Retaliation Earth

As a child I'd often stare out my window in awe of the summer storms that would trample through my neighborhood. When I was around 3 my mother taught me to make a game of waiting for a lightning strike so I could count the seconds between the blinding flash and the accompanying roll of thunder. She told me that every second counted as one mile, challenging me to try and figure out how far away the storm was. Looking back, I think it was just a way for her to train me to be less afraid of the bright surges of light and deafening cracks that intruded the vast depths of my young mind. I digress, things like that don't matter much anymore. Still, I can't help but catch my mind grappling at memories of the way life used to be, like a young kid stretching to reach the candy jar on top of the fridge. My normal suburban childhood seems like nothing but a hazy memory now and I suppose thinking about it, as much as it may bring back a sense of normalcy and comfort, does more harm than good in the chaotic world humanity was plunged into.

I still find it weird how no one saw the super cells coming. We had no warning, not even from the world's leading scientists. There was nothing on the news or on social media as mother nature allowed no time to prepare before the first tropical storm devastated Florida's coast. A robust hurricane crumbled entire cities as eyes across America became entranced in their TV screens, watching helplessly as the victims succumbed to nature's potent fury. Scientists had named her hurricane Mara, and it was fitting, as she took every home, business, and life she came across. She left nothing in the wake of her destruction, as if she had a sense of enmity against the human race for some atrocious offense we'd performed against her. Fema and Red Cross had sent aid to the affected areas, but it didn't matter, most of the people were already dead from Mara herself, flooding, or illness. Every new week brought nothing but more storms, each more powerful than the last. Wrathful forces from the ether terrorized our planet as survivors became fewer and fewer until, eventually, there were none.

It brought nothing but heartache as each mass casualty occurred. My husband, daughter, and I huddled on the living room floor watching the news in a hazy stupor, dumbfounded by the carnage unfolding on our TV screen. I realized how lucky I was to be given life, and how quickly that gift could be taken away. People began to flee the shorelines while relentless storms wreaked havoc, bringing devastation and sickness that rushed humanity like a wave. Scientists and doctors were busy caring for injured and sick while hospitals filled quickly to capacity. Lines of the ill flooded out of the doors and onto the streets. By the time we realized the sickness was radiation poisoning it was too late. We never found what caused the storms to rain radioactive fallout like powdered snow, but we did find that the fallout brought death, the death brought riots, and the riots brought looting. A culmination of the three caused violence and murder to fill the streets as friends became foes and neighbors slaughtered neighbors, hoarding what resources remained.

There's no way of knowing how many people are left besides me, all of the news stations went dead a couple weeks after the riots started. Instead of rebuilding in an attempt to save what and who might be left, we turned against each other. Perhaps it was that very mentality that caused nature's loathing in the first place.

I clutched my daughter's locket in my frail hands while trying to push off the stabbing ache of starvation that penetrated my stomach. My body slumped slightly, against my will, as I gently unlatched the locket. It made a small click as it opened, and I laughed. It was ironic to me that while it was open the heart shaped design was split in two separate pieces, held together solely by a small metal hinge. It was so similar to my own heart that, not long ago, was split in half as well. I stared down at it. On the left side was a picture of me and my husband and on the right was a picture of my daughter. A tear rolled gently down my cheek as the last pieces of my heart crumbled to dust. I was overcome next with a fleeting sense of tranquility as I nuzzled into the tree I'd been left propped against, as if the memories unburied a long missing comfort alongside the crushing agony. I closed the locket for the last time.

Pustules covered my body causing wet areas on my clothes from weeping infection. Another hour or two and I'll be claimed by the radiation, doomed to perish by the hands of nature as she demands back the life she'd once gifted me. I ripped off the mask to my hazmat suit and threw it to my side before taking the first breath of open air I'd had in months. I could smell the pine trees surrounding me. Sweet scents of sap, soft dirt and moss drifted on the wind as a gentle breeze tousled my short brown hair.

I took another savory deep breath in and closed my eyes. Doing so allowed my brain to wander back to memories of a better life, a life before mine ended. I remember meeting my husband for the first time; our first date; moving in together; getting married; having our daughter. Oh God, my daughter. I wouldn't have had her if I'd known bringing her into this world would be a death sentence for crimes she never committed. Her first words; her first steps; her first birthday and first day of school. We were so happy then. We were running from another group when my illness became too much to bear. I found myself incapacitated, they had no choice but to leave me behind, and now the last memory I'll ever have of my daughter is her being ripped from my arms as she placed her locket in my hands.

My daughter was a very spiritual girl, despite her rather agnostic upbringing, and I wonder if she'd wanted me to carry her locket with me into whatever afterlife she believed in. It hurt me to think that her mind was filled with doubts of me remembering her. No, she must have just wanted me to have the comfort of seeing their faces in my final moments. My husband's last act of love, on the other hand, was to prop me up against this tree. Perhaps he thought it would give me more dignity in death and, at least, it was better than perishing on the forest floor. I'd accepted my final goodbyes as my husband dragged my restless daughter away in his arms, the sound of her screams audible, although muffled, through her mask. I couldn't tell if she was crying but I'm sure she was. I was too. Despite all of this, I'd managed to find peace in my death and, although it was hard, I'd come to embrace it. I heard the distinct sound of a group approaching and I found solace in knowing that my loved ones had enough time to get away. As the strangers' boots got closer and their voices became audible, I stopped fighting the gentle lull of unconsciousness and, with my last breath, I prayed for the first time in my life, that my baby would make it to the new world.