I drove home over the dusty gravel that seems to define rural Kansas life, my mind occupied in an odd sort of circular thought pattern that went something like this: What do I need to do when I get home? It was so clear to me this morning, but then I hadn't seen the face of God yet, so of course I was clear. I know! I should let the chickens out, looks like it's cleared up a lot from this morning, clear enough to see the face of God, should probably put one of those microwave dinners in, not like I have any company to speak of, just me and the chickens, ha ha. Oh, and God, of course, but then He's always hanging around for some reason or other. Thankfully doesn't eat much, ha ha again, should be fine so long as I don't look at His face...
And on like that. I must have been really out of it, because those little faces kept creeping in to my thoughts almost unnoticed. When I did finally notice them leering out at me from around the corners of my mind, I had already gone several miles past my usual turn. Feeling a little uncomfortable at being in the car with my own thoughts, I eased to a stop off to the side of the road that had changed from gravel to soft dirt somewhere at least a mile back, and exited the vehicle. I broke into sweat immediately.
Je-ezus H. Christ it was hot out! I knew it was supposed to be unusually warm today, but this was ridiculous! It had to be... what? 100? 120? Impossible! Why, it only got that hot in August, and then only...
I never finished the thought. At that moment, one of the stumpy cedar trees in the pasture next to me burst into flame with a sharp CRACK! that made me duck. One by one, the dozen or so miniature trees burst into a vicious red flame with that same rifleshot sound.
"Damn high schoolers," I muttered, now incensed. "What the hell are they doing out here shooting this close to the road? And who in the face of God bought them tracers?"
I started to stand up, but stopped suddenly halfway there. Name! I thought. Who in the name of God, not face. Sorry buddy, but you're losing it, gone clean off your rocker. Faulty elevator, you know. No top-floor access and all that. Why, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were-
"Shut up." I muttered under my breath, and raised myself to full height. The smoke from the blazing cedars choked the heavy air, creating the perfect backdrop for the rosy intensity of the flames. Have you been to Kansas lately folks? The trees are beautiful this time of year. I choked off the giggle rising in my throat and turned to get back in. I was getting a sunburn.
I reached out and grabbed the door handle of the Olds, but yanked my hand back almost immediately, staring in increasing shock at the pads of my fingers, left behind and now smoking on the chrome. I glanced back hurriedly at the line of dying trees beside the road, elm, cottonwood, mulberry, all smoking. No, not smoke, steam. The leaves were steaming off the trees, dropping with sickening little plops that sounded a lot like bird shit hitting blacktop.
Sorry, but I don't remember much of the next few minutes except looking up from the road with dry eyes, my face gritty with hot dust and seeing someone walking down the road towards me. In the smoke and shimmering heat, it looked like some barbarian god.
Or perhaps the devil.
I passed out.
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