“I’m pretty sure I’ve got the virus, Ellie,” Andy’s voice sounded tense. “I’m so damned hungry I don’t know what to do with myself and the stores are running low, real low.”
All summer classes had been canceled, and he was home, alone and going stir crazy. “I swear to God, the gravel is starting to look tasty.”
“Could you take an autocar, instead of the plane?” Eleanor said, desperate to get her husband out of there.
“Babe, they overrode the autocar controls, no one can leave town, not in an autocar at least. I’m stuck.”
A week later the phone calls had stopped. There was no answer on his end, no matter what time of day she called.
Eleanor’s mother was the first in the family to succumb to the virus. The radio and newsvids had all begun to describe it in careful detail - the elevated temperature, increased appetite, and in the end, an uncontrollable frenzy of eating. Eleanor’s mother hadn’t reached the final stage, some never did according to the newsvids, and it was possible she would be spared.
Eleanor and her father both saw the signs, but neither of them knew what to do, or even what to say, as Mary cooked bigger and bigger meals, eating more and more as each day passed. The pantry, usually packed overly full, brimming with usual staples of canned goods, snack foods, and all of the ingredients Mary used for her favorite baked items was slowly becoming more and more desolate.
And on June 23rd, at 1:05 a.m., Eleanor was jolted out of an uneasy sleep by the sound of her father screaming for her. Eleanor sprinted down the hall, blinded by the lights in the master bathroom, highlighting the gruesome scene.
Her father, dressed in his briefs, was desperately trying to peel a bottle of drain cleaner from Mary Ridley’s spasming hands. Her body contorted, vomiting blood while still trying desperately to consume more. Blood, drain cleaner, spurted across the tiny room, splashing her father with caustic red froth, burning his bare legs as he screamed in horror. Eleanor rushed to help her father, to help him stop her mother from consuming the drain cleaner. She too felt the spray of the caustic liquid, across her face and forearms. It was far too late for Mary Ridley, however. Her death warrant had been signed the moment the virus entered her body.
Eleanor’s father, a dapper man in his mid-sixties, would linger for just two weeks longer, severe burns on his arms and legs from the drain cleaner, bent and broken.
A mask of silence had descended after he watched his wife convulse to death on the floor of the home they had shared for over three decades. Eleanor, whose arms had also been splattered and burned by the drain cleaner, was one of the “lucky” few. She survived while her grandparents, parents, and most of the family and friends she had known all of her life died within weeks.
It was there in her parents’ house, stuck in quarantine, that she received the call.
“I’m so sorry, Ellie, so very sorry. It took me a while to find your phone number. I finally thought to check his phone for recent calls.” Libby Johnson was their neighbor to the south.
Eleanor had said nothing, holding the phone, the unreality of it all made her feel as if the ground itself would begin to shift and crumble. Andy had been thirty-one years old and the picture of health. How had this happened? How was it even remotely possible?
“How?”
Libby stammered back, “H-h-how? It was the virus, Ellie. He, well, oh Ellie, you don’t want to hear how. It was, it was the virus.”
“How did he die, Libby?” Eleanor needed to know. “Was it food, or something else?”
She could hear Libby sniffle, “Oh Ellie, please don’t...”
“Tell me, please.”
“They think it was the pine needles that did it, Ellie. That’s where they found him, there in the back and with the pine needles in his mouth. B-b-but they aren’t doing autopsies anymore so it isn’t for sure. There are just too many dead to be able to examine them all. They just...”
Libby’s voice continued, her words blurring together. Eventually Eleanor just pushed End and cut off Libby’s words.
Andy was dead. Mom was dead, and Dad was declining every day. In the past two days they had had to barricade the doors and windows. Well, she had. Dad just sat there, aging before her eyes. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken, as Eleanor had hammered boards in place to hold off the hunger-maddened virus victims as they desperately searched for food.
Yesterday one had almost gotten in. He had been middle-aged, his hair receding, his face damp with sweat. He had tried to tear the boards off of a window before finally giving up, sitting down and beginning to eat grass. Hours later he had walked away erratically, obviously in pain, before finally collapsing at the end of the street.
Despite her close contact with her parents and friends and neighbors, Eleanor’s temperature never rose above 98.6. She never felt the virus activate inside her. Instead, she would carry a spray of scars, an angry red for the first few months before they quieted to a silver-gray scar tissue, on her face and forearms, for the rest of her life - her mother’s last moments painted indelibly on her skin.
End of Days
“After this I looked, and there before me was a door standing open in heaven. And the voice I had first heard speaking to me like a trumpet said, ‘Come up here, and I will show you what must take place after this.’” – Revelation 4:1
Date: 04.15.2103
Calypso Colony Ship
“Morning, Nathan.”
Nathaniel forced himself to nod and mutter “Morning” in return as he passed Wesley Perdue outside of the Mess Hall. He had slept late, the dark dreams had held him until he had awoken, later than usual. He was running late, but he desperately needed to eat before his shift began. Everyone else had already been and gone and the Mess Hall was empty.
He filled the tray with fruit and a round of freeze-dried oatmeal and watched as the hot water from the tap slowly dispensed covering the small disk in liquid.
The dreams still lingered in his mind.
The ‘Ponics Deck, glistening bright with frost, the plants hanging limp, dark slicks of green, bordering on black. Ice glistening from the vents, his breath clouding in the air. It had felt so real.
He sat down at a table, picked up a strawberry and froze, the berry halfway to his mouth.
The hand slapped down, stinging, as it knocked the piece of bread from his hand.
“You didn’t say grace, Nathaniel,” his mother’s voice sharp and authoritative at his ear, “Other Mother always made sure I said grace before eating. How many times must I tell you this?”
“I’m sorry Mother,” his voice said, “Please, I’ll say it now.”
“It’s too late, Nathaniel, Other Mother said that it is too late to say grace after you try to take a bite. You have sinned and must be punished. Now go to school,” she pushed him from the chair, “and remember to always say grace.”
He set the fruit down, his stomach now rumbling ominously. He had to be punished.
He cleared his tray, placing the uneaten food into the compost bin, the silverware, dishes, and tray into the compact dishwasher in the wall of the Mess Hall. The washer blasted the food away with a mixture of water and air under high pressure. Any solids were collected and dumped into the compost bin.
Three hours later, the small amount of work he needed to do was done, his mind was clear, and his focus razor sharp. It was the strawberry that had done it. That cursed fruit, impossibly grown aboard this ship so far from Earth.
Mother clicking off the newsvid, “A new fruit, created in laboratories, what would Other Mother say about that?”
Mother turned on Nathaniel, who was working on his schoolwork on his student tablet.
“Nathaniel! Listen!”
He jerked his head up, meeting her gaze. Today was not a good day. He could see the madness in her eyes.
“Other Mother said, ‘You must not eat fruit from the tree that is in the middle of the garden, and you must not touch it, or you will die.’ The fruit they have made is wrong
and evil, Nathaniel, Other Mother was right!”
He was alone in his small cubicle in the Programming Section, one of several others working away at various coding jobs needed on board as well as for the colony that would be established upon arriving at the new planet. The interface blinked, waiting for his next command.
His stomach, empty and growling in class. “Nathaniel?” Miss Rose, his teacher was standing next to his desk, “Did you have breakfast?”
“No, Miss Rose. Mother said the food coupons weren’t right. So we ran out yesterday. Mother says she can get more today. But not any of the bio...bio...bio jen...”
“Bioengineered foods?”
Nathan nodded.
“I see.”
Mother had a list of foods that they couldn’t eat. It made shopping a challenge, and with the latest round of releases of bio-engineered foods replacing what couldn’t be produced on a massive scale, the list grew longer and longer, and their bags of food became smaller and smaller.
Nathaniel’s teacher must have said something. The next day there were two Child Protective Services workers there, examining Natalia Zradce’s kitchen. As both workers backs were turned she shot him a look that promised he would pay for his mistake.
His mind kept returning to the dream. Ice on the inside of the viewports in the lounges. His breath steaming in frozen air. He could feel the bitter cold as he walked the empty halls of Calypso.
Despite the dreams haunting him all these hours, Nathaniel’s stomach rumbled. It had been long enough, three hours now, he could stop and get food. He left his cubicle, walked to the lift and rode down to the Mess Hall. He filled his tray with the offered protein cube, fresh greens from the ‘Ponics Deck, and filled a water cup from the wall dispenser. Perhaps if he asked forgiveness for eating this evil food at the same time as he said grace, it would be acceptable. The room was full and he felt out-of-place as he sat down at an empty seat and bent his head.
“How long has it been since you prayed, Nathaniel?” His mother, turning on him the moment the CPS workers left. “Look what your sinful ways have done now! Remember, blessed are all who fear the Lord and walk in obedience to him.”
Her hands on him, hard and bony, her fingernails claws in his skin, she had pushed him into the small closet at the end of the hall. Shutting the door she had whispered through it as the lock slid into place.
“Son though he was, he learned obedience from what he suffered.”
The door had not opened again for two days.
That had also been the last day he ever attended school.
“I didn’t know you were a devout man, Nathan.”
Nathaniel was jolted out of his whispered prayer as Jacob Carter sat down in an empty seat across from him.
Nathan nodded, and dug into his meal.
Carter smiled cheerfully, despite a somewhat awkward silence.
“In case you didn’t know, I head a group that meets weekly. If you are ever interested, do let me know. We send up prayers, discuss theological questions and more. Seeking solace in the Lord with other like-minded people around you can be a comfort in itself. You are more than welcome to join us.”
Mother, in a froth of fury over unwelcome visitors at their door, “They pretend to be prayerful, while asking for money. Ha! They don’t pay attention to the word of God, they ignore it and do as they please. Other Mother often said, ‘If anyone turns a deaf ear to my instruction, even their prayers are detestable.’ The fools!”
Nathaniel realized that Carter was expecting some kind of response.
“Uh, yes, right, I’ll keep that in mind.”
He finished eating his meal and left in silence.
His mind returned to the last dream as he walked down the hall. It had centered on the Cryo Deck. He had walked in through the enormous reinforced doors, hoping to see his wife. Instead, once there he could see the machines showed no lights, no readouts, and as he looked closer, he realized the pods were filled with skeletons, mouths frozen open. Each pod was filled with the same image, grinning in a macabre rictus of death.
Back at work, alone in his cubicle, he could still hear his mother speaking, as real as if she were standing behind him.
“It is the end of days, Nathaniel. You are the great prince, foretold to arise and protect your people. Other Mother said that there will be a time of distress as has not happened from the beginning of nations until then. But at that time your people – everyone whose name is found written in the book – will be delivered. You must step forward now. God demands it.
He stared at his workstation screen, hands immobile. Mother had been right about so much. She had said the world would die and so it had, billions rotting in cities, the survivors fleeing, hiding from the corruption death had wrought upon the streets, waterways, and the land itself. And then there were the people left in the world. Just a few in the face of so many dead, barren, unable to bear children.
Truly they were cursed by God. All of Mother’s visions, they had all come true. Now he was left wishing he had died, just as Mother had predicted, because he didn’t know what to do. How was he supposed to usher in the end of days here, in this spaceship so far from Earth?
What if the dreams last night had been a message? What if he was supposed to make it all happen? The thought stunned him. He sat there at his workstation, unmoving, immobile, until shift end, his thoughts resolving into a plan. As he left work, Nathaniel’s steps veered away from the Mess Hall and headed instead for his coffin, where he climbed in and immediately dimmed the lights and keyed his window to the opaque privacy setting.
The dreams, they were a message. He was sure of it.
First I dreamed of ‘Ponics, filled with frost and dead plants. Then the second dream, on the heels of the first, of the ship empty, lifeless and cold. He thought. The Cryo Deck, filled with the dead. That is my destiny. The dreams were a message. End of days. Mother was right.
After all, he was the one, Mother had said he would live and he had, when all of Earth was dying. Now he just had to finish what had been started. It was the end of days, and he had a duty to help the poor lost souls on Calypso, to help do God’s work.
He pressed a button and a keyboard slid out, his personal work station ready. He typed in a search string and watched as the screen filled with code.
Nathaniel realized for the first time what he truly wanted in life. After so many years of blank nothingness, no guide to follow, and no mission to fulfill – his way was finally clear. He would find a way to end this unholy existence. On Earth, dying was simple. Here, God needed his help. He would make them all proud –Mother, the Other Mother, God... everyone.
Success would not be judged in moments or days. It would be judged by the dead.
All that was left was bringing his shipmates through to the other side.
Death by Monopoly
“We live at a moment when our relationships to each other and to all other beings with whom we share this planet, are up for grabs.”– Carl Sagan
Date: 06.19.2099
Earth – Oak Grove, South Carolina
“When the world ends, what do you do?’ Peter Satler wrote in his journal. It was an old-fashioned affair, made of paper, bound with leather, and a pocket on the inside held a slim pen. His wife, God rest her soul, had teased him endlessly about it, calling him a Luddite.
He missed Gina. Her absence was still a raw, gaping hole in his heart. He sat for a moment in silence, then continued to write, “The newsvids are showing people in the cities wearing white surgical masks over their mouths. Just a touch, an errant breath on the wind, or a drop of sweat can spread the virus. It is cutting into our world, doubling down, sliding through families, communities and workplaces, leaving waves of death in its wake. Will it come for me and my children next?”
“Dad? Have you seen my phone?” Peter’s youngest daughter Taylor asked.
Peter closed his eyes, of course she would miss it - it had been a birthday present just a month earl
ier.
His stomach gurgled audibly, but he smiled brightly at his daughter, “Hi Sweetheart, are you ready for breakfast?”
“I’m starving, but...”
“Great let’s fix some pancakes then.”
Taylor eyes lit up, “With chocolate chips?”
“Sure thing.”
Half an hour later, Bree had appeared from her room, her hair a tangled mess. “Dad, have you seen my tablet? It was on my desk the last time I saw it.”
Peter sighed. Soon Addison would wake as well. He was outnumbered and alone, but after listening to the newsvid last night, long after the girls had fallen asleep, he knew he had to do something. He had rounded up every electronic device in the house, dumped it all in a bucket and poured bleach and water over it. The wallvid was too large for that, so he had taken it out back and used a hammer. Not a single electronic device used for communication or entertainment remained in the Satler house.
“Come eat some pancakes, Bree honey, we made them with chocolate chips.”
They ate in silence, ravenous, and Peter felt that the food barely touched their hunger, he could hear the girls’ stomachs grumbling for more. As he mixed up a new batch, Peter emptied the last of the chocolate chips into the batter.
Outside, the world was warm and sunny with deceptively blue skies. It was perfect weather for the end of the world. The news of a mysterious virus had spread quickly in the past few months.
Addison arrived then, her spiked short hair unkempt, the smell of the pancakes having woken the teenager from her deep slumber.
“Pancakes? I’m starving!” She dug into a stack with gusto, focused entirely on shoveling the sweet treat in her mouth.
At first news of the killer virus had been accompanied by skepticism, even morbid fascination - a virus that caused you to eat everything in sight until your stomach gave way? It sounded impossible, especially after several experts, all board-certified physicians, had explained that the body has several ways of preventing a person from overeating – discomfort for one and even if someone had managed to eat far more than their stomach could digest, they would simply toss their cookies and be done with it.
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