Flight 217

It was dark.

We hadn’t seen the sun in days. Even when it was it’s turn to relieve the moon and take over the skies, it was hidden by smog and all of the remnants of war. Unable to distinguish noon from the beginnings of night, we were always surrounded by skies that more so resembled a darkened sunset than daytime.

We had been on this journey for days, first by foot, headed northeast from Georgia hoping to run into allies that could get us as close to North Carolina as possible. Not many people were willing to take on additional travelers who had nothing to offer. We had only the food we could fit in our backpacks and they were becoming light with resources. It wasn’t as if we could simply replenish our reserves. There weren’t many stores left standing and the ones that were, remained abandoned, unmanned and ransacked. No one was interested in cash as payment. It's value had diminished to practically nothing and was useless to all. Credit was certainly out of the question. The only way you could obtain anything useful these days was through a barter system. People were hungry, thirsty and needed help and resources more than useless paper and coins. The best thing you could own was silver or gold. These precious metals could get you more than money ever could.

Three days into our journey, we spotted an older gentleman, pulled over on the side of the road, refueling with gas he had stored in canisters tucked away in the trailer he was pulling with his car. He was headed to Virginia to meet his family and agreed to take us to North Carolina out of the kindness of his heart. It was on the way, he was lonely on the road and welcomed the company. This was music to our ears as we were effectively poor in this new world. My partner with little more than a gold bracelet and a couple of rings made of silver and I unwilling to give up either of the two gold necklaces that hung from my neck.

One of them was my mother’s chain, given to me by my father to keep her memory alive after she was killed. She was a casualty of the violence that proceeded the end of the world as we knew it. The loss, for us, was anything but casual. The other, a heart-shaped locket passed down to me from my grandmother, my father’s mom. It had been in the family for decades, possibly even centuries. The outside the locket was etched with coordinates: 30.0074° N, 31.4913° E. It was said they were the coordinates of the home to our ancestors who helped to build a city from nothingness. My father once helped me enter them into our computer to help explain to me how these random numbers and directions worked together to identify a place: New Cairo City. The inside of the locket held pictures of these men, the oldest known patriarchs of the family.

I never knew them, but their faces were familiar. They held features I have seen in so many family members, including my own. I had always seen my face reflected in my father’s. I was the female version of him. It was no secret the genes were strong in our family as the resemblance was clearly noticeable even to the random passersby on the street. “Are you related to Amun Farag?”, I would often hear as I conducted errands. I learned early on that strangers saw my grandfather in my face so much so that they could not help but inquire if their suspicions were unfounded. What I would give to be back on those streets, reminiscing with them, sharing stories of the good man he was.

My father possessed both his face and name and grew up to become a pilot. Grandpa was so proud. Father's profession served our family well and continued to prove its benefit even in these times. He had gotten wind of a plane set to depart for a land that has shown promise to being a new home for all who have survived. A place of solace offered to those who owned enough silver or gold to barter their entry aboard. The exact location of the destination was unknown, kept a secret from the public so survivors would not flood the new sanctuary we would hope to call home.

Father had given us specific instructions on how to get to the location of departure in Charlotte, North Carolina and would meet us from his home in Tennessee. We were relieved to see his tanned and tired face as we successfully made it one step closer to paradise. There was little time to embrace and rest in the joy of our reunion as I was immediately filled with both fear and anxiety. We had made it to the agreed upon meeting spot only to be met with a sea of men, women and children desperate to escape the darkness that had overwhelmed us all.

“There are so many people here. How can we possibly gain a spot on this flight?”, I ask.

We wait in line for our turn to barter our way to safety. Hours after arrival we finally make it to the gate that separates the hopeful from the hopeless. As we approach the gate, I begin to come to terms with the fact that both pieces of gold hanging from my neck will no longer be mine as they are the only things of value I have to trade for my wellbeing.

“What is your offering?”, the gatekeeper asks, his similarly foreign face stern as if to say without words that he contains zero compassion and will accept only what is useful with no remorse. I volunteer to go first, wanting to get the immanent disappointment out of the way early. I don’t have much, none of us do. A couple watches, rings and my necklaces. We’ve had to trade so much of our belongings just to get this far and we are low on items to sacrifice.

Left with the two most valuable things I own, I shakily go to unclasp my priceless belongings, prepared to offer them up as my ticket on board.

“I have only this chain and this locket,” I say as tears fill my eyes.

Before I can successfully tame my fingers long enough to release either from my neck, the gatekeeper stops me.

“The locket? Are those coordinates?” he asks, furrowing his brow with clear puzzlement and a hint of excitement.

“Yes, sir.” I reply offering as much courtesy as I can, hoping it will soften his heart toward our desires to board.

He takes the locket into his hands and examines it for what seems like eternity. He opens the locket, exposing the earliest branches of my family tree. His eyes widen as they meet mine, then my father’s. He examines our face as if we look familiar to him, like we all met in another life and he has been searching for us ever since.

“Farag?”

I am both frightened and relieved as our surname leaves his lips. Who is this man? How does he know us? Are our faces and names held somewhere on a list of those unable to join the new world? Have we been identified and thus had our death certificates signed?

I look to my father who is clearly suffering the same thoughts. We have always been proud of our name and our heritage. Our ancestors traveled from Egypt to America with a last name that means ‘Happiness after suffering’ with every hope of fulfilling the prophecy.

“Yes.” I manage to whisper, for the first time considering if it is a name I should renounce once and for all.

The gatekeeper releases my locket from his grasps and swiftly picks up where my fingers left off, unclasping it from my neck. He removes it and disappears past the crowd and onto the aircraft.

Left confused and feeling like a victim of the worst robbery known to man, I open my mouth to scream after him but am silenced by both my partner and father. As both men take turns holding me upright, allowing me to bury my face in their chest, I am oblivious to the gatekeeper’s return. I feel my partner lift me from my safe space, and turn me around to meet my thief face to face. He is holding out the locket and places it in my hands. His eyes appear soft for the first time since our meeting. He holds out his hand toward the aircraft, motioning for the three of us to enter the gate.

“Welcome aboard", he states, no longer seeking payment from any of us. Confused, but unwilling to question our apparent luck, we hurry into the inside of the gate, joining the hopeful, where our fellow travel companions are held, awaiting their turn to board.

Shortly after we are seated, the pilot comes on the overhead speaker:

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard flight 217. This will be a flight to New Cairo City, with one stop for refueling.”

My father and I lock eyes and both sets are filled with tears. We immediately realize that the ticket to our new life had been passed down in our family for centuries and was housed around my neck the entire time. Our utopia was positioned where our entire family began.

We buckle ourselves in for the journey of a lifetime, close our weary eyes and get some much needed rest for our greatly anticipated return home, to the land of our ancestors.