The End

The world ended almost 4 years ago to the day. There were civil wars and atomic bombs and it all basically turned into a nuclear holocaust. It was awful and grueling, and it went on for what felt like forever. When it first started, everyone assumed that it would end like out first civil war, but it eventually spread to other countries and now the world has turned into some dystopian hell that reminds me of one of those young adult novels that used to be so popular. The remaining known population lives in a concentrated lump behind tall walls, but there are some of us who have chosen to survive by ourselves. We are few and far between to say the very least.

To this day, even though it seems like I’m the last person left alive on this God-forsaken planet, I can always count on things being burning on the side on the road or what appears to be a freshly slaughtered human being becoming scrap for vultures or crows or whatever. Before the End of the World, I was engaged to the love of my life with a baby on the way and I had a happy, loving, put-together family. My parents never divorced and my siblings and I never fought.

And now they’re all dead.

It’s just me and No Name. My baby. I don’t want to name them. Not yet. Maybe not at all. The world as I knew it is over. Everyone I ever loved is dead. What is keeping No Name safe besides me.

I don’t know why we lived. I probably never will. I have, however, fought tooth and nail ever since just to scrape by and survive. And all I have to show for it is a bunch of ashes to carry in my backpack and the heart-shaped locket that my mother cherished more than anything else she ever owned. The picture inside shows my parents standing in front of the cabin with a bright blue door that they brought me to when I was hardly more than a baby. And I want to bring No Name there. I want to raise No Name there. And if our fates are truly doomed, then that’s where I would also like to end.

Looking back, I don’t think I ever really knew my parents. All that I really know is that they loved that cabin. Nothing else. So that’s where I’ve decided I’m going to spread everyone’s ashes—my parents’, my younger brothers and sister—they all died relatively early on so I was able to have them all cremated. Any later and it wouldn’t have been possible—everything crashed and businesses quickly started to shut down soon after. Whether that cabin is still there or not, that’s what I think they would want—just to be laid to rest together. I buried my love with their family on what used to be the plot of land where their childhood home used to stand before it was destroyed—it was too late to cremate them.

My newest dilemma is that I have no idea where the cabin is. All I have been able to gather up is that it’s somewhere in Montana—what used to be Montana. So that’s where I am. Montana—or Not Montana—I don’t really know exactly what to call it. No maps have been any help and power is hard enough to find, let alone internet access.

I halt as I come to a library with the outside light on. I’ve been walking for days, only stopping to rinse and rest for a few minutes at a time. This is the first time I’ve seen a building with power in weeks. The door is locked so I knock and wait a few minutes before I lay my backpack on the ground and maneuver my jacket off from under the No Name’s Baby Björn, wrap it around my hand, and break the glass. I clear the remaining glass and climb through.

“Hello?” I call out when I settle inside. There’s no answer so I scout for a couch or a chair to sleep in.

The shelves are coated in a thick layer of dust. I guess that people aren’t really concerned with reading or cleaning when the world has ended. On the far end of the library, I see a computer. Long shot but what’s the harm? I make my way over and press the power button. It works. I wipe the dust off the screen with my bare hand and slap it across my thigh before I settle into the chair. I pull up the internet and nearly bust out in tears when it flashes a No Internet Access message across the screen. I pull up a virtual satellite map of the state of Used-To-Be-Montana and scroll meticulously across small sections of the map before I see something that looks familiar. My eyes are blurry with exhaustion and they are so untrustworthy that I place a pin in the spot and zoom in. It’s a cabin. It’s a cabin with a bright blue door. Unmistakable. And it’s only a days’ walk from here.

I know that I can’t walk there now. I’m way too tired. There is literally no way that I would be able to make that trip without passing out on the side of the road. So, I sleep. I settle on a couch in the far corner of the library that has so much dust on it that there’s literally no way to dust it all off. At least it’s not concrete.

When I wake up the next morning, I rush back over to the computer and print out directions to the cabin before I start on my way. I rob various abandoned gas stations for sustenance on the way. A little over 28 hours after I left the library, I come to a long gravel driveway. This is it. I make my way up and nearly collapse when I see the familiar blue door. Tears are already streaming down my face. This is it.

I approach the door and pick the lock upon discovering it to be locked. I walk into the living room and collapse on the floor in a puddle of tears. No Name looks up at me with their big blue eyes and I see my love in them and suddenly, I know that everything is going ot be okay. At least for now.

Everything in the cabin is somehow intact. Dusty and dirty and expectedly run-down, but intact. I pace the house and walk through each room and dust off some of the appliances with a chunk of old sheet that was lying around.

After my walk through memory lane, I return downstairs to my backpack—to the ashes that wait to be scattered. I leave out the back door and settle on the patio swing with No Name settled in my lap to finally eat. We swing for a while before I put No Name down for their nap and make my way over to the edge of the yard with my backpack. I make a sentimental statement for each of them before I spread each of their ashes and nail markers into the ground to mark each spot. I sit there with them for a while and update them on what I’ve been up to and what No Name’s latest update was—they started to crawl a few weeks ago and have been hard to keep close since. Life has been—livable—to say the most. But we’re getting through it. Together and apart.

I feel rain start to tap against my face and I stand, say one final goodbye for the moment, and make my way inside. I walk into my old nursery and check on No Name. I bend to kiss their forehead before making my way into one of the bedrooms. I lay down on the first comfortable mattress that I’ve managed to find since I started out on my own. Maybe it’s not even comfortable. Maybe it’s just that I’ve finally found somewhere I can truly call home—no matter how long it may last. My family is here. My child is here. My life is here. This is home.

All because of a heart-shaped locket.