Well, I'm at my new home, and in a new job. Things have finally settled, so updates should run a bit smoother. This is a small one, the first half of the fourth chapter, working to establish the climax of the novel. I hope you all enjoy it.
There's been a massive surge of visitors these past few weeks or so, which is really satisfying to see, and there's been a big increase in the number of books bought, which is awesome. In case you missed it, you can pick up your own copy of the entire ebook, using the links on the right, for only $1.25. If that feels too measly for such a volume of work, then by all means, please donate through paypal. Or read it all for free, when I manage to get the updates online.
If your one of the many new visitors, don't forget that the whole thing starts right here.
Anyway, I'll post the next update on Thursday, September 10th.
Enjoy your week,
Dave
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4
Most of the ride back into Pittsburgh passes without much event. Martin and I make small talk, but we’re both too preoccupied with the concluding drama at Saul’s home to progress much father than that.
And although it’s a touchy subject, Martin asks me again, after a couple of hours on the road, “So what are we going to do in the city?”
It’s only a touchy subject because I don’t know the answer.
I think maybe I once understood my plan, but now, in the face of what’s happened, I’m no longer so sure. If nothing else, the conflict with Saul has served to emphasize how helpless this situation is. I’m no longer actively trying to improve my situation because I feel like nothing I can do will ever help. Ultimately, Martin and I are fucked no matter what. So instead, I simply glide along, wherever the road may lead. I make gestures of action and defiance, but little more. Taking Martin under my wing was all along, perhaps, only a gesture. It’s a gesture to nobody in particular, maybe only to myself, and indicates that I’m progressing somewhere and working towards something – whatever that is. Returning to the burnt out city of Pittsburgh is only another one of these gestures, because it proves to the world that I’m doing something. I’m aware of the futility of it all as I drive the truck south, down frozen, dead, aimless roads, but I don’t know what else to do.
So I don’t reply to the boy’s question and he doesn’t push the subject any further. We both know the answer, so we sit in silence.
Hours pass, and we eventually enter the city boundary again, driving through the northern edge of Pittsburgh, back towards Downtown, and like I said, it’s not because there’s anything there, it’s because this feels like the logical thing to do. Of course, it feels logical that we should head Downtown. If anything were to happen, that’s where it would be, right? But when Pittsburgh was still alive, only weeks ago, Downtown was a pure anomaly. During the daytime, it was busy mainly because of all the offices there. Retail and living in the Downtown area was almost non-existent. In the evenings, most of the area’s life stemmed from the theatres in the cultural district and at the baseball and football stadiums across the Allegheny River. And that was it – all of the life in Pittsburgh centered in the Strip, or the Southside, or Oakland, Shadyside, Squirrel Hill… So I doubt this would be the centre of events at all, but returning there simply feels like the right thing to do.
At this moment, on this clear day next to Martin in this rusting red monster of a vehicle and miles from anywhere, we can see how much fire damage Downtown has suffered. And behind it, swathes of the Hill and Strip District smolder. From miles away, we can see the rising smoke and ash.
It takes hours to make it through the northern end of the city. We have to leave the parkway, because of the abandoned cars that block huge sections of the road, and instead take the smaller roads and intermediary links. As we cross the Fort Duquesne Bridge, the fire damage astounds us. Many of the trademark high rises of Downtown Pittsburgh are now little more than charred, smoking monoliths, gutted on all sides, their contents spewed out onto the streets below. Anonymous debris clutters any spare space on the streets, blackened and destroyed.
I idle the truck on the bridge exit, and we take a moment to catch our breath and digest the surreal vision. I almost expect devils to fly out of the holes in these charred towers. The sight is so bizarre, dark, and hellish, the sight of winged nightmares wouldn’t seem in the slightest bit misplaced. This is straight out of Lovecraft.
Careful to avoid debris on the road, I roll the truck forwards, across the cluttered bridge, and into Downtown.
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