"Have you found her?"
"Not yet."
"Then when?"
"She'll surface soon enough."
"What if she doesn't?"
"Then I guess this was all for nothing."
"Awfully nonchalant for such a serious matter."
"Believe me, I understand the direness of our situation."
"Do you? Because it seems rather smug to joke when you're placing the fate of humanity in the hands of one girl."
"Well then I suppose I shouldn't bust out the self-congratulatory bubbly just yet."
"I suppose not, Captain."
"I just received the final list from the General."
"You might want to check your list for a lawyer."
"And for what purpose will I need a lawyer?"
"For the inquiry commission once this all blows up in your face."
"If this blows up in my face, there won't be an inquiry commission. There won't be anything."
"For your sake, you better hope not."
"For everyone's sake, I hope not."
***
It's an odd feeling, when the worst actually happens. It's as if God himself were standing over us shaking his finger and saying, "I told you so, but you were too stupid to listen." Scientists had been predicting the effects of climate change for years, warning against its impacts and trying to prepare society for disaster. But no one wanted to stop driving their big SUVs, recycle, or conserve water, and the government had a difficult time convincing the public just how truly detrimental our carbon footprint was to the human race.
So they came up with an alternative solution: population control. Fewer people meant fewer resources needed, less waste, fewer cars on the roads, less impact on the environment. It also meant fewer mouths to feed and fewer poor people for which to provide programs. It was called The Attwood Contingency, named after the scientist who invented the drug necessary to carry out the plan. It was the government's last effort to save the planet by eliminating the amount of people that abused her resources. It was signed into law in 2025 with a four-year preparation window to start getting society ready for the change. Part of that change involved pumping hundreds of gallons of Hermaphrozeene into our drinking water. "It's similar to fluoride," one senator explained. "Only instead of preventing cavities, it prevents pregnancy. Think of it as liquid birth control." Babies born in 2030 were the last of the "free to choose" births as it began being called. After that, no baby was to be born until my generation reached child-bearing age, which was determined by Congress to be 28. That gave humanity just under 30 years to start undoing the effects of thousands of years of damage. At that point, a lottery system would go into effect, where woman would be selected at random to procreate and would be given a pill to counteract the effects of the drinking water. For my generation, it meant never knowing whether you would have a family of your own. It was odd growing up knowing that there was a good chance I would never have children. It seemed like the most inherent of all human desires to want to bring life into this world, so it's a strange feeling when that option is taken away. With my siblings dead, it meant that if I wasn't selected, then it would be the end of my family entirely. Maybe that was another reason my parents insisted on keeping me close. Their view of The Attwood Contingency was that it was the government's way of appearing to the public as if they were addressing the climate crisis without actually addressing it. It kept big business happy, but truly had little impact on Mother Nature. But they kept their opinions mainly to themselves. Actually, they kept to themselves in general. They had very few friends and rarely interacted with the neighbors. They had little to no involvement in the community and hardly ever made it to school functions. They weren't always that way though. Things were different before the accident. I remember the dinner parties my parents held when I was younger. My sister, brother and I, would hide at the top of the stairs, peeking down at my parents' guests as they sipped wine, talked and laughed. I had always assumed their reclusiveness was just another side effect of the accident. It was a way to hide their sadness and to insulate themselves from the pain of the outside world, but I wondered now, if there wasn't more to it.
"So what do we do now?" Lex says as she rummages through the side compartments of my car, looking for something to eat. "I'm starving. Couldn't you be like a normal teen and keep half eaten containers of chips in your car?"
"What? Is the end-of-the-world diet not recommended by Cosmo?"
She laughs. One of my favorite things about Lex is that we can banter back and forth. It's what got me through some pretty tough times. It probably comes off as rude to other people, but it's the dynamic of our relationship, and I like it that way. I can always count of her to give it to me straight.
"But for real?" she replies, in a more serious tone.
"For real? For real, we head inland," I glance at Wyler. He stares directly back at me in the rear view mirror.
"Why?" Lex asks, oblivious to the tension between Wyler and I.
"If Dr. Ivanov is right, then the water will continue to spread. The dam can only last so long."
"Plus, if this is really happening the way he predicted, then this is just the first of many disasters to come." Wyler steals the words right out of my mouth. So he was paying attention in our Environmental Studies class. I always knew he was smarter than he realized or acted. He just needed encouragement, but he didn't get that at home. He was too busy taking care of his younger siblings after his dad left. His mom hardly noticed him, even when he was working every day after school to help pay the bills and put food on the table. He was never recognized, never thanked for his efforts. Maybe she just assumed that was his role as the eldest son. But he was still a kid, her kid, and I know at times he wished his mom would show him some of the same affection she reserved for her other children. Nothing he did ever seemed to be good enough. He tried for a long time to make her proud, but when he realized she paid little to no attention to his efforts, that's when his grades started slipping and he cared less and less about school and more and more about work. He never wanted to talk about it: school or work. I think he was embarrassed. I went to visit him once, at his job, but he wasn't there and the other employees acted like they didn't know who he was. Maybe he told them to do that. He wasn't exactly proud of flipping burgers. His brilliance went to waste. He was creative in a mathematical kind of way. He had a talent for building things and an understanding of complicated computer systems. I always thought he'd make a great engineer, but with his grades the way they were, there was no way he was going to get into a good college, or any college really. Not that any of that mattered now.
Wyler diverts his eyes away from my stare. I can't tell if he is angry with me or worried that Lex will notice, either way, it makes me feel uneasy. He's right though about Dr. Ivanov. He was the world's largest proponent for the original plan that was pushed through Congress to address climate change. It was he, who insisted before Congress, that a series of cataclysmic events would lead to an apocalyptic-like experience in which the earth's population would be wiped from existence. He had a television show that aired every week discussing his theory. It had a huge cult following. Kids at school liked to get high and watch the program. They thought it was hilarious to make fun of his "crazy" ideas and thick Eastern European accent. Conspiracy theorists and conservatives said he was working for the Russians and that his ramblings about climate change were nothing more than scare tactics to get the U.S to do something that would give Russia the upper hand in the coal, oil and gas industry. That was part of why his warnings were largely ignored by many. Others however, saw his words as a warning of a very likely outcome of global warming. Contracts were given to company giants like Environettix, to build bunkers and infrastructure to protect us against the possibility of worldwide destruction. But despite his "end-of-the-world fear-mongering lingo," as one reporter put it, his show was never pulled from the air. It was on for years. Many used it as a "how to" guide to survive the end of the world, stockpiling canned goods and water for what they believed was the Second Coming. It's a bit eerie now to think how spot on he actually was. I wonder if he survived the initial disaster. I secretly hope he's hulled up somewhere in a safety bunker, laughing at all of the congressmen and women who were too naïve or too stubborn to believe him. He deserves it after the hard time they gave him.
"So we head inland, great," Lex says sarcastically. "And in the meantime, what do we do about food, shelter, gas? This car's not going to run forever. I'm pretty sure you burned through half a tank getting us out of there."
I actually have a nearly full tank. My parents made sure of that, by scaring the bejesus out of me, telling me horror stories like those tourists in Pakistan who froze to death after they were trapped on the road overnight in an unexpected snowstorm. They said it was important if I ever wound up in an emergency situation. My parents were a bit obsessed with being emergency prepared, an annoying paranoia that I'm grateful for now.
"Would you have preferred I get the best possible gas mileage?" I throw her sarcasm back at her. We both give each other a look and again, she laughs. I miss this: the two of us laughing. It's part of what I'm scared to lose by telling her the truth.
"I have an aunt and uncle near Reno. I think we should be able to make it there. If not, then pretty darn close. We could walk the rest of the way."
"Ever, are you kidding me? That's over 300 hundred miles away!"
"Do you have a better plan?"
"Fine," she concedes. "If that's the plan then I'm crawling in the backseat to take a nap. Maybe that will help me forget about my growling stomach for a few hours. Wyler, you're on patrol. Make sure Ever doesn't nod off or take the wrong exit."
I roll my eyes at her insinuation.
"Here, switch me places," she says, climbing into the backseat and pushing Wyler forward. She playfully grabs at his crotch and he catches me staring at his pants. I can tell I'm busted when I see his smile. He clumsily makes his way into the front seat and buckles up. Lex removes her jacket and scrunches it up under her head to use as a pillow. I almost lecture her about putting her seatbelt on, it has been so ingrained in me, by my parents, to never ride in a car without buckling up. But then I realize, the world is ending, so getting in a car accident seems like a minor problem at this point.
Within minutes she's asleep. I know because she used to do this whenever we would have a sleepover. I would be going on and on about some topic for ten minutes before I realized she was sound asleep. I just thought she was a good listener. I was jealous of how easily she could forget the worries of the day and turn off her brain. I spent my nights reliving the horrors of my past, waking up in a sweat and trying to lull myself to sleep by thinking about something else, anything else. Often times, that was Wyler.
Wyler and I sit in silence for at least a half hour. I try to turn on the radio, but the few stations that still work are playing emergency messages on repeat. I need something to drown out the thoughts running through my head. I've always had a vivid imagination and the images of what just took place grow more and more grotesque the longer I drive in silence. I remember when they taught us about 9/11 in school. I became obsessed with the images of people jumping from the burning buildings. I wondered what their final moments were like. Were they scared? Was there any moment of peace as they floated through the air before they met their horrifying end? I like to think that sometime before you leave this world, there's a moment of serene peace. It would be too cruel to have it be terrifying up until the last moment. I think it was just something I needed to tell myself: that those poor innocent souls didn't meet their end in a petrified state, that my brother and sister were at peace before that semi slammed into our truck, or that my mom and dad were holding hands and looking at each other lovingly, just like they did that day of the accident, as the tsunami swallowed our home and they drifted off to their watery deaths. My eyes begin to fill with tears. I wipe them away with the back of my hand, hoping Wyler doesn't notice.
"Do you think it was quick?" I finally ask, breaking the silence.
"What?" he asks, almost as if he's startled to hear my voice. Maybe he had been drifting off to sleep.
"When they died, all those people. Do you think it was quick? Do you think they suffered?"
"I hope not," he says, looking out the window. It occurs to me then that I'm not the only one who lost my family today. Wyler had two younger sisters. Where were they when it hit? What happened to them? We couldn't be the only survivors.
"Do you think she's asleep?" he asks, looking back at Lex.
"Definitely. Only Lex could sleep through the end of the world."
We both quietly chuckle.
"Shh," he says and we smile at one another. I feel that ease that I always feel around him. The weight in my heart lifts and I wonder why I've been fighting this for so long, but then he reminds me.
"Why are you friends with her?" he asks, turning serious.
"What do you mean?" I reply, genuinely shocked by his question.
"I mean, why are you friends with her? She's not very nice to you, to anyone really."
I think about that. He's right. There are a lot of girls at school that don't like Lex, but I always thought it was less about her personality and more about their jealously. Were those my thoughts, or hers?
"She's not always like that. She's got a tough exterior, but she's got a soft side that she doesn't show to many people, as I'm sure you know," I pause at the implication, but he doesn't acknowledge my comment. "And she's always accepted me for who I am. She doesn't care if I'm popular or the life of the party. And I guess there's just something about her that always reminded me of my older sister. They both have this quality. There's something about their personality that draws people to them. But I'm sure you know all about that, being her boyfriend and all." I lay the last couple words on thick.
I try to keep my eyes on the road, but I can tell he's staring at me now. He's unresponsive and my last comment lingers in the air, his non-response torturing me.
"So if you think she's so mean then why do you date her?" I continue, a bit irritated at the fact that he's judging me for being her friend when he's been her boyfriend for the last two years, which is basically forever in high school time. He lets out a deep breath.
"We've just been together so long. Lex is..." he struggles to find the words. "My constant, I guess." I think of his tumultuous relationship with his mom and nod in understanding. "Plus, our relationship kept my mind off of...other things." He doesn't offer up any details so I assume he's referring to his tough home life. "Our relationship always felt comfortable, easy, free of complication in a world that feels pretty damn complicated sometimes."
"And now?" I ask, afraid of the answer. "How does it feel? How do you feel?"
He pauses for a long time, letting my question linger in the air.
"Confused," he finally replies. He reaches over and puts his hand on mine. I flinch instinctively and try to pull away, worried Lex will see, but he tightens his grip.
"You know I had a crush on you when we first met."
"Really?" I say in disbelief, relaxing my hand and allowing his to rest where it is.
"Yeah, but you seemed oblivious. You were more interested in your books."
It was true. Books were safe. Books didn't die and leave you all alone. Books were my only companions after the accident. That is, until I met Lex. So maybe that's why I'm still friends with her and why I tolerate her shenanigans. She was the first person, the only person, that I let in after my siblings died. I guess I can relate to what Wyler was saying. Lex is my constant too. She's always been there for me, like my sister was. She helped fill that void, that felt so deep, sometimes I thought I might drown in it. She's like family, which is probably why she is mean to me sometimes and why I forgive her without an apology. That's what family does.
Wyler looks at me and I can see he wants to know what's on my mind.
"You don't ever tell me anything. I never know what you're thinking. It drives me crazy. I know you've been avoiding me. Why won't you let me in, Ever?"
Suddenly I feel selfish and ridiculous for having this conversation with everything that's happened in the last few hours. I move my hand from underneath his and rest it on the gearshift.
"I'm thinking that we shouldn't be having this conversation," I say as I nod my head towards Lex who is moving around in the back seat. The look in his eyes is like a dagger through my heart. I can tell my response hurts him, which is the last thing I want to do, but it's necessary right now. All that matters is survival.