Alona

Far beyond the sun-bleached horizon rose a plume of acrid black smoke, darkening the already tarnished midday skies. As I stood on the precipice of the crumbling city overlooking the barren meadow, I reflected on the beauty that Eleuthera was once known for. A sharp pain shot across my chest, like an arrow of emotion, and drew forth the tears I spent the last fifty seven days suppressing. The memories of the final moments of the hundred hour war flashed before my eyes. I grasped tightly the gilded locket that felt like sand between my fingers. The familiar letters etched into the heart shaped medallion were etched even deeper into my mind as I struggled desperately to hold fast to the evanescent memory of the only love I had left towards the end.

As bleak as things were after the nuclear winter scorched the skies, those of us left behind still had to survive. The more naïve of the survivors still believed that the idea of rebuilding for the sake of a commonwealth was worth fighting for. But then there were the realists like me, who knew that falling back into the same cycle of ignorance and inaction based on human preconceptions of idealism was madness. I knew better. I knew that the grave we were living in was nature’s final lesson, and the most profound sacrifice bestowed upon mankind. It was exactly what we deserved. We were the children of folly and arrogance, and our ingrained need to satisfy our selfish desires was what brought about our near destruction. Life was no longer meant to be lived, but rather forged to outpace the crucible of time.

The echo of engines grew ever steadier as the raiders in the distance drew closer along the horizon. Though most who survived were not aware, the ruins of Eleuthera were home to the final stronghold of mankind’s most hopeful. And though I was a realist, I was also a prisoner of my own sins; the gilded locket, my prison. I was bound by my guilt to atone, grasping desperately at the memory of her, with the foolish hope of keeping it from fading into the same oblivion that drew ever closer.

“RAIDERS!” I shouted, sprinting back into the crumbling cityscape, signaling to the hidden sentry to fall back into the secret catacombs beneath the city. A sense of impending doom washed over me as the guardsmen corralled the remaining few stragglers into the hidden passageway and towards the central chamber underneath the derelict schoolhouse, the only safe location left in the decrepit city that was supposedly capable of withstanding siege. The ones lucky enough to seek shelter in these catacombs were the ones who survived when the bombs fell and annihilated nearly all life on the face of the planet. The true test of man’s mettle came and went, and it was not cinematic. The last minute screams and pleas for help echoed through the recesses of my mind, as I struggled to push aside the memories that haunted me nearly two months later.

“Is everyone inside?” asked Alona, the woman who brazenly decided that the task to rebuild fell upon her shoulders.

“We did a headcount, everyone’s here,” replied Jarrod, her partner, and one of the handful of men who were willing to sacrifice their lives to save the undeserving.

You see, when the final moment had finally come, and all men were called forth to make the sacrifice, very few decided that making an honorable choice was worth dying for. Some even went as far as to kill for the sake of salvation among the ruins of mankind’s demise. Women and children were tossed aside as annihilation drew near. It was men like me who understood that in the face of mortality, it was every man for himself. Survival of the fittest. It was that very clear truth that made it so easy for me to let go of her hand when she needed me the most. It was the simplicity of that fundamental premise that kept me from breaking down and falling apart as I pulled free the gilded locket from the pile of ash that remained afterwards. Her memory was seared into my mind, standing in the once lush meadow, sunlight gleaming off the medallion around her neck, heart full of hope and trust in a father’s love. Even deeper was the memory of the pristine stillness that emanated throughout the chambers of my mind when she called out for help and I turned my back.

Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes felt like days as we stood silently in the same shelter that both protected us, and imprisoned us in our very own living nightmare. Then came the footsteps, the sound of which ever so gently echoed along the stone walls of the chamber. It almost seemed like a legion of men were drawing near, men whose sole purpose in this wretched existence was to amass and survive. Rumors had spread of such a horde of raiders, led by a warlord whose notoriety stemmed from his affinity for bloodshed. I held my breath like the others, hoping that they would move on.

TAP, TAP, TAP...

No such luck.

“Come on out little piggies,” laughed a menacing voice that reverberated throughout the cavernous chamber. “Come out and play…”

The thunderous cackle of the bloodthirsty raiders caused a tidal wave of fear to wash over the innocent survivors, and sent chills down my spine. A little boy, no more than seven years of age, began to cry as his mother who looked equally terrified covered his mouth with her hand to muffle his sobs. The piercing shrill of an acetylene torch was followed swiftly by the thunderous roar of a battering ram smashing against the already battle-worn gate. Some of the civilians began to scream and cry in terror, sending the onlookers into a frenzy. Most already knew of their fate, as keeping people alive for labor was simply not worth the wastage of valuable resources. Death was all but guaranteed, but not before the vilest of the horde would have their fun.

As a child, I never fathomed the capacity for man’s cruelty. At least before the hundred hour war, what flicker of hope there was for mankind was apparent in the occasional kindness of strangers or the backlash in the face of injustice and oppression. But nothing was more astonishing than the speed at which the flicker of hope was snuffed out when life as we knew it turned to dust. Brother turned on brother, husband betrayed wife, and even mother abandoned child in the face of oblivion, all for a single scrap of food. All those left behind were guilty of these dark indiscretions. At least that was how I justified my own betrayal. And yet, here was this woman who, without any logic or reason, held fast to an almost inconceivable flicker of hope, refusing to allow it to extinguish.

“Stand together!” shouted Alona. “I know you’re scared, but as long as there is a single breath left in my body, I will fight for you. All I ask is for you to trust me. The only way we get through this is if we stand together. Even the mightiest legions fall before the united, so stand with me now!”

“We can do this!” shouted Jarrod. “And if we fall, we’ll make sure to take them with us!”

“YEAH!” shouted several among the crowd, picking up what weapons they could find nearby.

The repeated clang of the battering ram was constant, growing louder and louder as it slammed against the metal gate that stood between the two faces of oblivion. Finally, with a resounding crash, the hinge gave way, sending the gate flying into the crowd amidst a cloud of debris. First came the gunfire, as the vanguard sprayed into the onslaught, hoping to cut down the enemy before they could approach. But the weapons were no match for their armor and might. Leading the charge was a beast of a man, the light of the torches illuminating the blazing hatred in his demonic eyes. The sheer sight of the warlord sent half the fighters and survivors scurrying to hide, hoping a fool’s hope that they might cling to life for just a moment longer.

It was strange to feel in that moment, the torrent of emotion that consumed me. Here I stood, on the precipice of death, watching the desperate few cower in fear and anguish, fiercely hoping to cling to life, but to no avail. And despite being cut from the same cloth, I could do nothing in that moment but pity them as I watched each and every last one get cut down like a lamb to the slaughter.

No more…

“No more,” I whispered, lifting the axe embedded into the cloven body of the woman lying dead at my feet.

Seconds crawled by as I fought with every ounce of strength I could muster. My eyes grew cloudy with tears as I brought forth my judgment both upon myself and my enemy. Her angelic smile was the only thought in my mind as I clenched her gilded locket against the grainy handle of the weapon that bore my fury.

“JARROD! NO!” I heard a cry from across the chamber.

It was Alona. My gaze shifted towards the warlord, my sight resting upon the massacre at his feet. There lay Jarrod, the man of honor who stood for everything I did not. I watched in almost slow motion as Alona lunged forward, dagger in hand, towards the sneering animal who slew her companion. Almost on instinct, I launched across the chamber to intercept. I reached her with only a second to spare, pushing her out of the way as the warlord’s blade ran me through.

“Run…” I whispered, collapsing onto the floor as the trickle of warm blood poured out of my chest and pooled at my side.

As my vision began to fade, I stared at the gilded locket that lay sprawled across the floor beside me. The glint of gold gleaming in the firelight illuminated the five letters of her name etched into the center of the medallion…

ALONA…