by Archer Swift
Chapter 7
Another night, another nightmare. This time, the specifics haunted me.
I remember the fear.
The panic was tangible. Terror animated every waking moment.
And dread kept sleep away.
The rising temperatures on Earth were gradual at first, but then started to escalate. Rapidly.
The polar ice caps melted, and the oceans rose. Fast. So quickly.
Prime coastal land disappeared overnight.
Millions drowned in their beds.
The deserts expanded and the agricultural industry came to a standstill.
The world economy collapsed.
It had been teetering on edge for a long time, held in place by a thousand last-ditch compromises to keep it altogether. Then it just slipped off … into the black hole of mayhem and gloom.
With food and resources scarce, violence and war scarred every neighbourhood and every nation. Desperate people do desperate things.
Had anyone kept their integrity? Maintained their innocence?
Then The Plague … a super virus, of Biblical proportions, brewed in the cauldron of antibiotic dependence, aided and abetted by a hydra of viruses unleashed on the planet through multiple nation-versus-nation conflicts, and their manic and flagrant use of bioweapons. Killing millions. And … Mum.
Dad said that I have her blonde hair and blue eyes.
Why can’t I remember her? Not even in my dreams.
Then another source of pain ripped through my mind.
Monix.
Why? Why did I lose her—?
“Argggghhhh!” My own scream yanked me out of slumber. I had bitten the inside of my mouth. Without permission, my tongue explored the raw, sensitive wound caused by my own teeth. “Arghh, man!” I winced at the pain and tasted the metallic tang of blood in my mouth.
Clearing my throat, I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes with the heel of my hand; my eyes took a while to come into focus.
Below the jungle canopy of dense evergreen leaves, it felt as though we were trawling underwater, like living in a large overgrown algae-infested aquarium. A murky pond. In spring and summer, the ambiance consisted of diverse shades of bold green and a spattering of chromatic purple. The air was soup thick and humid, and shafts of light plunged through the overhead cover illuminating millions of dancing, floating, swimming dust motes and pollen spores.
A sigh escaped my lips.
I gently touched the inside of my cheek and gingerly massaged the inflamed, gashed ridge of torn flesh, feeling so tired, nauseous … exhausted. And we had a long journey ahead of us.