Decline and Fall of Alternative Civilization

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  Takeoff:

  From the Denny's parking lot was a 24-hour drive to Austin with no more gigs until they reached the city itself. The longest leg of the trek, and barring a repeat visit from the Capper, any other mishaps or bad weather, the caravan's ETA was late Monday afternoon. With hangovers fading, there had been no horror scenarios, arguments or settings of psychological time bombs, no emergencies worse than bladder or hunger drills. The trip had been damn fun so far. Though losing an hour between zones, time was on their sides and the entire caravan relished the marathon. June had first shift, one of the guys would spell her later, there were plenty of tapes to listen to, no dearth of rest areas, and eastbound Interstate 10 could be a fabulously boring drive.

  By sunset, and past the eerie rockscapes of Texas Canyon, the two vehicles chased shadows stretching away from a solar fireball, running away from a nuclear blast. Dusk ahead dimming into opaque nightfall, twilight behind losing its glow, they raced away from the waxing disc of a new moon traveling its Newtonian path toward full phase. It was the profound movement that the ancients had already dealt with, and created mathematics from, and created science from, and created philosophy from, and created religion from; and it may be proven that, in the beginning, the menstrual myths came before it all. It was no mystery religion was going through a modern-day crisis at the crux of faith. In the back rooms of the Matriarchy the variations on the old riddle were gestating: Which came first? The monotheology or the egg? The travelers were compressing time like a baseball player winding up for the pitch, and in Arizona, daylight doesn't save, it disappears.

  At the junction of a smaller highway, a dirty hulk of an old Mustang sat with its hood open. It was barely visible in the last particles of daytime and no one noticed until they were practically even with it. As if not existing at all, save within a radius of 200 feet. Legs and feet stuck out from beneath it, a sneaking glow of illumination from within the engine compartment provided the merest hint of detail. Prez, on shotgun, considered stopping to give aid but already it was gone. Not even a shadow. He shrugged; June drove on.