to the end of the earth

The windshield, seemingly miles away from the cargo hold in which I sat, was the only portal to the outside world, our only way of knowing whether we were still alive on Earth. The world’s darkness was disorienting, all-consuming, absolutely maddening.

I couldn’t see the vapor of my breath hanging in the air, but I knew for sure it was there. The winter world outside was well below freezing and the metal shell of the van provided little insulation or protection against the frigid night. If anything, it made us colder, refrigerated cadavers of the living dead. The woolen blankets wrapped tightly around my fellow travelers and me rubbed and scraped against our nearly numb skin, itching and burning, that raw irritation the only way we could know our nerves were still somewhat awake, that we were still somewhat alive. This discomfort was the only comfort they could provide; they certainly weren’t warm, and were deeply permeated with a nauseating blend of stale cigarette smoke, sweat, and urine. We were disgusting, but alive.

Huddling together had initially helped to retain our collective body heat, but that had been lost long ago on this seemingly never-ending journey. The emotional comfort had also long worn away, as camaraderie and hope passed away into fear and hopeless despair. In this pile of humanity, we were each utterly alone.

I couldn’t make out the time on the dashboard clock, but it’s eerie blue glow illuminated our captors' faces enough to read the emotions that crossed them -- all quiet for now. Earlier in the journey I’d seen flashes of anger, overheard broken shards of hushed argument; it seemed they were struggling to find common ground, unable to agree upon the best route, the next stop, or our ultimate fate. By now, so many hours in, they’d settled into an uneasy silence, staring ahead at the road as it stretched on to infinity, surely to the end of the Earth, or at least my time on it.