See You There

The old man had been out here in the desert since before most of the world had become a desert. He’d been out here in the abandoned airbase-turned-junkyard since before everything had become an abandoned something-turned-junkyard. He sipped on his soda, then, smiling, laughing to himself, set it back down, picked up his socket wrench and returned to attaching the gimbal to the top of the thrust chamber.

“I know, I know,” he spoke, patting his shirt pocket. “Can’t take breaks for too long.”

He started turning the wrench, then laughed. “Well, you get in here and do it better, if you think you can.”

He’d been out here for nearly 15 years, escaping the worst of the wars, but still close enough to listen and watch from afar and isolated enough to remain unscathed in the perpetual aftermaths. He didn’t mind it out here.

He grew up as a child in worse conditions, then grew into a man doing harder work. Finally grew into life getting paid to manage more complicated projects than what he worked on now. The desert took its toll on him, but it took its toll on everyone. His skin got even darker, his eyes were almost permanently bloodshot, and his Caesar’s wreath of white hair was bone-bleached now, but he didn’t mind any of it. Could’ve been a lot worse.

This project got started five years ago—all his projects unpaid, personal hobbies now, since he came out here—and three years before it all hit the fan. He hadn’t planned on dodging it out here, hadn’t planned it out with any sort of clairvoyance or anything, but somehow all the pieces seemed to magically fit together. Almost. It almost all fit together so perfectly well.

Still, he told himself, it could’ve been worse. He could’ve been caught out there, out in the wars and firefights, and then out in the endless battles over water, food, bullets and gasoline. Besides, this was his best work yet.

“I’m sorry,” he corrected, smiling. “Our best work. You’re right, you’re right. I know. I know.”

Most days were spent like this: coming out into the heat and hiding from the Sun inside one of the dozens of abandoned hangars for hours on end—sometimes from sun-up to sun-down—putting all the pieces together, smiling, sipping on a warm soda, laughing, talking to himself.

“No, no, I’m telling you, it goes there. I’m telling you it… Okay, I’ll look at the diagram again, but I’ve been doing this for… Oh… Haha, okay, you were right. Yes, yes, you’ve been doing it just as long haha, yes, yes. I understand. I understand.”

Then, at night, he’d return to the decrepit office building. He ran out of freon cannisters years ago, but the desert got so cold at night, so long as he could make it through each day without a heat stroke, he knew he’d be fine. He still had plenty of gasoline—there was more than plenty of gasoline out here—and his generator and electronics still worked fine.

After cooking dinner—which had been almost entirely beans for the last year—he’d sit down, turn on the radio, find whatever station was broadcasting news on the weekly wars—

-Seventeen Hawks wounded in a skirmish with the county militia, with no wounded militiamen, no casualties on either side.-

—and spend most of that time shaking his head, making little remarks like, “I told you they’d go after the militia again. I swear, they’re a ravenous bunch. Wonder when they’ll go back West again… Right, right. If they go back… I know, we lucked out here. Ain’t nobody comes out here, and I don’t know why, but… Hey, I ain’t complaining… Haha, right, right… Hehe…”

Every day it was something new, but, to the old man, it was all the same. Same story every time, just slightly different characters, or the events got moved around, or there was some new “something” they were fighting after. It had become almost like a serialized fiction to him, like the old radio stations had, except there was no escaping the reality of it all.

-Rations are reportedly running low for the Doves, which has been speculated as the cause for their recent increase in aggression. However, with more Doves coming from the Northwest, there has also been speculation that rations are being brought to them—on top of an increase in armed forces and munitions. With this information, it is advised to maintain vigilant and continue stationing nighttime watches wherever you are. And remember, do not disclose your location or the known locations of any allies to anyone who doesn’t already know—friends and family included. Safehouses are no longer available, even with screening, after the events of October.-

The old man would shrug at things like this. “They can come here if they want. I really don’t mind. But, I guess he’s right. Can’t trust anybody nowadays. Can’t trust anybody. Heh, yea, and they’d all wanna come with us too, huh? Room for two, I’d have to tell ‘em. Ain’t got any more room you. But they can have the place when we’re gone. They can have the whole God-forsaken desert when we’re gone, see if I care.”

Most nights were that. Dinner and the radio. Sometimes he’d open a book, look over old manuals and diagrams, flip through tattered magazines that’d been left here decades ago, but he’d been out here so long, for so many nights, that he’d already read them all. He’d already flipped through every page in the entire base since he’d been there.

When he was finally ready for sleep, he’d lay down on a bed he’d found and put in the navigation room. Something about being surrounded by all the arrays and instruments, with windows looking out into the clear, starry skies calmed him, helped him sleep.

Some nights, he’d go out for a walk in the desert, stare up at the stars, ready to join them once he was done.

He’d joke, “Free from light pollution for the first time in decades… Haha, I know, I know. Bad joke, I know—but, hey, it never gets old, right? Haha.”

And then, every morning, he’d get back up, go back out to the launch pad, and get back to work.

Five years like this—five years of trial and error and fixing this and fixing that—and his craft was almost ready. Almost there.

And as he was attaching the gimbal to the final thruster, jets screamed by over him. His head jerked up, and he followed their path—heading towards what was left of this region’s civilization—though they rapidly flew out of sight.

He stared for a few moments more, then looked back down to the gimbal. Just as he began tightening the last bolt, he heard the bombs go off, but he didn’t react to these. He’d expected them, though he didn’t know why they were doing it, or whose side they were on, or whose side was about to mourn for even more family members, or if they even were on anyone’s side, or if anyone was on anyone’s side by now.

He shook his head. “I thought the fireworks would be over by now too. Think they’ll drop any of the big ones here too?... I know. If they’re still doing this—and if they’re still doing this here—it means we gotta get out soon. I know.”

Once he’d finished attaching the gimbal, he got off the ladder, taking his Coke with him, and stepped back several yards, looking up at his mostly-put-together craft. All the internals were ready, with just a few pieces that needed to be attached—the last thruster being one of them—and tested.

From there, it was just a matter of encasing it all, making sure it wouldn’t fall apart as it left the atmosphere, or fall apart in the vacuum of space, packing the cargo space with provisions and, finally, fueling it up. Then it was just getting inside the cockpit and starting the ignition.

He had everything ready for lift-off, just had to assemble it all, maybe spend a couple days testing all the mechanisms.

“Think we’ll get it all ready in time? Assuming they do start the grand finale soon?”

He waited a moment. Then nodded.

“Should take us, what, about a month? Two? Yea, probably a little over two. Still got a bit to go, but not too much. And we gotta make sure we get it done right. We only get one chance at this. One chance. That’s it.”

He sighed. Looking over the ship.

“Oh yea, don’t worry. We’ll get it done.”

Then he smiled and chuckled.

He unbuttoned his shirt pocket and pulled out a golden heart-locket on a string-rope necklace. Opened it up. On the left-hand side was a picture of a woman he’d been married to for over half his life. On the right-hand side was a small note, reading:

See You In the Stars.

He smiled wider.

“See you there, baby. See you there.”