Title: 69 Degrees

Copyright (c) 1999 Christopher J. Holz

This is an original story by myself, written in 1999.

You have permission to copy this for the purposes of reading, and
reading only.

Distribution in print, electronic or any other forms for
publishing is expressly prohibited, be it for free or not, except by
the express permission of the author.

Chapter 1: Awakenings

This whole saga began when I slowly awoke. I wasn't sure what had
happened beforehand, to be awakening without ever remembering going
to sleep.

The few times that I've over indulged with alcohol never left me
with this feeling of drowsiness but full conscious.

My eyes wouldn't open, and the sound I could hear, were like the
soft murmuring you'd expect within a hospital. Like a general noise
of people talking quietly.

A hospital would explain the drowsiness, I thought. Maybe there
had been some accident; I'd been run over by a car, or something. It
wouldn't be the first time I'd come close to death, because I didn't
understand something about the place I was in.

So I tried to remember back what had happened. I was touring
through some of the European counties on foot, and a few other forms
of local transport. Travelling through Finland and Denmark I had used
a bicycle. Travelling through the green countryside, it was just my
backpack and I. Through Sweden I'd hitchhiked with the locals,
stopping every so often to help a hand to pay my way through the
country.

Contrary to what people say, the Swedes are a very friendly
people, but they hold strict to their form of living. Keeping in
tune with nature, even in the built up areas of Stockholm itself.

From Denmark, I'd made my way though the northern part of Germany,
going through Berlin, planning on cutting back through the southern
areas, after Poland and Czechoslovakia.

Much of the old buildings still stood in Warsaw, a reminder of the
last World War from last century. Much of the countryside through
Poland bore similar reminders to all who stopped to at least look.

From my memory, I knew I had at least passed through
Czechoslovakia, and back into Germany.

I was headed towards Munich, somewhere between Regensburg and
Passau, taking lifts from some of the more friendly Germans, and
getting to know some of them better.

Travelling along the highways in German, which they call the
Autobahn, is a thrilling experience, especially in one of the modern
convertible Porches, and next to the wonderful German woman who was
driving.

Oh, she looked to be in her forties, but she was extremely
friendly in giving me a lift. My German isn't all that good, but we
were able to have a small conversation as we travelled along.

I mentioned some of my travels, and she talked about her family,
and children. I had some feeling that she wanted me to meet them,
but it was just her way of been friendly to a stranger.

It wasn't she that bothered me, but rather the speed they travel
along the Autobahn. You see the speed limit on the Autobahn is 100
Kph. Minimum. If you're travelling slower than this, then you're
liable to be pulled over and booked by the police, who always use
supped up Turbo Porches that could easily match speeds with whatever
they were chasing.

I had no problem with the physical speed, but I was travelling to
see the country, not to have it whizzing by at more than 180
kilometres per hour. If I wanted to do this, I would have caught the
train.

So at the next small town, I asked her to turn off, and thanked
her as I bid her farewell.

This I could remember with some clarity now, as it was recent. I
missed the name of the hamlet, only noticing the words hamlet and
turn off on the sign before we passed it.

It wasn't a big place, as I could most likely walk the length of
the town centre in under 10 minutes, but I wasn't there to just walk
through. I stopped in one or two shops, basically looking about, and
learning what I could of the small town.

I recollect now, stopping inside a third shop, a bakery, as I was
feeling hungry. German breads are ok, but not as good as their meat.
I was considering what would be best to get to mix with a selection
of sliced meat, when I heard a scream outside, which stopped just as
abruptly as it began.

I looked to the large shopkeeper who looked back at me with just
as much confusion on his face.

Without a word to me, he took off his apron, and rounded the
counter, draping it over some bread, as he headed through the front
door.

I followed, in my half curious nature to find out what was
happening. That and I couldn't order anything until the baker
returned.

The light outside was strangely bright, so I hastily grabbed my
sunglasses, the same one's I'd worn in the convertible, to keep the
wind out of my eyes. They were one of the expensive Polaroid glasses
that I'd picked up a year ago in a duty free store. They cut down
the glare as I followed the baker outside, who had to shade his eye's
with a hand, and feel his way along the path to a couple of people
who appeared to have collapsed on the path outside.

It was strange, to see them just lying there. I suspected
something disastrous as we approached, but saw nothing to indicate
what had happened.

I was right behind the baker as he bent over the two people, and
then suddenly fell over them. It frightened the hell out of me,
causing me to step back, fearing a gas leak or something. Without
stepping closer, I called out to the baker, asking if he was ok,
trying to get a response, a call, a grunt, or even a shift of his
foot.

There was nothing. I turned about now, seeking help from anybody
else within the hamlet, and what I saw, disturbed me even more. In
the doorways of shops, on either side of the street, and on the
paths, were more collapsed people. Just lying there.

This was more than a gas leak. With some trepidation, I
approached the collapsed baker, and the couple. I didn't smell
anything, except the fresh bread smell coming from the clothes of the
baker, as I lent over them. They each had a pulse as I checked them
over, which made me, feel better. But it was still a mystery.

The whole town couldn't have collapsed, so in desperation I called
out, hoping that there was someone else.

I was rewarded with the voice of a small child who appeared in the
doorway across the street. His small face poked out from the shop,
looking at the collapsed people on the paths without much concern.
Then he turned to look at the light, and then fell to the ground.

Holding my breath, I wished for the small boy to jump up,
exclaiming it was a big joke on the tourist.

For a short while, I stood there waiting expectantly, then turned
towards the light. It was the last thing the boy did, looking up at
the bright light.

The sun was off to my right a bit, but this light was something
separate, and brighter. I could almost say it was pulsing. It
seemed like the only feasible explanation, as I looked up at the
glowing dot. But how could a light, knock out all these people, but
leave me standing?

The answer was right on my face, as I felt over the frame of my
glasses. The lenses must have been blocking whatever it was, that
knocked these people out.

I felt sure of it now, but as I looked up at the bright light, it
grew brighter all of a sudden. It was painful to look at, almost
burning my eyes even through the glasses. I had to avert my gaze, as
I pulled my glasses off to rub my eyes. I must have turned back too
quickly as I slipped my glasses back on, because that was the last
thing I remembered.

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