The Collection

Atomic Spring

His name was Caspian. 

He was sixteen years old and was the sole heir of the Sol Oil Company, the largest producers of natural oil. This fortune had been in his family for about four or five generations. 

When the first bombs hit New York, Pennsylvania, and Georgia, his parents thought it was time to flee their Florida home. 

"There is a place, in the Caribbean. A small island, bout the size of Haiti," his father said one day.
"Do they have a sauna? Or a jacuzzi?" His mother pondered as she lazily threw some clothes in a gold matte suitcase. 

"Yes honey. It's like a resort. A little community of high status people,"

"Are the O'Henry's going there too? Please tell me they aren't going."

His father wiped the beads of sweat from his caramel colored forehead, "I don't know honey.  The tickets were very, very, expensive."

His mother scoffed, "Well I guess we have our answer,"
she laughed hysterically, only to herself. 

His mother always thought that since the O'Henry's had five children, that they were "cheap".

 "People like us should not have more than two children. Anymore and it's just a burden." 

"Then why don't I have a brother or sister?" Caspian had asked long ago, when he was very young. 

His mother drew a thin line with her lips, "Some of us aren't made for it."

That was the last they ever spoke about the possibility of Caspian's siblings. 

His parents rushed with all their belongings in designer suitcases and bags out of their 150 million dollar vacation home. His father was sweating and panting as if there was a missile inbound to Florida. 

Maybe there was. Caspian didn't care. 

The airport was shut down, his father told them when they were driving south. They would be going to a friends' private hangar where a plane was waiting. 

Caspian asked what friend, "I can't remember," his father said with a hurried shrug. 

An hour into the drive, they turned onto a deserted road and into an even more deserted air strip. There were no planes on the runways and all the hangars were empty. 

Except one. A Learjet 45X, the type of aircraft that would get them to their destination in under 45 minutes, his father said.

"They better have a Raspberry Sgroppino..." his mother sighed as she stepped into the plane. 

The floor was tan carpet with only eight seats; two facing each other on each side, with seats attached to the backs, facing outward. His mother and father sat facing one another on one side, and Caspian sat in the other row, on one of the chairs facing outward. 

He wanted to check his phone to see how his friends were doing, but then he was captivated by the view outside his window. 

The plane had only recently taken off, but they were high enough and far enough to see rockets flying across the sky. Streaks of smoke behind metal comets, flying past one another. Caspian counted three, no, four missiles. 

He had no idea where they were going but they were sent by the same country. Going in the same direction. Caspian sighed as he reclined in his seat. The world wanted to see each other burn. His mother just wanted a Mimosa.

* * *

Caspian was lying outstretched on a blue cushioned beach chair.