I have to bury them before the storm. To see them pinned down, grown over... that would be too much. I couldn't come back from that.
Hell, I'm barely sane as is.
Lightning sparks like fairy lights in the oncoming dark, the thunderous grumbling so ever-present it barely registers as sound. The storms have been worse since the last land fell. Something about the water content in the air, they said. Throws off the humidity. Of course, they haven't been heard from in months. Maybe one day the atmosphere will normalise. Maybe.
A solitary blowfly hums aimlessly above her left eye. I'm glad I closed them before rigor mortis set in. If anyone's been lucky in all of this it's the flies. So many new places for them to live.
That's us, in case that wasn't clear.
It's been almost sixteen months now. Sixteen months since we left. We got lucky, in this place. Sanctuary, she called it. The farthest place we could find from the growth points. Once we knew what was happening we left as fast as we could. Leaving the house we were almost overrun. Took too long to pack. Brady, my eldest, was grabbed by a growth point. It was close, but we hacked him free and got out of dodge. I broke every speed limit, and I was fine with that. The cops were too, they were busy fighting with the rest of the armed forces, trying to hold back the tide. We slowed to get through a checkpoint but the officer didn't even bother to wave us down. He knew as well as we did, nothing was going to stop this. They were fighting a bush fire with a water balloon.
But we have to try, don't we? We have to do our best to survive even when we know it's hopeless. It's in our nature. If we didn't try we'd be letting ourselves down, going against our program, against everything that's kept the human race running since the dawn of time. We're at the end now. The timer's stopped. A photo finish. I doubt there'll be a medal.
That survival drive, that's why we ran. That's why we left instead of choosing to fight. My neighbours glared as we packed the car, judging us. Hating. But honour's no good if you're dead.
We couldn't find Mandy for close to an hour. You could hear the growth front over the rain, that's how close it was. She was hiding in the roof; didn't want to leave our home. She didn't know what was at stake. I don't think any of us did, really.
The radio cracked as we drove; I wanted to get a heads up on new fronts as they were known. We'd have to change our route if it got too close. There was nothing useful, just a list of fallen suburbs and cities and a bunch of people blaming each other for the outbreaks. That's just like politicians; argue over who left the stove on while the whole damn house is burning down.
It was admirable, the plan. One the whole world got behind. We could end starvation, end it for good.
My stomach grumbles. The irony is laughable.
I start to dig, chipped shovel scraping dead earth. The dirt is so hard I have to jump on the shovel with both feet just to make a dent. This is going to be harder than I thought. The wind has picked up now, whipping up red dust eddies that skitter and twist across the desert.
It's stunning here. That's why she picked it. She always said if she went, this is where she'd want to stay. I don't have time to take it in, but that's ok. I've seen it many times before. We'd sit up here when the rain fronts came, waiting, watching for a hint of growth to creep toward us on the horizon. For a while, nothing did. We'd sit together, all of us, huddled under a dripping blanket, watching the sun trace patterns in the clouds. We'd get cold and light a fire, maybe even heat up a can of something from the stash. The sky would clear and the stars come out, and we'd realise just how little we were, how tiny and minute and small amongst that sea of sparkling souls. Mandy called them souls, but that was my fault. I'd told her that the stars were souls, lifted up from the cities and the highways and the towns, glittering forever and watching over us. It was the only way she could deal with what she'd seen. Brady played along, he knew what I was doing and he knew she desperately needed to believe it. I was proud of him. I always will be.
One evening, after the rains, she saw it. A little patch of green on the horizon. My heart sank. I'd almost believed that maybe we were safe, that maybe it would never come. An illusion, but one I'd come to rely on.
The next morning I set out to the east, to try and find a passage through. Four days driving, plus a day's walk up a colossal mountain. The binoculars nearly went over the edge when I got them out, but I caught them and looked through at the horizon. I had to squint to see, but the front was dead east as far as the eye could see. No way we were getting through that way.
West was the same, and south. We were hemmed in on every side. It was only a matter of time.
I should have been thankful. Out here it hardly ever rains, not on this plain, something to do with the mountains to the west, I think. That's how we survived so long. To be honest, I'd expected to see others here. I'd thought they'd show up, chased here by the unrelenting front. Either they were dead, or they made it off shore. Before we left I heard rumours of ships launched in the Pacific, a floating island of survival. Anyone with a boat had made themselves scarce quick smart, off to islands in the tropics where the breeze was unlikely to carry seeds. It was only a matter of time, though, before some bird found one and made its way north.
The rain starts on the horizon, falling on the tangled fields in sheets. This is going to be a big one. I dig faster. The smaller holes are almost done, two side by side, one six feet long and the other four. Only just long enough and far too shallow, but I don't have time to get things right. Not now.
The plan was develop quick growth food, an unlimited and rapidly growing supply of soy that could be used as a staple. The initial trials were miraculous. Two drops of water and a plant would be full grown in a week. We could end starvation, drought would no longer be a threat. Enough food for the whole world. The organic protesters went nuts. They saw the dangers long before we did.
The company did field tests in the desert. Untillable wasteland transformed into lush vegetation in a matter of months. That's when they took the training wheels off. Open-sourced the genome, let anyone download it and tinker around in there. Anyone with a 3D printer could make their own soy plant. That's where things went wrong. Someone got ambitious, tried to make the growth even faster. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. It worked, but it was out of control. No-one knows how it got into the plumbing, but the plants went nuts. They filled the sewer in days. It mutated and began to grow in anything with moisture. The ultimate parasite. It grew over trees, soil, wet roads and water tanks. Anything with water content became a feeding ground. We couldn't get it under control. Every time it rained it just got bigger. Clippers didn't work, they just spread the problem. Fire was too slow.
I still don't know how, but it knew. It began to fight back. We were in even more danger than we thought. It could grow in anything with moisture, and it started using us.
That's when the whole world went to hell in a wheelbarrow.
The final hole is nearly done. I take a break for a minute to catch my breath. My energy is low. I haven't eaten anything in days, which is ridiculous considering the circumstance that brought me here. The rain is almost on top of me, and the growth front is closing in. It's not going to be a nice way to go, drained of water by a ravenous soy bean. I start to laugh. Never, ever in my wildest dreams did I think this would be the way I'd die. I double over, huge belly laughs wracking my body. I have a dark sense of humour.
The first drop of rain hits the dirt like a meteor. I need to get them buried. I need to give them dignity. This will be my final act.
I move the kids first. She'd want me to save them first. I have no time for ceremony, but I try to be gentle as I lower them in. They look so peaceful. Their faces show no signs of the sickness that took them. I'm thankful for that. I'll remember them this way. I try not to watch as I shovel the dirt on top of them. I cry, quietly. I miss them.
She's last. My love. She looks beautiful. She was so tired towards the end, but she's sleeping now. Finally time for rest. I kiss her on the forehead, now wet from the driving rain, then cover her over. The mud sloshes off my shovel. I'm sorry, honey. I've messed up your dress.
I can hear the growth fronts now. Never thought I'd hear plants grow. Creaking, cracking, slithering through the storm. They're not far away. I've seen a few people taken by the growth fronts, so I know this is going to hurt.
I drop my shovel and open my arms to the storm, soaking up every little last bit of life I have. The rain spills down my face and across my neck, warm and clean and wonderful. I grab a handful of mud and let it squeeze through my fingers. Just for a moment, I'm a child again. The wind picks up and I close my eyes, letting it splash across my body. I don't mind that it makes me cold. Cold means I'm alive. Every moment I feel cold is another moment I'm alive. I breathe the air, sucking in and feeling life pump through my body. I can hear the growth front still, so close it's deafening. Any moment now I'll be taken. Any moment now this all will end. I smile. I might be the last man on earth for all I know. I never thought I'd have that honour. I owe it to the human race to die well, to die with dignity. I yell, letting out a loud, guttural, victorious shout. It disappears into the wind, but I know I die with honour.
A moment passes.
And another.
The rain stops.
The growth front slows.
My eyes open. The plants are so big now the rain's been soaked up before it even hits the ground. The front has run out of steam. I'm still wet, but it can't reach me. Not yet. It needs more rain.
This little clearing is all the space that's left. The only place untouched, still, by the growth lines.
When the next rain comes, I'm done. I won't last another storm, not hemmed in like this. I've got an hour, a day, a week at most.
One more moment of life.
I smile. The human race will last a little longer.