Chapter 1: First Turn Fold - Gold Pilot

It was a beautiful day out. Nice fall temperature – not too cold during the day, the sun warms you up but the wind bites. Perfect for what I had planned, at least. Checking the clock, I only had a few more minutes left until the weekend officially arrives. Then I could finally go out there and perform my little ritual. Just needed to push some of this last code and we’re home free. Well, no longer shackled to my desk at least. Working from home has changed the expressions around a bit but the sentiment is there. Code pushed, pull request sent, and the stress was already starting to fly away. Someone else’s problem now. I languidly stretched out from my chair, popping my back and shoulders along the way. My gear has already been packed, just need to run an errand on the way.

I slammed my truck’s tailgate shut, but only after meticulously checking my gear for a final time. Aside from picking up that last part, everything was here. Same as last week. But it’s the preparation that matters. Only after making sure, really making sure, does the anxiety melt off me. Even if I know I could make do if something does turn up missing, if you could make sure it doesn’t, why wouldn’t you? Satisfied that everything was perfect to a ‘T’, I twisted the key and gave some light encouragement to the rusty and dusty pickup. I like to think it worked hard to earn my smile, but it was just getting too old. It rumbled out of the apartment complex’s parking lot with the same enthusiasm as a slightly-too-bitter old gentleman with a cane might.

The mazes of highways that built Denver’s transportation system are absolutely flawless and work exactly as the makers intended, trapping everyone in deadlock traffic at 5 in the afternoon, only to release them an hour later, a few metric tons of gasoline lighter and only somewhat closer to their destination. The, ah, best part of city living, in my opinion. Everything’s close by, nothing’s easy to get to. Eventually I’m in Morrison, a small town that bars the backdoor, scenic route into the Rockies. The true route into the mountains – I-70 is full of crazy drivers and truckers on an 11 hour shift. No, the only drive you can take to relax is the one past Red Rocks amphitheater, through the twists and turns of mountain passes and narrow roads. I was looking forward to it, it always places me in the proper state of mind.

Sadly, I couldn’t leave civilization just yet; had to do the hard part first. Just need to grab some batteries from a gas station… Nothing wrong with that, right? Just gotta go in, grab ‘em, pay, leave. Easy as pie.

I was stopped in the station lot before I’d even realized. I was strangling the wheel, still thinking over things to make sure it was necessary. I could do without a lamp tonight. Maybe I’d even be able to make do with just the fire. It wasn’t that terrible, having to deal with a light going out in the middle of the night. Except… I was already here, and it probably won’t result in anything if I just walked in and bought the damn batteries. C’mon Will, one last thing and you won’t need to worry about it for a few trips, at least. I reluctantly slam the truck door shut behind me, then start to straighten up my---

Damn, I did forget something after all. My anxiety compounds itself for a few moments before I staunchly push it back down to the depths where it belongs. Oh well, no scarf no problem. At least I’m not wearing a V-neck or something. Right, lets get going. Make this fast. The door rings when I enter, and a clerk greets me.

“Hi there, welcome in.”

I put on a smile and nod at them in turn. So far so good.

The big ‘ole C-batteries were easy to find. Hard to miss them, actually. Gas stations don’t exactly have the widest selection. I get a snack for the road while I’m at it. Which one to choose though, chips or some candy? Ah, those magazines are kind of cool actually, that’s some vintage stuff. Gas stations don’t usually carry that kind of material anymore. Maybe I could use a drink too. No, I’m not stalling. If I was it’d be idiotic, nobody spends a lot of time in a gas station without people getting suspicious of you. Just hurry up and get this over with, Will.

I put on my best smile while I approach the counter.

“Hey, find everything all right?”

Yep, just fine. I nod at her. She scans down my items. Regular stuff so far, good, good.

“Do you have a rewards card with us?”

No, no I certainly don’t. I shake my head. Might be worth it if it stops people from—

“Alright, that’ll be fifteen-eleven, will that be cash or--…”

Ah, shit.

For the first time in the conversation, she looks up at me and sees it. The diagonal scar that slips out from the lip of my shirt. That tears along the base of my neck all the way up to a corner of my chin. It’s been months, and it still looks as though it never properly healed. I don’t blame her for staring. I sometimes stare at it in the mirror too. It’s the realization of what the scar means. That spark of understanding that crosses into her expression. The completely misplaced embarrassment she feels when she realizes she was talking to someone that can’t talk back.

Stop staring, please. The smile slips from my face, and the moment it does, she seems to realize that she’d crossed the time limit between rude and unnerving. The transaction is already done. She has the audacity to nod at me instead of saying goodbye. That’s what I hate. The cheap, surface-level attempt at empathy. My face cracks a smidge of a smile, my nod in return a little too forced. I couldn't grab my stuff and leave fast enough.

The scowl I’d fallen into faded away the moment I was back in the truck. Hard part done. I shook the tension out of my hands and gripped the steering wheel. It took a bit of coaxing before the old engine roared to life, ready to restart the journey into some of the most beautiful cliff faces there are to see in the hogbacks.

A little socialization wouldn’t kill me, but it's so much better being able to leave civilization at the door, like a pair of dirty boots. It takes an hour or two before you can get nowhere, and then there's a surprising amount of nowhere to be seen. Miles and miles of rough terrain and gloriously empty valleys. Beautiful enough to become national parks, difficult enough to stay unused. Eventually you'll even pass all of the well manicured hiking trails into real wilderness, and dirt roads.

My truck lurches over what’s turned into more pothole than road, the stress nearly too much to be healthy for how old the damn thing is. It has nearly a decade on me, but it feels like they really did build things differently back then. It's always been sturdy enough to get me where I want to be, even if it complains more than it should.

Eventually I turn off the road into an unmarked, but suspiciously cleared path. A cut in the growth of the valley just big enough for the truck to pass through with only minor jostling. After a sharp turn, it transformed into a clearing that could only be described as a mountain paradise. Maybe not to anyone else that should happen to stumble on it, I suppose. But it was mine.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

A few months ago, I had an almost obsessive need to get away from the city. While I was recovering… this place became my sanctuary of sorts. I’d felt like I was only just surviving, so I thought I’d go out and see what surviving was really like.

It took a few excursions where the answer to that question was “Why yes, Will, roughing it in the mountains does happen to be difficult," before I’d found this spot and started to make it my own, before reality came crashing back and demanded I had to come back and take control of life.

But that was then, this is now. A stream flowed down from fresh snow melt into a copse of aspen trees, the white bark and vibrant fall colors a stark contrast to the Evergreens that flank the valley, closing up the sky. A small, roughshod shed leaned into the clearing, so amateurish in construction that I nearly felt bad being as proud of it as I was. A somehow simpler lean-to storage for logs brimmed with mercifully dry wood. A blackened fire pit marked the center of the site like a sore thumb, but it was rimmed with stones and well-kept.

Somewhat newer additions were here too. Small, simple things that improved the time spent here immensely. A cot in the shed, to keep off the deceptively cold ground. A three-legged chair, when finding a large, comfortable rock or log was just too impractical. Even a hand carved bowl, crudely whittled out of a far too-small block of wood. A small collection of handmade improvements to make the challenge less daunting. More manageable. More of an escape, and less of a task. Because the biggest challenge isn’t surviving, it's thriving.

Big words from someone who had never stayed here longer than a weekend. I’d cheated plenty. A large pocket knife made quick work of the wood, and went through way more failures than successes. A well-worn fire starter dangled off my keychain. The sparks have already saved me hours of trying to rub embers into wood. And the truck was always there too. A lifeline to the rest of the world. Fully stocked with an extra gas can and another battery, too. Just in case. Cell signal was a mythical entity out here. A long hike to the closest mountainside neighbor? Painful, not even considering how it would look if a stranger that couldn’t speak showed up at your doorstep, handing you a written note asking for help. That’d be creepy as hell. No thanks. I had backups upon backups to make sure I could get back on my own.

The only thing I don’t try and take care of myself up here is food. I’d ventured out on the first few months with a hunting license and the grand idea of taking out an elk to butcher and feed myself on it for weeks. I’d never managed it. Worse still, I wouldn’t know how to butcher it even if I did manage to drop one. Nobody had ever given me experience in being an outdoorsman. I’d never held a gun in my life. I hadn’t ever tried to start a fire without a lighter and a store-bought starter. I’d thought the clear water from the stream was perfectly safe to drink, then I’d spent the first couple of days collapsed in a fever.

I’d thought it would be easy, but it turned out to be hard. It’s taken me a good chunk of time to get the basics down. I was missing the kind of experience most people get just by going camping with their folks once every few years. Hell, I didn’t even realize I was a walking danger to myself and others until a wildlife officer strongly recommended I take a gun safety course. I’d wanted to ask them about where I could find something to shoot and… well that was a very stressful day. You could only blame yourself, Will. I mean, who goes out and buys a gun without even knowing how to use it?

I shook the embarrassing memories out of my head and set the last twig down onto the pile. I’d set the tinder beneath a small teepee of wood already, all that was left was to light it and start placing down some larger kindling. I unfolded a weighty pocket knife and struck down on the strip of striker at an angle. Sparks flew, but only caught onto a bit of fluff after I struck it a few more times. I bent over, blowing gently into the embers. Within seconds, it blossomed into a fire large enough to start chipping away at the dry branches. Sitting back a moment, I added a log to the side to hopefully pick up the flames. I couldn’t help but smile at the success. It’d taken me so much longer to do this way back then.

I angled my head around, thinking I heard something off in the distance. It felt like a small whisper the trees sometimes made when a gust of wind was passing by. The way the pines sway never sound like other trees. More rattle instead of the familiar soft rumble. It still caught me off guard, sometimes. I glanced back down at the firepit and frowned. If the log is placed like that, it won’t catch easily. Airflow’s all wrong. Just have to add another one on the opposite side and keep a channel for the air to flow through. Should light both up nicely.

The day was already getting dark. The Sun doesn’t like staying out too long during the fall. I idly thought about the challenges winter would bring soon. How I could start upgrading the hut, maybe rebuild it like a teepee around the firepit to try and keep warm. I might have to bring a 0-degree sleeping bag, the current one won’t cut it if it gets much colder than this. Plus, the snow. That’ll be a royal pain. It melted fast enough that it wasn’t too much of an issue the first time around, but once it starts to stick down here in the valleys… I need to make sure the truck is up for the task. Speaking of.

I grabbed an electric lantern from the back of the rust bucket, along with the freshly bought batteries. Quickly swapping out the old for the new, I confirmed that it worked well enough before switching it off and tossing it into the small shed. No more stumbling around the woods at midnight for bathroom breaks. Well worth the effort to get them. The small, invasive thought brought up a soundless sigh.

The whole reason I’m out here is to avoid that particular problem, not think more about it. But it felt like the thoughts just wouldn’t leave my head. I just wish for some more mundane problems, that’s all.

Now that was a wish the world was happy to grant. The valley shook. Evergreens started to sway without wind, and the rushing water in the stream began to change in pitch, sloshing from side to side. I instantly lost my balance, scuffing my jeans on the packed dirt. An earthquake? It was soundless, but the entire valley shifted, in a way that felt like someone had cut the world in half and we were sliding down a slope. Just as quickly, it jolted to a stop, sending me tumbling for a few rolls. The truck bounced on its suspension, groaning under the shift. Everything was still. The fire sputtered, jumbled but not out of the pit. Cautiously, I pulled myself up and dusted off my jeans. A chorus of birds stirred up a racket off in the distance as they took flight, just as startled as I was.

That didn't feel like a quake… I peered up at the mountain peaks, completely expecting to see an enormous cavalcade of rocks pouring down the slope. There was nothing for moments, just a thick covering of trees obscuring rocky ridges where the loose gravel had already accumulated at the base. Then I saw a flicker in my eye, some half-seen movement on a higher, more distant peak.

I blinked slowly, not entirely sure what I’d seen. Water? A flowing mass of liquid cascading over each mountain in the far distance, swarming over the terrain with a truly ridiculous speed. My brain shutdown entirely.

An entire ocean's worth of something was flowing its way towards me. Towards everything. I saw another crashing wave far off in a different direction, then another, each bounding over the peaks and flooding the valleys in a vibrant blue light. I just… sat down. And watched. As it got closer, and closer, and—

It cascaded over the nearest peak, a tidal wave of brilliant light which was definitely not water. It crushed the sky and suppressed the earth, shoving its way into my little valley. At the last moment, I closed my eyes, awaiting that final feeling of… nothing.

I opened my eyes in shock. Nothing. The light flowed through me, past me, saturating the world in blue for moments before dimming down to the regular hues of late afternoon sunlight.

Okay. Well. That was certainly a thing. I patted myself down, not entirely sure I was lucid. Or in one piece. But everything seemed normal, which was a surprise because I’d absolutely expected something extraordinary to –

--Integration Phase Beginning--

Indexing and Compiling Results

(34%)...

Just a moment…

Ah, there it is.