The Heart of the Future

The musk and dirt of the bunker closet could reach Genovera even through the fabric mask pulled securely over her mouth and nose. Even in a secure area like this, underground, masks were important to keep as minimal contaminants out as possible. Genovena adhered strictly to her parents’ rules about this--she knew that this was how they had managed to survive so close to the Blast Zone all this time.

The closet was stored with decaying wooden boxes, nibbled on by underground creatures, marks permanently etched with the strong teeth of mutated rodents. They’d had an infestation last year, and half of the canned food kept here had been eaten through. Since, they’d moved to storing those in pure metal cabinets that her Uncle Istvan made by hand. Genovera still shuddered at the thought of such creatures, feeling the ghostly imaginations of them at her feet. She pushed past those boxes, searching for the spray paint cans, and some tools to help manipulate the decorative outside of her little sister’s first gas mask.

Nastasia was turning ten today, and in a few hours the family would be celebrating her Masking Day. This was the day where she would get to put together her first gas mask for the outside, and establish her identity to everyone Above Ground. Genovera felt a thrill of excitement; tomorrow she had an excursion planned, a trip to the park. She hoped that Nastasia would like the outdoors as much as she did; she found that the deep violet sky was more beautiful than any remnants of paintings that decorated their dark bunker rooms. It was ironic that something so deadly could be so beautiful and vibrant, as if it sucked the life and color out of anyone who dared breathe it in.

Magic and technology were a dangerous combination; that lesson was one learned four generations back, at the height of Abraxas, the now-dilapidated capital of their poisoned country. The geniuses of the century had gathered, researchers and engineers, desperate to create the world’s most incredible source of power. They viewed magic as an unstable source that could be reigned in with proper use and oversight, with technology as the tried and true foundation to build upon and enhance with. Everything had gone well, until it didn’t--when the massive Potestotem blew. The tower that was a beacon visible thousands of miles away, looming and so bright with its energetic intensity that it lit up the city regardless of the hour, lost control and exploded, wiping out anyone and anything within a radius now known as “The Blast Zone.” The rest of the country was swept with the noxious purple clouds. Thank the dirt for the bunker system that had already existed, where miners frequently lived to be closer to their digging sites. Those existing all around the country were the only reasons anyone survived, so they were told.

Genovera picked up the cans of paint that seemed like colors Nastasia would enjoy best--a deep green, light blue, and the rest of the yellow. She tucked them under her arm, her gaze sweeping for anything cool for decorations on the shelf, but the only thing that was behind the cans was a tin box. Genovera’s brown face lit up, her hazel eyes widening at the idea of stickers, something that her mother had promised for her own Masking Day four years ago, but they had been unable to find. She’d never seen this box before, so it was promising that she could find something--a butterfly, she hoped, something rare. She reached for the box and opened it, looking down at the contents, ready to dig through the stacks of sticky paper.

What she found, instead, was a necklace. Genovera paused, moving to a box to sit and look at what she had found. Every piece of jewelry Genovera had ever seen was covered in dirt or grime, hard to clean with gloved hands and easy to break. This necklace was gold, shimmering in the very dim light of the lantern hanging from the ceiling, and well taken care of. The pendant was heart shaped, thick and engraved with floral detailing. It could look really nice, taken off of the chain and welded to a suit or even a mask. Necklaces were something nobody wore, at least nothing Genovera had ever seen anyone wear, because they would hide under layers or be completely unnoticeable under a suit. Jewelry was usually adapted to be decorations attached securely on the outside. Genovera was surprised this was all in one piece, with its chain and all. The beautiful state of it made her feel unwilling to adapt it, even, and she found herself picking it up out of the box, holding it in her gloved hand.

There was a clasp on the opposite end of the chain from the pendant, which Genovera figured was probably how someone could put it on. She tried the clasp, but the fabric of her gloves made it too difficult. With a huff, she pulled one glove off carefully, and tried instead with her bare hand. She opened the clasp, but putting it around her neck was impossible, gloves or no gloves. How was anyone supposed to do this? Frowning, she clasped the chain back together and evaluated the length--it could probably fit over her head. She took her thick black hair out of the bun it was in, to make the process easier; she smiled as the chain slipped over her head, the heavy pendant clunking softly over her turtleneck. A warm feeling in her chest grew as she thought about the connection she had in this moment to her ancestors--whoever had worn this previously, Genovera imagined them smiling at her. She liked using things, making sure that nothing was set aside or hidden away. An object’s worth to her was in its ability to be used. So, this action, just the very moment of having a necklace around her neck, made her feel right.

“Genovera? Have you found the paint yet?” Her mother called from the other room. Panicking, the girl tucked it into her turtleneck--she didn’t want her mother to take it away from her and leave it abandoned again. She slipped on her glove and put the box back, covering it with the remaining spray cans.

“Yes! I’ll be right there!” Gathering the cans into her arms, Genovera stood up from the box, heading out of the closet. Her mother Pomona was waiting for her, arms crossed in her patient pose. Her eyes and eyebrows were expressive enough without the visibility of her mouth, an eyebrow raised with a questioning look.

Genovera held out the cans to her, allowing Pomona to take them.

“Dear, can you go above and collect some sticks for the smaller details? Your sister insists on being perfectionist as always.” Pomona adjusts the cans in her arms, and turns to leave the kitchen where they were standing. She did not need to wait for the answer she already knew was coming.

“Yes, mom.” Genovera was always the one sent outside on small errands like this, since she liked it best. When she was little, before her Masking Day, she liked to stare at the drawings her father would sketch, and begged him constantly to be allowed up early. It never worked, but her enthusiasm never died.

In the mask room, she put on her suit. It was her favorite color, red, with golden decals swirling over it. Her mask was matching, with cool reflective glass to protect her eyes. It was her third upgrade since her first one, and so far her favorite. It connected to a pack that was filled with breathable oxygen, charged up enough for a short trip outside and some extra in case she got lost. She put everything on, walking past her father’s Raccoon inspired mask and her mother’s simple metal one, and headed up the ladder into the Sealing Room. There, she closed everything off, opened the hatch at the top, and came out into the world above. She shut the hatch diligently, pressing a button that would filter the toxic fumes out from that room for anyone else who wanted to come up.

Standing on the outside, she could see the flat, desolate ground expanded before her. Most of the rubble from the century before had been moved for furniture and other items that people needed with their life in the bunkers. The ground was covered in dirt so devoid of nutrients that it may as well be dust, skeletons of charred trees dotted all over the violet horizon, disappearing in the smoggy atmosphere further away. Something about the explosion made them difficult to cut down, and they were often home to some of the mutated creatures that people fed on nowadays. Even in a land of barren destruction, they were trying to preserve what parts of nature they could in hopes that it would grow back.

Genovera walked over to the trees, searching the ground for a stick that may have been gnawed off by the mutated teeth of a squirrel, or something similarly thin and pointy. Crunchy, mostly-dead, blackened grass stuck stubbornly out from the ground at the base of the trees. The closest thing to plants, they often tried to eat those for any sort of nutrients. “Salad,” their mother called it as she poured some sort of sauce over it made from the mushy berries that pathetically grew from sickly bushes.

No one was outside in the area, it seemed, but Genovera wasn’t surprised. Besides her family, she didn’t know of anyone who really lived so close to the Blast Zone. The food they caught and foraged barely fed six, anyway, so she figured this was for the best. She always had trouble imagining whole cities with so many people condensed in one area; she often felt claustrophobic thinking about it.

Her foot caught a root. Distracted with her thoughts, she had not been looking out in front of her feet but instead on the ground surrounding the tree; she yelped as she came down hard, grabbing a nearby branch with her hand but of all the luck in the world, it snapped, and she careened forward, smacking her mask-covered face on the ground.

Jostled but not injured, she groaned and sat up. She felt over her mask, making sure that everything was still hooked up and alright, but to her dismay she realized that the oxygen tube had been dislodged. This meant it hadn’t been properly attached before she went out--she couldn’t remember when she had fiddled with it last, or if she had to replenish the oxygen. She stared at the tube limp in her gloved hands, expelling whatever might be left of the clean air out in the poison. If she had not had the tube properly hooked this whole time, she wouldn't have been breathing the oxygen. Did that mean…

Was she breathing the poisonous atmosphere this whole time? Against logic, she sucked in a breath to test, see if there was any difference to her lungs, but she felt fine. She knew that couldn’t be right. She glanced at her meter on her wrist, which told the toxicity of the atmosphere, and it was as high as she’d ever seen it been. In the danger area, where oxygen was a necessity.

The only difference about today was the necklace. Still under her shirt and her suit, it sat against her bare skin, feeling warm and safe. Could such a thing have the potential to save her? Thinking back to the tales of magic from her childhood, she could almost believe it.

Genovera wanted to test the theory--but with something safer. A plant, maybe. Yes. If she could find a seed of some sort, she could raise a plant with the necklace placed around it. And if this worked... maybe she could grow more, and find a way to save everyone.