Last Vestige

An overcast of dark clouds stretched over an open road with nothing but barren wastelands filled only with wreckage and ruin on either side of it as the diffused light of the sun gradually began to rise over the horizon. The air was already warming up as it gusted over the dusty badland, and as the light grew brighter through the haze and the overcast, a cloaked figure could be seen walking from the horizon, his parka worn and tattered as it flapped and flickered in the wind. He had been walking for what seemed like an eternity with a distant promise being the only thing keeping him going. With the shrouded light of the sunrise bringing about another despondent dawn, this lone wanderer pulled back his hood, revealing a worn, unshaven face with terracotta skin and eyes half-dead topped with a scalp filled with long, thick, dusty, grey dreadlocks that covered his ears and the back of his neck. He stopped in the middle of the road, only having been able to get a few hours of sleep at best due to the constant threat of attacks from other scavengers and wanderers of this world. He began to take in the bleak but ever-growing light as he took a deep breath. He reached into his pocket with a weathered, fingerless glove wrapped around his hand and pulled out a chain with a small, heart-shaped locket on it. His hands jittered slightly as he clicked the tiny latch out and opened it to reveal the vibrant image of a lovely woman in white surrounded by chrysanthemums. She had a meek smile on her face, a pleasant but quiet demeanor, and a warmth that managed to brighten even the bleakest of days, even if only a little. His tired eyes gazed upon her image just as he did every morning, like a silent prayer, a routine that kept his mind rooted and firm to his task. He took in another deep breath, emboldening himself before closing the locket once more and lovingly pushing it deep into his pocket where it was safe and sound, where She was safe and sound. “Just keep going,” he whispered to himself as he looked toward the western horizon. With that, he took yet another first step down a long and lonely road. Another leg of the trek was about to begin.

He continued down the path set out before him, his boots treading upon broken asphalt upheaved after years of baking under the sun and no one to perform routine maintenance on it. The shoulder of the roads didn’t offer much other than the occasional abandoned vehicle with the odds of starting up again being less than a chance in hell. Of course, in thinking about it, he supposed that if hell did exist, this world might qualify now. Naturally, it wasn’t always like this. As he walked, he began to reminisce over days past where the old world was filled with thriving societies, large shining cities and technological progress increasing at a staggering and exponential rate. Flowers like the ones in the picture he carried grew in large fields back then. Waters streamed in rivers and collected in lakes. Mountains were capped with snow, and the rains were soothing and cleansing. Back then, he was a young man who was just coming into some of the best life had to offer, spending his days with the love of his life. That was before the calamity.

The incident was relatively brief, the effects seemingly everlasting. One madman with enough skill to hack into and access the nuclear silos of every nation that had them fired them off all at once, targeting indiscriminately as they struck down cities and areas all over the old world. The missiles only took a matter of a few hours to destroy everything that was built, only a few hours to glass the majority of the landmasses of the planet. On that day, he and the woman he kept closest to his heart were enjoying a sunset on a riverbank on the outskirts of town when the bombs fell. The explosion hit from the middle of downtown, and like a raging storm, the shockwave and radiation rushed throughout the city all the way to the outskirts, tossing the both of them along with many others into everything, the shards and debris shredding many of them as the victims impacted against anything sturdy enough to still be standing. As the sirens continued to blare, he began to regain consciousness before frantically dragging himself out of the rubble and ruin. With a heavy limp, he began to call out for her, only to receive silence in response. Eventually, after a time, he spotted her on the opposite bank crushed under a slab of concrete. He hobbled as quickly as he could, blood running down his arm as he waded through the water, frantically calling out to her the entire time. Upon reaching her, he sank to his knees with anger, anguish and despair washing over him like the radiation that was beginning to set in. The damage to her person was so great that he only had to take one look at her to know that she was gone. That was over two decades ago.

Not a day had gone by when he wasn’t faced with the results of the event and the destruction and loss that it wrought. During his travels, he had bore witness to many who suffered from radiation poisoning, banditry, famine and disease. Even places that were deemed to be somewhat of a safe haven were a far cry from the general idea. Even the heavens were pitted against him as the skies would drop irradiated rain at times depending on the type of storm cells that developed. Somehow, despite the odds and the difficulty, he had made it as far as he had. However, not even he was able to completely stave off the effects or the constant threats of the new world. He would succumb to terrible coughing fits, some of which would result in the upheaval of his blood. After everything that happened and all the steps he took, despite how careful he was, had always been, he knew he didn’t have much time left.

On this day, it was no different. He had already been walking for several hours when another coughing fit came on. It was so powerful and so violent that it brought him to his knees as he wheezed and coughed and gasped for air. The only thing he could do is reach into his pocket for his inhaler and take a couple of puffs to try to settle down. Even then, it took almost half an hour for his body to return to any form of normal. His journey had taken him over mountains, across vast expanses of fields of dead grass, around lakes and through rivers and streams. His luck, despite his condition, was exceedingly fortunate in having found food and provisions suitable for consumption, but he never took more than what he could use right then for fear of being targeted by the scavengers. Of course, that didn’t stop some of them. Every once in a while, one or more would get up the courage to try and take whatever they thought he had. Some even just thought it would be fun to kill him for kicks. Unfortunately for all those that gave into such instincts, they met their end at his hand painfully, for he would let nothing stop him from keeping his promise. Not even death. Every encounter was life or death, and though he struggled heavily to survive, he always managed, at times having to mimic the cruel brutality that this new, savage world continued to force upon him. However, though he had no intention of dying by someone else’s hand, he knew that the hand of death was slowly creeping up on him, and was almost upon him by that point. Time was of the essence, as he heard back in days of old, as fitting now as it was then. With that thought in mind, he cobbled himself together and picked himself up off the ground once more. Finally, after wiping the blood from his mouth, he continued west.

The sun sailed over the overcast as the day continued, the hot air slowly draining on whatever life he had left with each step he took. Parched, he pulled out a mid-sized flask out from under his cloak and unscrewed the cap. He tilted it partway, only to receive nothing in the form of moisture. He pulled from his lips, confused before holding it over his mouth, desperately turning completely upside down. Still… nothing… His posture sank and slumped in disappointment and restlessness for a moment before finally resigning himself to it as he continued to walk forward down the path before him. Eventually, as dusk began to settle in he began to have another fit after having reached the base of some hills. This one was much harsher than the ones that came before. It was so debilitating that his legs gave out, causing him to collapse to his stomach. He pulled out his inhaler desperately and pressed the button at the top as he wrapped his lips around the opening, hoping to get any form of relief from it, but he found that it was empty. Frustrated, he tossed it onto the asphalt, causing it to shatter into pieces. A strange wave of desperation surged through him in that moment, however, and even though he coughed and wheezed and groaned, he began to claw his way up the hill, through the lifeless grass and dry soil as night began to fall, the coughing spasms refusing to settle and give him peace. Despite it all, he wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. It couldn’t end like this. He wouldn’t allow it to, not after everything he had endured, the starving, being chased and hunted, fighting and killing to survive, the lives he had to take just to get this far, all of it bearing far too much weight for him to be crushed by it now. One hand after another kept clawing up the hill, dragging his body along with it, but for each time he managed to inch his way forward, it almost seemed like another hand clamped onto his body, weighing him down more and more as though the burdens of his journey had finally come to claim him and pin him to the hell he had known for the last twenty years. Finally, he couldn’t claw forward any more and passed out, motionless and defeated.

Hours had passed, and night had returned to day. A strange, yet familiar scent wafted on the breeze, causing him to stir, the sharp pains in his chest having dulled considerably. He could smell it. It was clear as day to him. “Sea salt!” he gasped as he managed to slowly get to his knees and eventually crawled up the hill the rest of the way, the sides of his mouth still stained with blood. Once there, he could see it at last, the ocean and the beach below. “At last,” he said as he stood to his feet. He took a few steps down before slipping and tumbled down to the sand. After a few minutes of rest, he rose to his knees again, the air and open blue skies refreshing him. He sat up on his knees, looking at the water. “I made it, Love,” he said quietly with a weak cough. “I kept my promise. We always said that one day we would come back to your home, where the sky meets the sea in the west. At last… At last, I...” His head dropped to his chest, his lungs having taken their last breath, and his body upright, facing the dawn’s tide and the locket, bearing his love's image in his hand.