My father once told me us humans have a natural instinct inside, one that truly cannot be hidden and restrained when needed or forced out. It simply lays there for a while, patient—almost dormant, yet still working—planting thoughts of recklessness combined with self-destruction into our weak, susceptible brains. Inconspicuous, impossible to detect, and, of course, we're also extremely stubborn to realize what's going on until it is way too late to fix the damage caused.
Ironically enough, that's exactly what happened with all of humanity. All at once.
We messed and corrupted everything we ever worked hard for, everything that coexisted with us. Taking it all to its breaking point, we pushed, and pushed, and kept pushing as if the world belonged to us. As if nothing—or no one—would ever punish our foolish, childish actions.
I'd like to imagine that that nothing or no one tried helping the situation before, enlightening some of us, guiding them through good paths in order to save Earth, but now...now I knew for a fact it was a lost cause. We were doomed to fall, be our own destructors. Every try to help us ended up wasted, ignored.
Warnings? We got them.
Were they taken seriously? Like we ever took something seriously.
And so it all began.
Nature fell first. Rivers started drying out, slowly but surely. Forests lost their green, becoming a dull grey, and then ending up as worthless, rotten, black twigs that snapped under careless feet. Animals were suddenly vanishing. Like they simply became dust and got blown away by the wind.
Then the waves of extreme heat came. They rampaged through every single millimeter of earth that stood on their way, scorching our cities and what was left of nature itself. People—initially, when it still seemed manageable—blamed it on made up theories such as the climax of global warming or a big downhill moment for the human race. The situation was truly disastrous, yet everyone believed it could be fixed eventually.
I cannot help but feel utterly disappointed at our own stupidity.
How is it that you were able to shove so much ignorance...into the most insignificant living creature roaming Earth? It made no sense whatsoever, and that was precisely the problem. Everyone, when trying to figure out useless solutions, looked for logical answers.
We're made to seek perfection at everything we do. That once seemed to be our best quality...until we exploited it, like everything else that came to us, turning it then into destruction.
They called it the Natural Mishap. Typical. Give it some fancy name and make everyone believe that nature would find its course, restore the balance it once had. It didn't.
That was the first omen we got of our final extinction.
Immediately, the second wave of catastrophe followed. The Isolation. By now, greater powers started getting heavily involved. Strong—yet ironically clueless—countries were baffled at the sight of every single thing they once knew and built crumbling down like it was nothing but a handful of sand in a windy, vast desert. We reached a point where insignificant misunderstandings led to bigger quarrels between people, and hence, wars sprouted.
Fighting was understandable, though. With the only scarce resources we had left, the only ones we were able to store, it seemed impossible not to have massive huffs between us. The tables turned. It was do or die. Ethics got lost in the turmoil, replaced instead by a much stronger greed than the one inside of us before. Ravenous desires made people go mad—delirious. And eventually, everything—absolutely everything—collapsed.
People really thought mankind could stand on its own without nature's help. That their strength was enough to defeat any sort of dependence to it. They thought these were all feasible stages, which we could control and go through with harmlessly, but little did we really know it wouldn't end until each and every one of us was reduced to ashes.
Nothing fancier or more dignified. Just ashes.
Clearly, we looked like a bunch of laughingstocks when we finally realized how little we were against such strong forces that went beyond our reach. Forces from which we depended. And had humans only taken nature for what it was—and not just for what it granted—had we been more careful with what we experimented and wished for, had we only stopped for a moment to question what we were doing, I believe none of this would've happened.
The world would be okay.... He'd still be with me.
Six months it took to destroy a four and a half billion years old planet. All because of our ignorance. One would think Earth's death had to be ignited by something much stronger than humans—something that didn't take only two hundred thousand years to develop—but the simplicity of continuously wrong decisions in the worst possible moments caused lethal chain reactions.
No one took enough precautions, no one really thought things through, and it came across as rather shameful to know I was born one of those beasts—a human.
It seemed normal to question why we hadn't killed each other by now, but the reason was fairly simple. It didn't require any rocket science to know we're like cockroaches. Survival is programmed inside of us, and so that's why two omens of our complete, final extinction weren't enough.
We received a third one.
The few of us left all over the world have named it differently throughout the past month, but there was only one title that truly fit its standards. They decided to call it the Virus. Lethal, poisonous, consuming, the infection had enough power to turn even the sanest person on Earth. Their mindset morphed into the one of a cannibalistic beast—a smart, witty one, nevertheless.
Of every single thing that could've gone wrong, it had to be the worst one.
Now, well, now we were stuck with the Wendigo fever—as some may call it. How ironic. Who would've guessed a mythical creature could come to life in the shape of our final destructor? Who would've thought that the simplest action of a handshake with someone whom you trusted, who'd always been in your life, was enough to kill you if they were infected, too?
And we weren't even talking about physical death anymore. That didn't happen; you stayed in the state you were infected in, locked inside your own body where you'd eventually go insane.
The desire of feeding in human flesh and toying with people like they were your puppets was simply too strong to fight. At first, you could see everyone resisting, trying to beat the Virus, escape from a dead end road, but it came as an impossible task. They all failed, succumbing into the drug-like effects of the Hunger and psychotic personalities that came with it.
Typically, idiots tagged them as zombies at first. It seemed like the only explanation they had for a sudden apocalypse was that, where the only rule was kill or be killed, but they were all wrong. These weren't dead people rising from the ground. Something had created them—the creature living inside of them, at least. Neighbors, brothers, parents...friends, they were all alive.
They never got killed, just turned.
After a while, people came to the realization that the terminology being used was stupidly wrong, and so they named them properly for what they were, for what we now know them for.
Wendigos.
Gaunt creatures—people—with ashy grey skin pulled so tight to the point where their bones' entire outline can be seen easily. The eyes were deep into their sockets, dragging you into a bottomless pit of foreign despair. Still, the stench was probably the worst part.
You knew you were dealing with a Wendigo, even in its early stages, when the eerie smell of rotten flesh and utter putrefaction swayed into your nostrils. You were bound to be considered dead on the outside while—truly—you found yourself being held prisoner of an insane asylum on the inside. Your mind and body working against you at all times.
And it almost seemed like when they towered over you, ready to attack, you could see the human inside fighting relentlessly to escape, though nobody could.
Not even Da—
"Lauren?" I heard him whisper loudly, snapping me out of my mental fuss as his quiet footsteps came in through the old door and groaning floorboards. "Are you awake?"
"Do I ever sleep anymore?" I rolled over, instructing my eyes open to encounter the dark room with his silhouette slouched against one of the nearest walls.
"Not really," he said, growing a tad too serious for my liking. He worried way more than he had to. Especially after what had happened. "But I learned that trying to change your horrible habits would take me a lifetime."
"You learned well, then," I murmured, unwilling to keep the conversation's focus on me for much longer. It never ended well. "Did you speak with Dad?"
"More than I wanted to," he answered, sighing. "I've been there since eight last night."
"It's not like you mind, Gabriel," I said, moving the sheets away before hopping out of the warm bed. The floor seemed way colder today, and my toes curled automatically in response. "You're both addicted to work. Like father, like son. I think that's why he admires you so much."
"Ha, ha," Gabriel snarled, but his voice wasn't convincingly angry—yet. "Jealous, Sis?"
"You wish." I huffed, walking over to the bathroom so that the chat would be over, though he didn't let me get too far before his hand gripped my arm. "Are you waiting for me to pee on you or something?"
Mockery seemed like the only feasible pathway out of whatever he had going on. I'd never enjoyed Gabriel's serious face, much less now that he questioned my mental stability after the incident. Everyone did.
"Dad wants to talk to you, Laurie." He gave me no time to formulate a reply, continuing with a lower voice, cautious. "I'm not supposed to tell you...but I kinda figured you'd like it better if you heard it from me first."
"Gabe, would you get to the bloody point already?" He stalling only caused my insides to twist and turn with what I knew was an angry expectation and hunger mushed together.
"They managed to grow some crops at Ohio," he began in a rush, and it was enough to make my mouth fall wide open. "They're not quite sure if they're gonna die, but it's been eight weeks. Eight weeks, Lauren," he repeated, speaking faster. "Plants here don't even last—"
"A day," I cut him off, feeling his grip loosening. "Yeah, I know." Could it actually be possible, though? We'd gotten three omens of the world's complete destruction...and yet here was Gabriel telling me they were able to grow crops again? Everything died in the Natural Mishap; I couldn't even remember the last time I saw something alive and green.
With the exception of that weird guy from Block D at the infirmary last week, I thought to myself, grimacing at the memory of his vomit all over the floor.
"We might not be completely screwed yet, Lauren."
I'd never seen Gabriel smile like that. Like he was actually excited, hopeful. I understood where his happiness came from—we'd gone through enough, and a little bit of good news wasn't so bad—but there was a bigger chance of this not even working.
Who knew if those crops would last long? They could even be dead by the time we finished the conversation.
Everyone had learned one thing in this past half year: nothing too good lasted for long.
You were always waiting for the other shoe to drop and smack you right in the head.
"Gabe..." I said softly, hoping he wouldn't notice the 'you're-being-an-idiot' expression plastered on my face, but I'd never been good at pretending.
"Don't be such a pessimist, Lauren."
"Then don't get your hopes up too much.... I just don't want you to think it'll all be fixed now." I reached my arm toward the cabinets behind me, taking out one of the towels and opening the bathroom door. "I really doubt everything will get better after three clear signs of our death."
"What happened to my little sister, huh? You know, the one who actually believed we all deserved a second chance."
Of course he'd say that. "She grew up, Gabriel." Without wasting any more time, I stepped inside the small bathroom and closed the door, my back flat against it. I heard him breathing on the other side, walking away after a couple of seconds in a slow pace.
"We both know that's not the real reason," he murmured, loud enough so that I could hear. And I did. Still, it wasn't necessary for him to remind me every single time about the why I'd changed. Truth is, I knew that damn well myself.
He'd have to get over it, though. The world had indeed changed, and so did the people in it.
Looking up, I unwillingly found someone staring back at me in the old, half-broken mirror. Her dark bangs were overly grown, old scars—old memories—ruinined the smooth skin behind them, and a somber veil darkened the pair of ice blue eyes on her face.
I could almost hear my reflection complaining about how terrible I looked.
Did I care? No, of course not.
Stripping, instead, I let the clothes fall to the floor unimportantly, jumping into the narrow shower and making it quick not to unnecessary waste any more time. The brown, welled water came rushing through the rusted pipe, causing a shiver to run through me. It was so cold.
I wanted to hear what Dad had to say, though, because Gabriel most likely gave me the summed up news, avoiding any cons of whatever was happening. He always tried to look at the positive side of everything—now more than ever—without analyzing possible holdbacks.
Being the oldest, I expected Gabe to be a bit smarter, but, apparently, that was too much to ask from him. And how dared he call me pessimist? People nowadays tended to confuse the term realist with killjoy. It wasn't my fault that we'd decided to ignore the warnings that were given to us so that we could do something and change.
I had to look at both sides of the coin. Even if that meant pointing out the bad things.
You cannot just change everything you want to benefit yourself and expect no consequences in return. Before, our reputation on wisely thought through decisions wasn't the best, but we screwed it up real good this time; therefore, I didn't see why not think realistically when it came to positive things coming toward us. We were gonna end up wasting them anyway.
Sometimes I did like imagining what life would be if none of this had happened. Like it was all a bad dream and he'd still be by my side when I woke up in the morning. Losing him almost killed me, but being constantly reminded of how we used to be—how perfect Daniel made everything—tore a bigger piece of me every day that went by.
"You're the light of my days," he used to say, joking. Though looking at it now, I wish I said the same thing back to him, because I'd never be able to see those grey eyes shining back at mine anymore—those eyes that could speak a thousand words without the need of using his mouth.
He was gone, and it was my fault.
Closing the water, I wrapped myself in the worn out, yellowish towel, feeling its rough fabric brush against my skin. There were still some bruises spotting it here and there from the weekly missions we did for supplies, but nothing I remotely cared about.
I took enough time to accommodate the fitted leather jumpsuit to my body—part of me still hating the uniform's tightness. I finished quickly after, brushing some of the nuts tangling the strands of my hair and heading out the bathroom—not before taking the thin necklace from its fixed spot on the sink and staring at the silvery glow for a while.
I didn't want to wear it.
That'd mean all those memories would come back, memories I couldn't bear right now. Not wearing it, though, implied that I'd moved on. But I made that promise to him, and breaking it wasn't an option. Together, no matter what. Locking the chain around my neck, feeling the small, spiraled jewel's coldness going away, I walked toward the door.
However, I halted before it, examining the fuchsia, sticky note that was now there. (That had certainly not been there before.) Unconsciously, I headed to the lamp and switched it on so that I could read what the paper said.
Perhaps Gabe had left it there for me—he'd done that a couple of times before—but the words I found felt like a twisting knife in my heart instead, making it skip a long, heavy beat.
Happy anniversary, Angel.
—Daniel.