The Dream

He tossed and turned in his sleep. He was having that dream again.
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He had heard that combat vets sometimes had PTSD. Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is a mental health condition that's triggered by a terrifying event — either experiencing it or witnessing it. God knew that he had done both.

In the dream he saw a wall rushing towards him A huge wall that filled the sky and blotted out all reality. A wave. A gigantic wave like unto the haboobs he knew as a child in west Texas and in his more recent excursion to the Middle East. There was the sound of rushing wind as it approached.

But it wasn’t a wall of dust driven by the wind, riding upon gravity wave. It was another type of wave. A wave of water. A hyper-tsunami. It swept everything before it. It destroyed everything in it’s path. Those unlucky humans caught in it’s path were instantly crushed, mangled , bent and mutilated by the enormous weight.

The wave was a hundred foot high. Anything caught in it’s path were instantly covered and their lungs and ribcages were crushed by 52 lbs per square inch of water pressure. It was lethal.

This was not right. He was miles from the sea shore. It could NOT be happening...yet it was. Old combat reflexes kicked in and he automatically reacted. Without a moment's thought he fled.

He was a driver. He was driving. He swung the vehicle in a revenger's turn and accelerated at max speed away from the onrushing wave. The monster wave had slowed considerably when it approached land. It was slower yet this far from the coast...and yet it was still moving at fifty miles per hour. He accelerated to over a hundred and put some distance between him and the bore.

Ahead was the bridge. He had to make a sharp left, cross the bridge spanning the river, make a sharp right turn, and climb the hill on the other side.

To survive.

Otherwise he would surely die.

He hit the gate at ninety eight...he wasn’t a gonna pay no toll. He crossed the bridge. There was ANOTHER wave approaching from down river. He drifted around the corner squealing tires and blowing smoke.

He accelerated up the river road gaining distance from the churning maelstrom behind him. When the road leveled off and the topped the rise he knew he would never escape. There was water in front of him.

His only hope was to go off road and climb bald knob. There was a dirt road...really a goat trail to the top.

He did that.

Against all odds he wrestled the bucking, bouncing fishtailing car to the top of the hill. He bottomed out any number of times. He almost rolled it more than once. He fought on. Pieces of the car fell off. First it was minor things like hubcaps...then a muffler. He lost a rear bumper then fenders. He didn’t quit. Finally, with his rear tires spitting gravel into the rising time..he gained the summit.

Was he high enough? Time would tell. There was no where else to go. He sat in the remnants of his car watching the waters swirl past, almost lapping his tires. A broken tree floated by and there was a big black cat sitting on the highest limb..when the tree passed close enough the cat made a prodigious leap..and landed in his arms.

Now there was two of them...watching the deluge from precarious safety. Night fell and yet the flood continued. There seemed no end to the torrent. He and the cat, adrenalin notwithstanding, curled up in the car and fell asleep. The night was cold and they kept each other warm.

What a STUPID dream he thought.

Impossible.

No car could climb bald mountain.

Only an off road vehicle could hope to do that.

He sat up straight. Poured the last of his coffee from a thermos, petted his cat and gazed out the windshield of his 4x4 pickup watching the water flow by.

Stupid dream.

He didn’t own a cat.