. They were heavily armed soldiers who wore dark uniforms and always seemed on edge. I had heard rumors that they shot anyone who tried to leave the town without permission. However, they never patrolled the streets, and there were no military vehicles to be seen - only helicopters that occasionally flew overhead.
As I approached the edge of town, my heart pounded in my chest, and my palms grew slick with sweat. I knew what I had to do: I had to make a break for it, to run as fast as I could and hope that I could make it past the Firing Men.
I took a deep breath, gathered my courage, and sprinted towards the “free”way. My legs pumped furiously, and my lungs burned as I pushed myself harder than I ever had before. The Firing Men must have spotted me because I heard shouts and the sound of boots pounding the ground close behind me.
But then, something strange happened. As I reached a certain point, the Firing Men stopped chasing me. They didn’t shoot, and they didn’t continue to pursue me. It was as if there was an invisible line they refused to cross. I didn’t have time to question it, though. I kept running, my heart soaring with a strange mix of fear and exhilaration.
The “free”way stretched out before me, a seemingly endless expanse of cracked asphalt and parched earth. I had made it past the Firing Men, but the journey ahead was daunting. I knew that the road would be long and treacherous, and there was no guarantee that I would make it to the other side.
But I did not let that deter me. I was determined to find freedom, to escape the oppressive town that had been my entire world. I pressed on, walking for hours under the blazing sun, the heat shimmering off the pavement and distorting the horizon.
As I walked, I noticed that the landscape around me began to change. The once-familiar fields and trees were replaced by twisted, gnarled vegetation and an unsettling silence. No birds sang, and even the wind seemed to have died down. A palpable sense of dread settled over me, but I couldn’t let it stop me. I had come too far to turn back now.
The “free”way seemed to stretch on forever, and as I walked, my exhaustion grew. My legs ached, and my throat was parched, but I forced myself to keep moving. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching me, urging me to give up and turn back, but I refused to let it win.
As the day wore on, the darkness began to encroach upon the road. The shadows lengthened, and the already eerie atmosphere grew even more oppressive. My heart raced, and a cold sweat broke out across my brow. I couldn’t help but feel that the darkness was alive, reaching out for me, trying to drag me back to the cursed town I had left behind.
Despite my growing terror, I pressed on, forcing my weary legs to carry me further down the “free”way. As the darkness grew thicker, I began to hear whispers in the wind, voices that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. They taunted me, telling me I would never escape, that I would be forever trapped in this nightmare.
I tried to ignore the voices, but they grew louder and more insistent. The darkness seemed to close in around me, and I felt as though I was being smothered by an unseen force. It was then that I felt the first sting.
A black, fuzzy caterpillar appeared on my arm, seemingly out of nowhere, its tiny body writhing as it stung me. The pain was sharp and intense, and I swatted at the creature in a panic. But as soon as I brushed it away, another took its place, and then another, and another.
The caterpillars swarmed over me, their stinging bites driving me to the brink of madness. I fought against them, clawing at my skin in a desperate attempt to rid myself of the creatures. I stumbled and fell, my body wracked with pain as the caterpillars continued their relentless assault.
In that moment of agony and despair, I remembered the pocket knife I had brought with me. With trembling hands, I drew the blade and began to slice through the writhing mass of caterpillars. Their numbers seemed endless, but I refused to give up. I hacked and slashed, my entire being focused on one goal: survival.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the caterpillars began to retreat. Their numbers thinned, and I was able to force myself to my feet. My body was a mass of welts and cuts, but I had survived. I had broken through.
As I stood there, gasping for breath, I realized that the darkness had receded. I was no longer on the “free”way, but standing at the edge of a cliff, a dirt road leading off into the abyss. The warmth of the sun was gone, replaced by a biting cold that sent shivers down my spine. I looked back, expecting to see the way I had come, but all I saw was the familiar arid plain behind me. The “free”way had vanished.
Since then, I’ve been living in the real world.