The government’s non-acknowledgement of ‘The Crash Site’ and the site’s potent toxicity have put everyone in a bit of a catch-22. On one hand, it has made for what is perhaps the most subversive stop on the Wayside. ‘The Crash Site,’ after all, is assumed to be the sprawled totality of an alien spaceship or the burst remains of a supervillainous lair. It is peppered with psychedelic crystals and threaded-through with stiff, paper-thin steel.
Everything inside the site proper is lethally radioactive. Geiger counters indicate danger several yards out and, rather than dissipating, the radiation has only grown stronger. Several informal lookout sites have been established and then abandoned again as the dangerous area grows wider at the fringes. On a bad day, the radiation will sometimes reach the highway. It’s weak, now, but there are questions about what should be done and whether a car passing through at reasonable speeds will be enough to protect travelers who had no intention of stopping.
The government sees no problem.
The crystals and the metal have thus far proven too dangerous to steal away. They manifest shallow ribbon cuts on any flesh within three inches or so. They cut and burn, even through protective equipment. The cuts do not easily heal and, for the span of about a day, they are contagious. The burns blister and scar and blister again, sometimes for years after contact. Souvenirs are only theoretically possible and, as always, not worth the price.’
You couldn’t pay me to get close enough to ‘The Crash Site’ to experience any of what the Guide affectionately downplays as ‘side-effects.’ I view it, instead, from an area nearly half a mile away where an enterprising person has planted a pair of those pay-per-view binocular systems, configured in such a way as to be immune to the unexplained visual distortion that plagues most normal looking devices. A sign near the binoculars suggests the immunity can be attributed to the device’s being made from material retrieved from ‘The Crash Site’ which, if I wasn’t 100% sure this was a lie, would have made it a no-go as well.
Observed from a safe distance, ‘The Crash Site’ is beautiful like a snake, sharp and oilslick in the sun. The crystals sparkle and gline, dust-free despite the arid New Mexico desert. Despite the wind. Despite years of weathering and covert attempts to smother the area in something that would block the radiation or at least keep people at bay.
The only other visitors are two teen boys who seem to be daring each other to approach, who are already so much closer than I would ever be to something unknown and dangerous. One of the boys runs at the site, swoops in close and then circles back to where he started. The second boy does the same, only he cuts deeper and he trips, stumbles to the ground. Lies facedown. The first boy calls for him. He pulls out his phone but remembers that it is off- that turning it on too close to ‘The Crash Site’ will cause the battery to swell and burst. He runs back toward the car that brought them, is still running, facing away, when the fallen boy stands and brushes himself off and trots after.
A joke, maybe? They say ‘The Crash Site’ changes some people, but nobody seems to know how.
The wind changes and my vision warps. I leave the binoculars with time left and try to remember the person I was just before. I think I was the same, but I won’t ever really be sure.
-traveler
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