I think you died when it first happened, went up in a blaze of light, fused with the thing that fell from the stars. I hope they’re right that it was beautiful.
Love,
the girl in the lime green miniskirt who wanted to see the sky
• • • •
Dear John,
This is what I would have written, if I had written anything. Dear John, it’s better this way. Dear John, it’s now or later, and we’re both better off if it’s now. Dear John, you won’t believe me, but I’m doing you a favor. Dear John, it’s okay if you fucking hate me forever because I hate you too. You told me you would never leave me, and now you’re leaving, so don’t try to blame me for leaving first. Dear John, don’t die, and maybe someday I’ll come back.
You can see why I didn’t leave a note.
Your mother took me aside. Not that first day in the hospital—there was too much crying for that, all that weeping and rending of clothes by your bedside. It’s not natural for a mother to lose a son, she kept saying, like it isn’t the most natural thing in the world, like that isn’t what mothers do every day, like that isn’t why she hated me, no matter what you claimed. After the first day, before the week had ended, before I went home to pack a bigger suitcase for you, because we’d moved past duffel bags, into some new category of traveler, long-term visa to the kingdom of the sick, somewhere in there, she took me aside. You can’t handle this, she told me. You think you can, but you can’t. She thought because her husband was dead, she knew what it took to handle things, and she thought, because you called her sometimes to bitch about me never doing the dishes, and because once, the time you thought I was sleeping with the coffee guy, you made the mistake of telling her why I didn’t speak to my family anymore and why I never went to college and what I did that year in LA to pay the rent, because of everything you let her imagine, she thought she knew me.
She said you can’t handle this, and if you can’t handle this it’s better if you go now than later. I can handle this, she said, and what she was actually saying was he’s mine. You’re nothing and he’s mine. She probably never told you that, and so you never knew it was partly her fault. She made me weak. A witch, like I always said. She put a curse on me and it came to pass.
I am the girl who stays—except somehow, I left.
I left before you could leave me, and I did the same thing with the world, left it out there alone to die, locked myself up tight, huddled around a radio and listened to it burn.
I don’t think about all the millions of people who died. I think about you, and whether your hair fell out like they said it would, and how you looked without it. What we would have done to kill time while they pumped poison into your veins, whether it would have been Scrabble or Trivial Pursuit, or if you finally would have guilted me into reading to you, even the crap poetry that you know I hate. How many more times would you have yelled at me for biting my cuticles? How many more times could I have crawled into your bed, snaked my hand around the wires and up your gown, massaged cold, veiny skin until you gasped thank you, yes, please, always polite, even in heat?
I will never leave you, Isaac said, and of course I’ve heard it before, but no one has ever meant it as much as he did. In this life and the next. You will never have to be alone. I promise.
He believes in his word. He believes in eternity. He won’t get bored or distracted. He won’t see the tohu va vohu at my center and realize I am a girl to be left, not loved. He will not leave. I believe he believes that, and I almost believe it’s true.
I promise forever, he said. Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that what we all want?
Love me forever if you love me at all—fairy tale love, fairy tale happily ever afters, that’s what he believes in, as he should, because he’s still a child.
That’s what I’ve believed in all these years, too. That’s what I’ve wanted, and now that a child wants me to have it, I’m thinking it may be time to grow up.
Because it turns out everybody leaves. And not all leavings are the same.
Not all endings are the same.
Not all endings come at the wrong time, and when they do, maybe it doesn’t have to be anyone’s fault. Maybe you leaving didn’t mean I wasn’t enough.
Maybe I should have waited for you to leave me, instead of leaving you first.
Sometimes I wonder, what if. What if there was a miracle. A remission. A cure. What if you sat up five minutes after I walked out of there, you tore the oxygen off your face, strength flooding through your veins, tumors shriveling. What if you called out my name but I was already gone.
I let myself imagine you out there somewhere, and if you got one miracle, then why not two? Why not miracles enough to survive the skyfall and whatever came next? You could be leading a hardy band of survivors through the countryside, eating mushrooms and roasting goats, a Hollywood vision of man’s triumph over god and nature, ready for your close-up. You could be the tan one now, stronger than ever, muscles bulging through tattered clothes, hair lit blond the way it always got by the end of the summer, and if you are alive, if you are a miracle, then I know that’s how it would be. You wouldn’t be alone; you wouldn’t look for somewhere to hide, to lock yourself away and wait for the hard part to be over. You wouldn’t need a knife under your pillow, you wouldn’t be tempted to escape from the world. You would anchor yourself to it, raise a fist to the broken sky, shout this is mine and you can’t have it, and then you would go looking for survivors and make the world new. Maybe you would go looking for me. Maybe you are looking for me.
Maybe I should go looking for you. Maybe I meant it when I said, don’t die.
Don’t die, and maybe someday I’ll come back.
I could leave here. Slip away in the night. I could find you out there, huddled in the woods or in a cave or in the shelter of a decaying mall, mannequins watching over you while you forage for supplies in the camping store and gnaw at stale candy bars from a long dead CVS. That would be another miracle, but everything’s a miracle in this new world. A man saw the apocalypse on the horizon; a boy listened to the word of God and built an Ark; I came to them because I thought I deserved to die, and because of that, I lived. This new world is taped together with miracles. What’s one more?
I know you’re dead. It’s possible that if I leave this place, I’ll be dead soon, too. I’ll be the one chewed up by zoo animals in an overgrown forest or falling in a sinkhole and journeying to the center of the Earth, gang-raped by a merry band of anarchic survivors or shot in the back for my shoes and my canteen. But before it happens, I’ll get to see the clouds again, and stomp around in the rain. I’ll get to taste grass and sky, and I won’t have to imagine ruined cities and rotting corpses because I’ll see them for myself. I won’t have to imagine and dream and wonder and wake up tasting blood and ruin, and maybe, if I return to the world, I can stop dreaming about it. Maybe I’ll even find it’s not as bad out there as we think. Maybe the world hasn’t left us at all, not entirely, not yet, and there’s still time to say goodbye, or build another miracle.
Maybe I don’t have to be the girl who stays, because she’s afraid of facing what’s out there on her own. Maybe I don’t have to say yes, okay, whatever you want, just don’t leave me alone, just don’t leave. Maybe I can be the one to leave, or the one to return, the one to decide. Maybe forever together is worse than being alone. Maybe forever is beside the point.
Love,
Heather
• • • •
Dear Isaac,
I’m sorry.
If I’m still alive when the world really ends, maybe I’ll come back. Sometimes people do.
Love,
Heather
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Robin Wasserman is the author of The Waking Dark, The Book of Blood and Shadow, the Cold Awakening Trilogy, Hacking Harvard, and the Seven Deadly Sins series, which was adapted into a popular television miniseries. Her essays and short fiction have appeared in several antho
logies as well as The Atlantic and The New York Times. A former children’s book editor, she is on the faculty of the low-residency MFA program at Southern New Hampshire University. She lives and writes (and frequently procrastinates) in Brooklyn, New York. Find out more about her at robinwasserman.com or follow her on Twitter @robinwasserman.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Agents: John thanks his agent Seth Fishman, who supported this experiment and provided feedback and counsel whenever he needed it, and also to his former agent Joe Monti (now a book editor who he plans to sell lots of anthologies to), who was very enthusiastic about this idea when it first occurred to him, and encouraged John to pursue his idea to self-publish it. Hugh likewise thanks his agent Kristin Nelson for all of her support and for constantly playing out his leash.
Art/Design: Thanks to Julian Aguilar Faylona for providing wonderful cover art for all three volumes of The Apocalypse Triptych, and to Jason Gurley for adding in all the most excellent design elements that took the artwork from being mere images and transformed them into books. These volumes would not be the same without them.
Proofreaders: Thanks to Rachael Jones, Kevin McNeil, Tiffany Hughes, Mandy M. Earles, and Andy Sima.
Narrators/Producers: Thanks to Jack Kincaid for producing (and narrating some of) the audiobook version of this anthology, and to narrators Tina Connolly, Anaea Lay, Kate Baker, Mur Lafferty, Rajan Khanna, Lex Wilson, Norm Sherman, Folly Blaine, Scott Sigler, Stefan Rudnicki, Windy Bowlsby, and Stephanie Grossman for lending their vocal talents to the production.
Family: John sends thanks to his wife, Christie, his mom, Marianne, and his sister, Becky, for all their love and support, and their endless enthusiasm for all his new projects. He also wanted to thank his sister-in-law Kate and stepdaughter Grace who had to listen to him blab incessantly about this project as it was coming together, ruining many a dinner. Hugh thanks his wife Amber, who co-edits this wonderful life they have together. His chapters would be boring and lonely without her.
Readers: Thanks to all the readers and reviewers of this anthology, and also all the readers and reviewers who loved Hugh’s novels and John’s other anthologies, making it possible for this book to happen in the first place.
Writers: And last, but certainly not least: a big thanks to all of the authors who appear in this anthology. It has been an honor and a privilege. As fans, we look forward to whatever you come up with next.
ABOUT THE EDITORS
John Joseph Adams is the series editor of Best American Science Fiction & Fantasy, published by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. He is also the bestselling editor of many other anthologies, such as The Mad Scientist’s Guide to World Domination, Armored, Brave New Worlds, Wastelands, and The Living Dead. Called “the reigning king of the anthology world” by Barnes & Noble, John is a winner of the Hugo Award (for which he has been nominated eight times) and is a six-time World Fantasy Award finalist. John is also the editor and publisher of the digital magazines Lightspeed and Nightmare, and is a producer for Wired.com’s The Geek’s Guide to the Galaxy podcast. Find him on Twitter @johnjosephadams.
Hugh Howey is the author of the acclaimed post-apocalyptic novel Wool, which became a sudden success in 2011. Originally self-published as a series of novelettes, the Wool omnibus is frequently the #1 bestselling book on Amazon.com and is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestseller. The book was also optioned for film by Ridley Scott, and is now available in print from major publishers all over the world. Hugh’s other books include Shift, Dust, Sand, the Molly Fyde series, The Hurricane, Half Way Home, The Plagiarist, and I, Zombie. Hugh lives in Jupiter, Florida with his wife Amber and his dog Bella. Find him on Twitter @hughhowey.
COPYRIGHT
© 2014 by ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THE END IS NOW
© 2014 by John Joseph Adams & Hugh Howey
INTRODUCTION
© 2014 by John Joseph Adams
HERD IMMUNITY
© 2014 by Tananarive Due
THE SIXTH DAY OF DEER CAMP
© 2014 by Scott Sigler
GOODNIGHT STARS
© 2014 by Annie Bellet
ROCK MANNING CAN’T HEAR YOU
© 2014 by Charlie Jane Anders
FRUITING BODIES
© 2014 by Seanan McGuire
BLACK MONDAY
© 2014 by Sarah Langan
ANGELS OF THE APOCALYPSE
© 2014 by Nancy Kress
AGENT ISOLATED
© 2014 by David Wellington
THE GODS WILL NOT BE SLAIN
© 2014 by Ken Liu
YOU’VE NEVER SEEN EVERYTHING
© 2014 by Elizabeth Bear
BRING THEM DOWN
© 2014 by Ben H. Winters
TWILIGHT OF THE MUSIC MACHINES
© 2014 by Megan Arkenberg
SUNSET HOLLOW
© 2014 by Jonathan Maberry
PENANCE
© 2014 by Jake Kerr
AVTOMAT
© 2014 by Daniel H. Wilson
DANCING WITH BATGIRL IN THE LAND OF NOD
© 2014 by Will McIntosh
BY THE HAIR OF THE MOON
© 2014 by Jamie Ford
TO WRESTLE NOT AGAINST FLESH AND BLOOD
© 2014 by Desirina Boskovich
IN THE MOUNTAIN
© 2014 by Hugh Howey
DEAR JOHN
© 2014 by Robin Wasserman
Cover Art by Julian Aguilar Faylona.
Cover Design by Jason Gurley.
Ebook Design by John Joseph Adams.
COMING SOON:
THE END HAS COME
We hope you’ve enjoyed reading The End is Now. If so, be sure to keep an eye out for The End Has Come (March 2015), volume three of THE APOCALYPSE TRIPTYCH. Also, if you missed it, be sure to check out volume one, The End is Nigh.
Famine. Death. War. Pestilence. These are the harbingers of the biblical apocalypse, of the End of the World. In science fiction, the end is triggered by less figurative means: nuclear holocaust, biological warfare/pandemic, ecological disaster, or cosmological cataclysm.
But before any catastrophe, there are people who see it coming. During, there are heroes who fight against it. And after, there are the survivors who persevere and try to rebuild. THE APOCALYPSE TRIPTYCH will tell their stories.
Edited by acclaimed anthologist John Joseph Adams and bestselling author Hugh Howey, THE APOCALYPSE TRIPTYCH is a series of three anthologies of apocalyptic fiction. The End is Nigh focuses on life before the apocalypse. The End is Now turns its attention to life during the apocalypse. And The End Has Come focuses on life after the apocalypse.
Visit johnjosephadams.com/apocalypse-triptych to learn more about THE APOCALYPSE TRIPTYCH or to read interviews with the authors. You can also sign up for our newsletter if you would like to be reminded when the other volumes of the TRIPTYCH become available.
ALSO EDITED BY
JOHN JOSEPH ADAMS
If you enjoyed this book, you might also enjoy these other anthologies and magazines edited by John Joseph Adams:
Armored
Best American Science Fiction & Fantasy [Forthcoming, Oct. 2015]
Brave New Worlds
By Blood We Live
Dead Man’s Hand
The End is Nigh
The End Has Come [Forthcoming, Mar. 2015]
Epic: Legends Of Fantasy
Federations
The Improbable Adventures Of Sherlock Holmes
HELP FUND MY ROBOT ARMY!!! and Other Improbable Crowdfunding Projects
Lightspeed Magazine
The Living Dead
The Living Dead 2
The Mad Scientist’s Guide To World Domination
Nightmare Magazine
Operation Arcana [Forthcoming, Apr. 2015]
Other Worlds Than These
Oz Reimagined
Press Start to Play [Forthcoming, Fall 2015]
Robot Uprisings
Seeds of Change
Unde
r the Moons of Mars
Wastelands
Wastelands 2 [Forthcoming, Feb. 2015]
The Way Of The Wizard
Visit johnjosephadams.com to learn more about all of the above. Each project also has a mini-site devoted to it specifically, where you’ll find free fiction, interviews, and more.
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