Next to the washer, a large metal storage cabinet teased him. He opened the doors to find a motherlode. Batteries, lightbulbs, towels, paper towels and one of the most coveted items, toilet paper. He emptied the cabinet leaving only a small box of finger nail polish. Just before walking away, he stopped, turned back around and took the box of polish. He shoved it into the basket.
After inspecting the left side, he went to the right. The first thing he did was remove the batteries from the remote controls.
He opened a small media console but found nothing of value.
In his excitement, he had started to work up a sweat as beads began to form on his forehead. Outside of tearing your suit, nothing was worse than your visor steaming over and making it impossible to see.
He glanced at his watch. Two hours until nightfall. He had lost track of time. He’d never make it back to the eastern boundary of The Collective and he wasn’t about to take the chance driving at night.
With no urgency to leave. He decided to camp in the basement and leave first thing in the morning. He stepped back and plopped down on the couch.
A cloud of dust rose around him.
On the coffee table, he saw a stack of magazines. He picked the top one up, a copy of WOMEN’S HEALTH and dusted it off. He chuckled as he read the cover: LOSE TEN FOR THAT HOT SUMMER BODY. “Losing ten isn’t quite the problem it was back then,” he laughed. TRY THE GLUTEN FREE VEGAN LIFESTYLE FOR A HEALTHIER YOU! He burst out laughing because after the bombs dropped, he hadn’t met one person who was gluten intolerant or vegan.
Taking a needed break to cool down, he skimmed through the magazine, his thick rubber gloves sticking and tearing the fragile pages. Losing interest, he tossed it aside. He leaned back and exhaled deeply. Curious as to what lied further back in the dark reaches of the basement, he aimed his light in that direction.
The light scattered the murkiness.
He slowly traced the back area, stopping when he saw something. He got up and walked over.
There lying on the floor, in a circle, were the skeletal remains of four people. Once more he asked himself who they might be.
Strictly by the size, two appeared to be children and two adults. If this was a family, then whose shadows were seared into the concrete retaining wall above? Grandparents? Neighbors? Friends?
His light settled on a thick, pink covered book lying next to a small skeleton. He bent down, picked it up and dusted it off. MIA’S DIARY, was written on the front. He glanced back down. “Hi Mia. Do you mind if I read your diary? I promise, I won’t tell, I’m just curious what happened to you.” Pausing as if expecting a response, he stood. After a moment, he turned and went back to the couch.
Getting comfortable once more, he opened the book to the date the bombs rained down, or as the Number One, his leader, called it, THE REBOOT. The Number One, coined the name after having spent his life as a computer programmer. He’d preach that THE REBOOT, was a good thing for humanity which always resulted in Kyle rolling his eyes. How could the death of billions be a good thing?
Kyle found the page he was looking for and read.
August 19. I should be getting ready to go to the movies, but instead, I’m stuck in the basement with my annoying sister and my parents. Someone on the television just said that bombs, nuclear bombs, have landed back east. Dad says we will be fine. That Denver isn’t really a target. I admit I’m scared but I’m also irritated. Does this mean I’ll miss the End of Summer Dance? I can’t. Today was the day I was going to ask Hudson. Why is this happening? I hate my life.
Kyle looked over and flashed the light on Mia. “Sorry you missed your dance.” He frowned and continued reading.
Mom is freaking out and Dad won’t stop pacing. I hope Nana and Papa get here soon. Dad was able to reach them but now the phones don’t work, even my texts have stopped. My sister is crying. I feel bad for her….a little.
The television just stopped working and the power went out. I’m using the light coming from the window to see. I’m officially scared. What is going on?
Kyle paused and said, “The end of the world, sweetheart, the end of the world.”
A bright flash just lit the basement. Mom is sitting next to me holding Olivia, she won’t stop crying. The ground is rumbling, shak…..
Needing to know what she looked like, Kyle skimmed through the book to find a photo. Nothing. The invention of the smartphone made it easier to take pictures, but no one seemed to print them. An entire generation’s worth of photographic history was essentially lost because of THE REBOOT.
August 21. I don’t know why I’m writing in this. No one will ever read it. Dad keeps saying we will be fine, but Mom says otherwise. After the rumbling two days ago, Dad went to go see what happened. He came back right away. Says the house is gone. Knocked down. He says the basement saved our lives. The only window on the back was cracked but didn’t shatter. Dad says all we need to do is wait, that the police or firemen will come soon to help.
Kyle shook his head and thought, How sad.
August 25. Olivia died last night. The rest of us are sick. Dad keeps saying that soon the police or government will come to help. Mom and him argue all the time. I know Dad is lying. He just doesn’t want us to be worried. I’m scared. I don’t want to die. Why did this happen?
Kyle flipped the page. It was blank, he flipped to another only to find it blank as well. He thumbed the remaining pages of the diary. Nothing. August 25th was her last entry. She must have died right after, no doubt from radiation poisoning, he thought.
He put the book on the coffee table and looked over at the family. “I’m sorry this happened to you.” He settled into the couch and closed his eyes. Thoughts of Mia and her family popped into his head. He imagined the dad, scared for his family but helpless. For a parent that most certainly had to be the worst emotion to have. As he dove deeper into thought, he slipped off into sleep.
A loud clang came from above.
Kyle opened his eyes but he was submerged in pure darkness. Night had come and brought with it the pitch black.
Shuffling and unintelligible chatter came from the top of the stairway.
He sat up just enough to so his arm could get over the back of the couch. He then slid his hand down and removed his semi-automatic pistol from its holster. He raised and pointed it in the direction of the door.
Footfalls and more chatter came from the stairs, just beyond the door.
Whoever it was, they were coming downstairs and would soon be greeted by a volley of forty-five caliber bullets. In The Wastes, one always shot before asking. For a second, he wondered if it was another driver, but quickly dashed that thought. He was the only driver willing to go out this far. This had to be Generates, a wandering band of nomadic cannibals who lived on the outskirts of the habitable zones. They were hellish to look at but one should never mistake their appearance for abilities. Their name was derived from the worddegenerate and over time they came to be known simply as Generates.
The door knob jiggled.
Kyle held the pistol steady.
The door flew open.
Not hesitating, Kyle squeezed the trigger rapidly.
A scream came, followed by the distinct sound of something heavy falling to the floor.
Kyle paused.