She couldn’t shake the idea that it was a hoax. Three times, she almost turned around and headed back home.
Hm… what exactly? It’d be hard for the Shattering to be a hoax, so I doubt it’s that.
Twenty eight miles west from New York City, down the 202, to where there were more trees than houses and the roads hadn’t been maintained for too many years.
Oh hey, we’re out of state!
We know someone from New York, Flechette, but a) she’s probably still in Brockton Bay and b) she’s already had an Interlude-like chapter and I would think the chapters of an Interlude Arc like Sentinel still count against the unstated but fairly obvious rule that each character only gets one Interlude.
So what’s up this way that could be a hoax?
It hadn’t rained recently, but there were murky puddles in the road where the water had settled into broad depressions.
We’re out of Brockton Bay and we still can’t get away from the water.
Water sprayed as she deliberately aimed for one puddle. Forty five minutes of driving, trying to convince herself this was real, not seeing anyone on the road for the last ten minutes, she’d started to feel lost.
I haven’t really read anything of the genre, but this gives me New England (possibly eldritch) horror vibes to some extent. Maybe we’ll be dealing with Dandelions?
Then again, 28 miles west down the 202 is a pretty specific location, as opposed to the sort of vague middle of nowhere rural setting one might find in horror.
I’m torn on whether I should look at a map. I think I’m going to leave it for now.
The concrete action of steering into the puddle and getting the expected result seemed to ground her.
Like pinching yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming.
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