By Heather Allen
Sophie awoke at the crack of dawn. She did not usually stir until much later, and even then it took an hour or so and a few gallons of coffee for her to pass as human. Today, though, she was fully awake, early, suddenly, all at once, and with a feeling of dread. Something was badly wrong.
She jumped out of bed, padded downstairs, and unlocked the back door to stand in the garden. The birds were just waking up, and bright dew sparkled on the grass. All as usual for an early morning at the end of June. But there was something different. Sophie could feel it, a shifting in the air. Subtle, but tangible, like a pinch of paprika in a stew. A waft of heat in the breeze, a warm breath coming from the south east, infusing the damp morning air.
Frowning, she looked up into the sky, but it yielded no clues. Just a deep, serene blue, without a wisp of cloud. She inhaled deeply. There was a tang in the air, like baked earth or a desert wind. As if a gigantic oven door had been flung open, just over the horizon. She sighed and closed her eyes. So that was it.
She studied the garden around her, examined the tender plants, listened to the dawn’s exquisite cacophony while she considered what to do. She didn’t have to check the weather report, she just knew it in her bones. It was that time again. She had caught the breath of Sirius, the dog star, harbinger of heat, bringer of the hot wind. Each year worse. This time, she knew, it would be unbearable.
The dog days were coming, sure. That hideous heat. Fine for some, in fact most people seemed to enjoy it, but not her. They would strip off most of their clothes – really, they would do that! – strip off, and expose their vulnerable flesh to the sun, pronouncing it good as they drowned in their own sweat. Let it flay them, then. Let them burn. Time for her to escape.
Could she outrun the hot wind? She closed her eyes, felt the air shift around her. It was growing closer. She had to try. Instinct said head north, head east. She ran into the house, quickly checked the map, packed her panniers, and wriggled into her leathers. She locked the house and hauled her faithful ‘78 Triumph Bonneville out of the garage, clanging the door down behind her.
“Time for a trip, old girl,” she murmured, as she strapped her luggage into place, then checked tyres, connections, and fuel. Angling the old 750 towards the road, she eased the starter into position, balanced on the foot pegs, and brought her weight down and back onto the pedal. The engine turned over, but didn’t catch. She kicked again. A metallic burble this time, then nothing. Again, and the engine caught with a sputter and a roar. She grinned. Always started on the third kick.
She revved the engine to warm it up, savouring the thump of the big twin. Her next-door neighbour, never a friendly sort, twitched her curtains back and shouted something out of the window. “Yeah, yeah, you’re just jealous,” Sophie muttered, and pulled on her helmet.
With a one-fingered wave at her neighbour, Sophie knocked the Bonnie into gear, eased the throttle open, feathered the clutch and pulled off, the big twin thumping away beneath her. She was glad she always kept her tank full – you never knew when you might need to take off. There was no one to say goodbye to, because she hadn’t, just hadn’t made that kind of connection. No partner, no children, few friends, no one she was close to, no family around. Any work she took on was transitory, fleeting, ephemeral even. She had a small inheritance, enough to get her through the worst of times. And now, here they were. The hot wind was on its way, the hottest yet.
She had to get as far north as she could, as soon as she could. Driven by the wind, she headed for the open road.