Edge of the Apocalypse

The dull thud of the pickaxe slamming into the frozen ground jarred Malcolm all the way up his arms, into his shoulders. He grunted with effort, anger, and bitter determination as he pulled the pick free of the icy dirt and raised it over his head. Again and again he raised the tool and returned it to the ground with all the force he could muster. His hands hurt. His arms hurt. His back hurt, but he did not care. With every swing he saw the face of his Mother, his sister, Naomi,and his friends. He saw their faces, not as he would remember them later, full of life and laughter, but as he had seen them the night before, cold, empty, dead.

The pickaxe struck a rock and shook free of his grip, falling to the ground. Malcolm screamed, more in rage and grief than in pain. He dropped to his knees. His breathing was fast and hard; he did not want to cry, but he couldn't help it anymore. They were gone. The tears fell from his eyes, streaking through the dirt on his face like bolts of lightning. He did not try to wipe them away. There was no point; more would come, he knew.

Father rested a hand on his son’s shoulder and knelt beside him. Malcolm leaned into him and wept even harder. His body shook and Father wrapped his arms around him, not holding him so tightly that he restricted his grief, but firmly enough to let Malcolm know he was not alone in his pain. After a while, Malcolm's tears were spent. He took a few shaky breaths and looked up at Father. He could see the same grief mirrored in his eyes. Father took Malcolm's face in his hands.

"You are strong, son. You should go, be with Iro and Lila."

"No," Malcolm said more angrily than he had meant, "I want to help you bury them. I need to help."

Father's gaze was gentle. He looked up towards the small grove of trees where Iro and Lila were sitting, huddled against each other. The twins had not spoken nor wept since they had come out of their hiding spot to find their mother, sister and so many others dead. They had clung to Father, Malcolm, or each other, wide-eyed and scared. Father turned back to Malcolm. Tears filled his eyes as he spoke.

"Malcolm, the world is changing hard and fast. Right now, your brother and sister, they need you. You can still give them hope and healing and life. As you give that to them, I think you will find they give it to you as well. When I am done, we will all come and mourn your mother and sister and all the others."

The angry defiance left Malcolm at the gentle touch of Father's words. He stood and walked slowly to his little siblings. He sat, putting his back to a tree. Wordlessly, Iro and Lila moved to either side of him, curling up and laying their heads on him.

Father stood and began to dig. His tears fell freely as he worked. Grief was a heavy burden he had carried so much of his life, but this grief was different.

As the world had devolved into chaos, each day filled with new headlines of violent riots, terrorist attacks, and increasing threats from conflicting world powers, Father had known it was only a matter of time before his family was caught in the middle of it. The police force had all but disbanded, small militias rose to wrestle for control. The city was turning into a large-scale gang war. The world he had grown up in had been full of tension, bitterness, and hatred, but he had not thought it would go this badly. Anarchy and destruction of this magnitude had never seemed truly possible. Not until the first nuclear blast. That’s when he knew it was time to leave. He was sure that they would be able to make it far enough away from the city and create a simple life in the mountains, farming and living with their closest friends. They had packed what essentials they could and headed out of the city. He had not thought the chaos would follow them, not this quickly. But he had been wrong, so, so wrong. The chaos had followed them in the form of cowardly thugs looking to prey on the weak, and now here he was, digging graves for the people he loved most.

Hours passed and finally, the grave was large enough for the bodies of his friends, and two smaller graves, one for his wife and one for his child that he felt he had so horribly failed. He laid his friends in the grave as gently as he could. It was slow and miserable work.

Finally, there were just two bodies left. He took his daughter Naomi in his arms. His oldest child. She had been kind, more kind than anyone he had known. From the time she was able to walk, she was always going up to people, whether she knew them or not and she would just smile. She made people feel seen, valuable. There was no one better at sitting with people who were hurting or laughing with people who were celebrating. Her words were few, but they were always full of love and goodness. Father wept as he laid her body down in the first of the smaller graves.

Mother's face was untouched. Her dark hair waved softly in the wind. There was serenity etched on her face. Father had caught her in his arms as she fell and told her that Malcolm and Iro and Lila were safe. He had told her Naomi was safe too. She had smiled at him. "I love you, sweet boy," she had whispered before closing her eyes. The depth of Father's grief as he carried Mother to her final resting place was deeper than any he had ever known. Too deep for guilt, too deep for anger or rage, too deep to fully understand. It was a black hole, sucking up all other feelings and overwhelming him with the reality of his loss. The weight of it brought him to his knees, just as it had done to Malcolm. But it was too deep a pain for tears. He simply sat in the dirt by his wife and looked at her for several minutes.

Sunlight broke through a small gap in the clouds. The light reflected off something on Mother's neck. Father reached out and took the small heart-shaped locket in his hand. It was simple silver. He had been too poor to get anything more extravagant when he had fallen in love with Mother. In the years since then, he had bought her diamonds, gold, and pearls, but the simple silver locket had been more valuable to her than any of it. "It reminds me that your love is the greatest treasure I will ever have or ever need," she told him. Father opened the locket. On one side there was a picture of Naomi, Malcolm, Iro, and Lila each making a silly face. The other side was from their wedding; in it, Father was laughing, Mother was making a silly face, remarkably similar to each of their children's. He reached down, took the locket from her neck, and placed it around his own.

"I will love and protect our children, my love. We will go on and we will remember you."

Father stood. Malcolm, Iro, and Lila had come to stand beside the graves. Iro's face was pressed against Malcolm's leg. Lila was in Malcolm's arms, her face hidden in his shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Malcolm looked at Father; there were no words for them to share, simply their grief.

As the sun set, the family moved to the old truck. Father pulled two large backpacks from the back seat and gave one to Malcolm. There wasn’t enough gas left to make it worth driving and drawing attention to themselves. Father lowered himself so that his eyes were level with Iro and Lila. “I need you to be strong and brave and walk with your big brother and me.”

They nodded.

“Lila, hold on to my hand, Iro, hold on to Malcolm,” he rose so he was looking down at all of them, “we are going to be okay, my brave children.”

As he spoke, there was a flash of light on the horizon where the city was, where their home had been. The explosion was blinding for a moment. Then the sound hit and the earth shook. Father pulled his children close and ducked behind the truck. For what felt like hours, Father held his children tight. Then, it was wholly and completely silent.

Father looked at each of his children, making sure they were unharmed. They looked back at where their home had been. A looming cloud of ash and flame marked what had so recently been a city. The world would never look the same. There was no way to know what would come next; all there was now was survival. Father took Lila’s hand. Malcolm took Iro’s and nodded at Father, eyes hard and determined, “We are going to be okay.”