It was the future, and religion was dead.
Science disproved the existence of surpreme beings and the laws of physics defined life. There was no longer any question as to where, what, why, and how humanity existed. It was the age of reason.
The economy boomed. The sales of antidepressants, sleeping aids, and sports vehicles rose. People were buying more, saving less, and spending their waking moments away from thought. Science did the thinking, after all, and it was mightier than an individual's mind. Why bother. Watch a video instead. Or spend an afternoon tearing up the sky in your car. Thinking is a sign of depression.
Therefore, nobody was depressed because nobody thought. How can you think when antidepressants cloud your mind morning, noon, and night? Science rid humanity of all thinking and all worry. It was the unspoken governing body of humankind. The only laws followed were those that one could sense from infancy: gravity, motion, light, hunger, thirst, and death. Those laws set by old societies did not apply. Thou shalt not kill? Why not? If the other person can't survive, then you're doing the race a favor. Stealing? If you can get it, it's yours. Coveting? Reaching for what others have puts you ahead.
Businessmen stabbed each other in the back, financially and physically. Only strong children, vicious children, lived to reach adulthood.
Sacrificing for others was unheard of. Help was only given at a price.
The sky was its usual brown-blue. Kendrick had been racing his air car when, quite unexpectedly, its left thruster overloaded from a surge in the car's reactor and he spun out of control. Though its altitude was above twenty kilometers, Kendrick sensed that he had little time before he and his car were craters on the desert below. He caught a last glimpse of his opponent, not yelling over the radio for help. He would not get any. Kendrick took the car as much out of its spin as he could and ripped the eject cord in his right hand grip. The ejection's rocket punch made Kendrick black out for a moment or two, but he came to seconds later.
It was surprising to see that he had decreased enough in altitude to be coming down on the desert. He had a window of several seconds to deploy his parachute. He waited until the last moment so that he would be able to glide to an area close to the large rock formation he saw. It would provide him with some shade, a modest relief from the sweltering heat.
It took a few minutes to land, and when he did, Kendrick looked about himself. The rock formation was up ahead, east. Other than that, he could only see an unbroken dry plain. There was metal that occasionally stuck from the ground, some shining, some tarnished. Black craters were scattered regularly for as far as he could see. The horizon shimmered in the distance. The only uncivilized place in the world, and he had to crash there. But where else could he race? The cities were guarded by rooftop cannon and people who did not want cars destroying their homes. The yong racers came to the desert to test their mettle, and if one had to eject there, it would take only the most determined survivor to return home—if his home was not looted and occupied by the time he got back. And few ever returned from the desert.
Kendrick took to the shade and inventoried his survival equipment. Two liters of water. At most, two days of food. A light, a burner, and a gun. For hunting, he supposed, but he knew that nothing lived in the desert. Science had killed the organisms that could not stand up to humanity. And there was one clip—enough ammunition for twelve shots. At least the weapon was a slug-thrower; he could use the volatile power in each shell for fire or explosives.
No tent. He considered the parachute for a moment, but soon dismissed its use as a shelter. He had no poles with which he could hold it up, and it would only trap heat and smother him without support.
How would he live? He cold stay in the shade at his rock, but his supplies would only last for a few days. And without a tent, going mobile would only last a day at most.
Better get started.
He ripped a large strip of extra fabric from his flight suit and wrapped it around his head. After taking a sip from a water bladder, he started north.
Some hours later, the sun had nearly set. Luckily, it had been late in the afternoon when he left the rock, He had made steady progress without being in danger of a full day's exposure to the sun. Kendrick trudged on, feeling dizzy from dehydration. His head pounded. He had to wait to drink in order to keep the sun from evaporating any water. It was tempting; just a sip. That's all. He stopped, turned his back to the setting sun, and put the bladder tube in his mouth. Just a sip.
But before he knew it, he had taken down most of the water there. Then he felt incredibly weak and sick. He vomited on the ground, falling to his knees. He then realized that he had wasted most of his water. He had never been a man who despaired, but now his hopes sank through the dry, cracked earth below. The sun set while he cried.
He was able to gather his mind after the sun left the sky. It was easier to think when the infernal heat didn't pound his head. He realized how lucky he was that his mind was no longer clouded with antidepressant. He wouldn't have gotten this far if he had not faced the reality of the situation.
But what could he do now?
First, make a fire. “Hot in day, cold in night” was a survivor's axiom for the desert. Without water to absorb and radiate heat, temperatures were extreme. A fire would also give Kendrick a sense of hope, something to look at and appreciate. Deep within the human mind there was always something that took comfort in a fire.
So Kendrick searched the scattered debris for inflammable materials. He was lucky to find an abandoned upholstered ejection seat close by. The burner's focused flame lit it with ease. Kendrick realized too late that although the seat would burn, it would also give off putrid toxic fumes. Still, he could not put it out and he wanted some type of friend in this lonely place.
The thought struck him as odd. Friend? What was a friend? Nobody had friends. Only short, treacherous, violent alliances. The only friends Kendrick had in his life were objects—his car, his gun, his lock, his security system. The kept him safe. He imagined that the fire did the same. As he drifted off to sleep, Kendrick had two thoughts: How will I get out of here and I wish I had made a better survival kit.
Something must have been wrong with Kendrick's system because he woke after the sun had risen, as soon as the painful whips of head flailed him. His mind was fuzzy and he had trouble remembering what had happened. Then he got a flash in his mind--dehydration. He fumbled for the tube of water hidden beneath his flight suite and took five careful sips. He had learned his lesson, if too late. There was dust in his eyes and the cloth, still wrapped about his head, chafed against the side of his face on which he had slept.
Eight hours later, Kendrick judged that he had gone fewer than forty kilometers. His brisk walk had slowed down little by little and the desperation began to take over. There were still hours of daylight left, but he was already weakening. His water supply was dwindling to nothing. The horizon stretched, but he could not see an end to the beating sun. There were no more outcroppings of rock that could give him shade.
In a few hours he would be as good as dead.
Kendrick decided to celebrate by drinking the last of his water. He sat down and removed the water container from his flight suit. He didn't want to bother with the little mouth tube that let rationed amounts of water touch his tongue. His hand brushed the holster holding his gun.
He felt the heat destroying him. It was torture. Better to die by his own hand. Sipping some more water, he thought about when to kill himself.
His dark thoughts were interrupted when he heard a cackle. Jumping up, Kendrick spun to face the noise. It was mocking and malicious. Insane. He saw nothing. He heard the lauch again, behind him. Turning, he was once more denied a glimpse of the source of laughter. Risking the waste of water, he spoke. His voice was ready to fail.
“Come out!”
To his surprise, another voice, matching the madness of the cackle, responded.
“I am here. Look back.”
A blck demon danced stretched out on the ground in front of him. He drew the gun. “Get away.”
The dark creature mocked his movements. “I can not. Join me, man, join me!”
“Do you want me to shoot you?”
It let loose the laughter again. “I'm coming to get you, Kendrick. I'm at your feet.”
Kendrick screamed. He unloaded the gun at the demon. Its laugh mocked him.
“Can't hurt me; I hurt you.”
Kendrick backpedaled, heading in the direction of the sun. The demon clawed at his feet. “Go! Go, man. I can stay with you forever.”
Kendrick scooped a sharp, rusty scrap of metal from the ground, the demon mimicking him again. It was more than Kendrick could take. He felt the demon reaching into him. He was losing strength. With the last of his energy, Kendrick fell upon the demon, slashing at it with the metal. He saw the demon's head come up to meet his and then he saw no more.
Kendrick passed out, defeated by his own shadow.
Within the hour, gentle hand picked him up and carried him away.