The towns and cities we’ve traveled through are little more than broken ruins. Some buildings are intact, but most have collapsed—probably under the weight of the Great Winter snow.
Many more burned to the ground after it melted. Most of the rest are solid brick, or hollow steel frames, and there are bones in many of them. Bones of people seated around a dining table, hands clasped. Bones of couples with their arms wrapped around each other on a rotted mattress.
It makes me want to puke every time I see them. But if I don’t make a record of their passing, who will?
They deserve better. Maybe someday, someone will come lay them to rest.
I hope their end came quickly.
There are just five of us now—Ally, Alex, Auggie, Mamma and me. Dad told me once that there were seven hundred and fifty under Boundary Peak when the Collapse happened.
What if it’s just us?
—Aidan’s Journal: June 17th, 2282
Aidan gave one last nod to the two skeletons on the dusty, collapsed couch, staring at a broken tridee screen. He added a pair of hatch marks to the list at the end of his paper journal and did a quick count. Over two hundred already. He sighed and slipped the journal in his pocket.
Above the couple, an old, faded oil painting of a yellow bridge and a pyramid-shaped building hung crookedly on the cracked wall. Aiden reached over their bodies gingerly to straighten it out.
Then he slipped out of the decrepit brick house, shutting off his solar flashlight to stare up at the early morning sky. It was clear today and cold—though the wispy cirrus clouds streaking the pink heavens suggested a coming storm. The day before, the temperatures had topped out at 113 degrees. Now he could see his breath.
Ally should still be sleeping, though she’d be awake in time to see the sun rise.
For decades their family had huddled underground, waiting out the Great Winter. They hadn’t seen the heavens until he was eight, when the first of the sky tree seeds began to fall.
His father had taken his hand, and they’d knelt and prayed together, father and son under the starry sky. This is your inheritance. We’re the lucky few who get to be fruitful and re-populate the Earth. How his family would re-populate the Earth was never explained.
His father was long gone. Aidan closed his eyes, pain seizing his gut.
His younger brothers Alex and Auggie—the twins—had stayed behind to watch after their sick mother Astra, under the Mountain, and he and Ally were on this hopeless quest to save her.
Aidan scratched the pale skin of his elbow absently as he passed house after empty house, broken windows gaping at him like empty eye sockets.
He liked to get away from Ally for a few minutes, early in the morning, before they made breakfast, broke camp, and set off again. He had needs, after all, better attended to without his sister watching.
Aidan liked to explore, too, and this neighborhood offered lots of options.
The city was in better shape than some they’d passed through. Many of the homes were still standing, fronted by suggestions of lawns and low walls and garden beds, though time and age were dragging everything back down to Earth.
The sky trees were smaller here than in the mountains. Younger, probably. They were ripping apart houses and pulling up pavement with their crooked roots. A new forest was slowly spreading across the continent.
Aidan looked up to see one of them spinning down from the sky. It was a few blocks away, an old gray football, its feathery “wings” spinning to slow its descent like a helicopter in an old tridee. It drifted past him gracefully, a hundred feet or more above.
Aidan watched it until it disappeared behind the ruins in the distance.
Where did you come from? He touched the scratchy red bark of one of the younger trees, just a couple feet taller than him, staring up at it in wonder.
He’d scoured the records under the Mountain. There was nothing about giant seeds that fell from the sky.
He squinted at the bright sky. There must be someone up there. On the moon? In orbit around the Earth? Humans? Or aliens? Aidan imagined other civilizations on the planets of the solar system or circling faraway stars. Did you get it right, where we screwed everything up?
Was there an alien boy just like him on one of them, staring up at Earth’s sun so far away, wondering the same thing? An Aidan with three eyes, green skin, and a pair of antennas?
He laughed, the last of his discomfort slipping away.
Aiden knelt to wash his hands at a little stream that burbled along the old roadway, slowly wearing down the pavement, remaking the Earth a few pieces of asphalt at a time.
His talkie buzzed. He reached up to touch the talk button behind his ear.
“Aidan, where are you?”
Aidan sighed. “Just stretching my legs.”
“Get back here soon. I want to get on the road.” Ally sounded impatient.
Aidan grinned. His sister always sounded impatient.
A rounded brick wall still stood about thirty feet away, across what had probably once been a lawn but was now an overgrown mess of weeds. Curious, he approached it to touch the brick and mortar. Who put you here? And when?
The weather had nearly rusted away the double doors, leaving an irregular, gaping hole like a jagged mouth. Aidan kicked one of them open and stepped inside, stopping to stare in wonder.
It was an old church. Sunlight streamed in from the southern window, a series of stained-glass panels lighting the room up in a golden dappled glow. Many of them were still intact. It was beautiful, and heartbreaking. Great Grandpa Astin, thundering in the small chapel at Boundary Peak at his shrinking flock, extolling them to breed like rabbits…
Aidan pushed that memory away. Papa Astin, the bible thumper, had been smitten by the whole Sodom and Gomorrah parts of the Good Book, and the wickedness of that ancient land. Despite his great grandfather’s admonitions, Aidan had grown up with feelings that were wicked in the eyes of his church.
Aidan wondered if the people here had felt the same.
A robin leapt out of her nest on a small wooden shelf and flapped by his head, squawking her displeasure. Aidan ducked and watched her fly out the door. He grinned. At least you survived.
He made his way down the aisle, his hand touching each of the old wooden pews. Their mother had told them about churches, things she had learned from her grandmother—places where people had gathered to sing and listen to the Good Word, which came from the Good Book. She still kept hers by her bedside.
Aidan stepped up onto the creaky wooden platform at the back of the church. It held his weight—barely—groaning as he reached up to touch the wall.
A large “t”—his mother called it a cross—hung there, faced with symbolic flames. Sticky dust covered it, making it look almost furry. He touched it, and it broke free from its moorings and crashed to the ground with a loud boom.
Aidan leapt out of the way as it smashed into pieces.
“There you are!”
He spun around to find Ally at the doorway, Cimber at her feet. The mech dog sniffed the air and bounded off to check out something interesting.
“Hey sis. I was just looking around—”
Ally smirked. “Yeah, I know what you were doing. You don’t need to hide it.”
Aidan flushed. “Yeah, well, I knew you’d crush the vibe.”
Ally laughed. “I’d hope so.” She looked around and whistled. “This place is beautiful.”
“Yeah. It reminds me of Papa Astin.” He knelt to pick up an old leather-bound book. That’s when he saw them. “Look!”
There were bodies stuffed under each pew. Many had their arms wrapped around one another. They had died together, at least. He knelt to get a better look—a few had their hands together in prayer. “They were scared.”
Ally knelt next to him, frowning. “I’m sure they were.” She looked around the cavernous space. “They came here for sanctuary, hoping God would protect them.”
“I guess he didn’t.” It wasn’t the first time he’d seen it. But something about the serenity of this place and those empty gazes from tens—no, probably hundreds—of skeletons made him uneasy. “What do you think killed them?”
Ally rubbed her neck. “Most of the buildings here are intact. They used smartgas in a lot of places on the West Coast—it sought out human life and snuffed it. The fucking chaffs thought they could take over things after the Last War ended.” She almost growled the name.
Aidan touched a naked skull, and it fell off its skeleton to roll across the floor, lodging against one of the pews. Naked sockets staring up at him.
He shivered. Sometimes he just wanted to go back home and lock himself underground, away from the open sky and all the terrible things in this empty world. He pulled out his notebook and made a quick calculation. Probably a hundred dead in this room.
He dutifully added the hash marks, and closed his eyes to say a short prayer for the dead.
Ally frowned. “You still doing that?”
“Somebody should record the dead.”
Ally shook her head but said nothing. When he was done, she pulled him away from the grisly sight to stare at the stained glass. “Look at the windows.” She put an arm around his shoulder, her body warm against his. “We have to remember that they made beautiful things too, back then. Even in the midst of the horror.”
“I guess so.” It was beautiful, the rising sun shattered into a myriad of colors by the glass. “Do you think they were comforted by their faith?”
She bit her lip. “I’d like to think so. Would you be?”
“I don’t know.” What was it like? Those frantic, fearful last minutes as the gas smothered them. Aidan shuddered. “Can we go now?”
“Yeah. Come on, let’s get some fresh air.”
They left the old church together, stepping into the wild meadow outside.
Aidan took a deep breath. He could still see the skull staring at him. “What’s this city called?”
Ally pulled out one of the old plas maps she carried. “Sacramento. Capital of the state of California.”
He nodded. “How far are we from Martinez Base?”
“Three days. Two if we push it.”
They’d been on the trek for a little over three weeks, sleeping in burned-out houses at night and walking by day. Aidan had never been in better shape. He whistled for Cimber, and the mech dog bounded out of the church behind them with a happy bark, a leg bone in her mouth.
“Cimber! drop it!” Aidan sighed, whispering a prayer for the bone’s owner as the mech dog set it down with a growl. Were real dogs such a pain in the ass?
Ally tugged at his shirt sleeve. “Come on. I want to get something to eat and get going. We don’t know how long Mamma has left.”
Aidan nodded. He worried about her too. But in the long run, did it matter?
They were all doomed—the last family under the Mountain. Their mother, three boys, and one girl. There was no one else to continue the human race here once they were gone.
He glanced up at the sun as it rose in the east, its golden light filtering through the sky tree branches, unconcerned with human problems. Am I going to die alone?
With a heavy sigh, he followed his sister through the trees, back to their temporary shelter.
Cimber bounded along behind them in the new morning’s light.
Tien watched the glowing ring of the Launchpad draw slowly closer, the giant spinning station framed by the blue curve of the Earth below.
The rest of the run had gone without mishap, save for a brief scare when the patch had leaked, causing an alarming hiss and lowering of pressure in the Zhenyi’s cabin.
Behind her, the others chatted about the mission ahead, either having forgotten their lost companions, or filling the time so they didn’t have to think about them.
Tien hung back. Always the outsider. Her teammates were all creche kids. They socialized with others—even strangers—more easily than she ever would. Yet they had accepted her transition without question.
“Time to bring her in.” Hera slipped into the pilot’s chair, rubbing her bruised but thankfully unbroken arm.
Tien swiveled to watch Hera work. The pilot was a wonder, having overcome a debilitating accident as a child and now the loss of four of their friends, still holding it all together.
“Launchpad control, this is the Zhenyi.”
“Zhenyi, roger. Good to have you back.” The woman’s voice cracked a little.
Hera nudged the jumper, lining up with the station’s spin, the thrust pushing them all to the side. “Thanks. Is this Lorelei?”
“Sure is. Hera?” Lorelei’s voice sounded raspy, like she’d been crying. “So sorry to hear about the Bristol. We’re all a mess here over it.”
Hera’s hand tightened on the joystick, her knuckles white. “They knew the risks.”
There was silence on the comm.
“Lorelei?”
“Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “We’ve got docking bay one waiting for you. Need guidance?”
“No, I got this.” A little of Hera’s trademark bravado returned.
“I’m sure you do. Roger and out.”
Tien put a hand on Hera’s good shoulder. “It’s okay. We all feel it.”
Hera’s muscles tightened. “Thanks. I need to concentrate. Buckle in.”
Tien pulled away, hurt. “Sorry.” She looked at Ghost. He shrugged. -Give her space.-
She nodded. -Think she’s okay?- She latched her belt and settled in for docking.
-She’s Hera.-
Tien laughed under her breath.
She was terrible at these things. For all that they’d trained together for years, sometimes Tien felt that she didn’t know these people at all. Her mother would have known exactly what to say.
She sighed softly, watching the spinning of the Earth against its velvety, starry backdrop.
Her family had been enjoying a picnic on the Chinese side of Riverside Park.
Tai had climbed up onto the bright red rail of the bridge. She perched on top, watching the clear water flow over the round pebbles below. It glistened and sparkled, murmuring its secrets to her.
“Tai, get down from there!” Her mother’s strong arms pulled her down. “What did I tell you about climbing up on the bridge railing? You boys are always getting into trouble.”
“Sorry, Mamma.” Tai started to cry. She hated making her mother angry.
I’m not a boy. Why couldn’t they see that?
The last time she’d said it, she’d been spanked and sent to her room. Now she kept it to herself.
Chen Yun’s features softened. “I only scolded you because you scared me, Tai. You could have fallen into the river and been swept away before I could save you.”
Tai looked down at the water coursing through the river channel next to them as her mother carried her back to the family. It didn’t look all that deep. Or fast.
“Hey!”
Tai looked up, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand.
On the far side of the bank, a little girl about her age waved at her. Behind her, a group of kids about the same age were playing tag.
Tai waved back, staring at the little girl’s pink dress with envy. “How come I never get to go play with the creche kids?”
“You’re only four. When you go to school next year, you’ll meet them.”
Tai stared forlornly at her peers. “They don’t have any parents to tell them what to do.”
Mamma stared at her. “Who told you that?”
“Lin Chen. She said they all live in a big house, with no Mamma and no Papa.”
Mamma knelt next to her, her serious face on, the one that meant someone was going to get a talking to. Tai hoped it was Lin Chen. “Lin Chen doesn’t know what she is talking about. Each creche has one to three creche parents. Sometimes they are all mommies, or all daddies, or somewhere in-between. But they are all parents to those kids.”
Tai considered that. “Okay.” The other little girl had gone back to play with her friends. “Why don’t I live in a creche?”
Mamma Yun kissed her on the forehead. “Because we wanted you here with us. That’s always been our family’s way.” She squeezed Tien and stood, shooing her away. “Go play with your cousins.”
Tai hugged her, and then ran off to find the others, but the little girl in her pink dress across the river stayed on her mind for days.
A shudder brought her back to the present.
None of that mattered anymore. She was a grown woman now, and Tai was little more than a memory.
What mattered now was what Mamma Yun had said to her, the last night before she left for Earth.
“We are proud of you, Tien. My beautiful daughter. We don’t want you to go into such danger with doubt in your mind.”
Tien flushed with warmth. She looked out of her portal.
Hera had synched the little jumper with the station’s hangar, and the ship had risen into the landing dock. The thick metal hangar doors clanged closed below them, and the jumper touched down with a barely perceptible thunk. Tien whistled. “Nice job!”
Hera sighed, her shoulders slumping.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s not you.” The pilot unbuckled herself and slipped past Rai to hug her. “I’m just on edge. It was a rough flight.”
Tien nodded and sent her a private em to em message. -Still—I’m sorry.-
-Really, it’s okay.- Hera tagged her response with a hug, and warmth spread through her. “Come on. Let’s get out of this tin can.” The pilot retrieved her bag from under her seat and tapped her temple. “Dek, is the dock pressurized?”
“Affirmative.” The station mind’s voice came out of the jumper’s speakers for their benefit. “Welcome to the Launchpad.”
“Nice to be back.” Hera palmed open the jumper’s hatch door and climbed out into the hangar.
Tien took one last look around the little jumper, her home for the last three days, waiting for the others to file out. She was ready for a shower.
Like the one in her memory, the station was a bridge of sorts too—a connection between Luna and the Earth, where she would start the next phase of her life.
Tien smiled. How far I’ve come. From one bridge to another. From doctor to dropnaut.
How far we still have to go.