“Against any and all eventualities,” Professor said bluntly.
In the end, Presley agreed that it was for the better. Contrary to Mr. Welsh’s convictions, he did not believe that all the men that were left were cured or delivered from evil, aggression, selfishness, envy, or hate.
Even though he could not detect the slightest trace of it among his friends, he was still in favour of the notion that aggression and selfishness were so innate to human nature and embedded deep inside the human psyche, that it could never entirely go away, or be removed, or kept under control, but rather exist latently, waiting for a reason to be awaken. He woundered what would happen if they were starving and if there is not enough food but for just a few? Would it create conflict? Does it mean that solidarity could exist only in circumstances of abundance?
Yet, he hoped, as Professor’s proposal bore truth, that if they remained isolated for several generations, and conditioned their younglings to cherish solidarity and empathy, their descendants could leap to a new level of consciousness, and create a gentler strain of humanity… Huomo empathicus… sounds good. Or, was it just a weird experiment some crazy professor was indulging himself with?
For several uneventful days they marched on with a steady pace. Being left alone, riding day in and day out, in front or at the rear of the column, not bothered or needed by anyone, Presley let himself become preoccupied with all kinds of thoughts. He tried to imagine the end of their journey and what kind of life they would live there; would they succumb back to the old ways or would they manage to forget all they knew and start afresh? Would they succeed in creating a better society?
He questioned if he should even let himself contemplate the human condition. He, the soldier; the warrior; the fighter; the mercenary…
Those who knew him well would say that he was surprisingly well read, though indiscriminately and with a little guidance, as his formal education was very short and patchy. Yet intimately, he considered himself a trained soldier and a self–taught student of humanity. However, being aware of his own limitations and flaws, he always strived to learn more… But, did the fact that he remained alive, and became chosen leader of small group of survivors, grant him the right to think that his opinions bore any substance and deserve to be considered valuable and just? Possibly, he thought, with no insincere modesty, but also without a self inflicted feeling of grandeur. Not many of those who were still alive thought about such things. The first concern for most survivors was how to live through another day, rather than to philosophize about life and civilization. So, he felt comfortable thinking about it. He felt it was his calling, as he was responsible for the wellbeing of those who entrusted him with their lives. Had he been unable to think about these issues he would not have been their leader.
The world he remembered before it went dark and cold was, throughout his entire former life, a world populated by poor and unhappy people. Ever since he could remember, he had a sensation of being surrounded with insecurity, fear, rage and hopelessness. He spent his childhood living in constant dread and struggle. As the city of Kroynorth grew to a megalopolis, their quarter continuously kept shrinking, growing louder and louder, busier and busier, surrounded by unfriendly city–blocks, its streets always full with angry, frightened, suspicious people. All he could remember were dirty sidewalks, stray dogs, drunks and junkies, dilapidated houses, loud and heavy traffic. The city was overcrowded and yet more and more people came each year, turning already impoverished city blocks into dirty and lawless slums.
Citizens were left to their own devises but, actually, totally dependant on invisible, yet omnipotent structures and leaders. It was easy to govern population concentrated in those hubs steered with perpetual chaos. The world of Presley’s childhood was the world of artificially induced anarchy that gave everyone universal absolution from any moral constraints or laws. And, those in power ruled without any regard towards citizenry.
Yet, he was not aware of it, nor was he able to comprehend his condition as undesirable or to have ambition to improve it. Like most people, he did not have anything else to relate or compare his life to. Their misery was their life, the only life they knew. He was surrounded by folks who were happy as long as they had roof over their heads and their bellies full.
By the beginning of the Twenty Second century, the bulk of World’s population was concentrated in mega–cities. Very few lived on a countryside and owned the land. And there were not many of those who rose above and refused to live in that self-inflicted slavery. There were only few of those in Kroynorth who left the city to be an outcasts, to live in remote, inaccessible parts, way up North. Asking for nothing and obeying no one; labelled as rebels, they learned to live off the land, hunting and gathering, aspiring to be left alone and forgotten. From time to time the rumours would spread about imminent revolution, led by those outcasts. But it never came. It was just an excuse authorities made to justify occasional police and army raids sent to the wilderness to hunt them out, though with limited success.
Presley never met any rich person. He did not know what it meant or if such people even existed. Wealthy people were hidden in secluded and secured suburban communities, or in some faraway places. But he did not know that. In his world there was only poverty and suffering, there were thousands of men and women without work and money; people who lived on social assistance and coupons issued by the government; a world highly controlled by the ruling class; a world in which one was not allowed to think, or have any individual opinion, or express disapproval. In the world of his childhood, people were like ants, simply fulfilling their designated roles, and sadly, most of them did not even know it.
Ten million people were stuck in Kroynorth—a dirty, overcrowded megalopolis. Many, if not most, succumbed to crime, greed, violence, lust and drugs. And poverty brought out the worst in people. The majority of Kroynorthians were jobless, just hanging in there, collecting their government issued supplies of food and hygiene items and spend their days trading their coupons, used as surrogate money to buy drugs or booze and, then, go back to idling until they died.
Everything they needed and could afford was produced somewhere else, by robotized machines that needed no rest, or asked for any monetary compensation. Only on days when supplies grew thin, or when the collecting posts failed to be replenished, the whole downtown would succumb to chaos and riots, comprised of desperate mothers with hungry children, jobless men, and junkies ailing from the effects of unwanted relapse and painful withdrawal. Then battalions of riot police would appear to restore the order; kicking, clubbing, in some cases, killing and dragging people back to the slums, until everything went back to its usual quasi-normal state of oblivion and dull obedience.
The only ones that made real money were those employed by the city or the government; police and fire departments, military, medical doctors and nurses in poorly supplied hospitals; teachers and professors at schools and colleges, those who worked in public transportation and waste management; or a few remaining crafts and services still required to keep things functional, and lucky few that made it in media, movie industry and sports. Everyone else was either poor or a criminal.
Presley’s formal education ended after graduating from highschool. He could barely read or write, and his math skills were rudimentary. He went straight to the military; learned how to kill and how to obey commands. So, what made him into the man he was now? Nothing in his upbringing would suggest he would become a leader and a self taught scholar. Was it just the early death of his mother and that short encounter with old Malevich? Did the old man’s influence in forming Presley’s character, at the crucial age, matter that much? He recognized it now as a decisive moment in his life, that fateful afternoon when the old soldier saved his life not only from the neighbourhood bullies, but also, from his own ignorance. Thanks to Malevich, over those three years spent in the old soldier’s household, he took up the habit of reading, and never stopped. The old man had many books in his apartment and he made him read them all.
Malevich would give him a book, and after he read it he would make him analyze it to see how well he understood the subject. The more he read, the more he realized how little he knew and wanted to learn more. And later, during his years in military garrisons and barracks, he read all the books he could find, at first just novels and memoirs, but later on, his interests went toward philosophical and a sociological texts, supplied in secret and shared among a few of those who had an ambition to think critically and independently.
Wars were breaking out every time some nation invented a new weapon that seemed to take the edge from the enemy, usually the neighbouring country. These conflicts lasted several months, taking thousands of lives. Acandian army would be deployed as peacemaking force or as an ally to one of the sides. Somehow he survived all of that, on occasion making friends with former adversaries. After all, he realized they all pledged to die for the Government, in vain and for no good cause. The only reason for all those wars was to legally kill excessive population. Many stopped following orders and began with a conscious effort to avoid killing innocent people and each other just because their superiors ordered them to do so. Little by little, Presley began to unravel the illusions he had been fed with; and every time he thought he reached the bottom of deception, he peeled yet another coat of lies, and still the truth was hidden beneath more layers of deceit. He gathered that the pursuit of the truth was a lifelong endeavour.
Then, immediately after the War of the End Times, the formation of the World Government came to pass, led by Georgyannis Ammabussa. Seemingly, the World became a better place.
Ammabussa appeared to be the answer, the long awaited leader of the New, Just World—a Messiah. Even though there was no pardon and he had to remain in hiding as a deserter, he praised the achievements of Ammabussa’s Government. For several years, under his leadership, things got better: a global peace was established, law and order was restored everywhere; people’s rights were reinstated; communities were given the authority to self–governing. In Kroynorth, like everywhere else, there were no more police raids, or shortages of goods and food; the streets were cleaned from garbage; dilapidated neighbourhoods were rebuilt; the influx of migrants slowed down or altogether stopped.
But then, all over the globe simultaneously, groups of self proclaimed Freedom Fighters provoked another period of unrest. Not realizing the havoc was in fact orchestrated, a false flag operation, citizens aligned in part with the protesters and, the other half called for the Government’s action. Ammabussa was swift and unforgiving. He called up the armed forces. They followed him blindly, deluded by his promise of a just society. The leaders of so–called Freedom Fighters dissolved into the thin air, but the unrest persisted. Some claimed Ammabussa’s only agenda was further reduction of the world’s populace. Once the cleanup is over, no one will cry over that human trash. What he was publicly saying was, he took the “necessary” steps to reach the final piece that had to be done by any means necessary. There was no room for sentimentality or remorse. He proclaimed abolition and called up all former soldiers to join the armed forces and finish the job.
Simultaneously, the secret organization Presley belonged to, grew to a global movement. They called themselves The Freedom and Justice Syndicate. Except, Ammabussa’s snitches were everywhere and, no matter how secretive and well guarded, the Syndicate was compromised and crushed; its leaders slayed, many of members arrested and executed. Presley had to disappear, before he was exposed and executed like most of his friends. He remained underground until the eruptions.
Then everything went dark and cold… The loss of life was enormous. He was still astonished with the fact that almost all of humanity perished. Yet, he wondered, was that the final punishment or was that an unexpected blessing?
Coming out of his contemplations, looking around the camp, seeing his friends, and the little ones and the youngsters; all that was left alive as it seems, so insignificant in number, yet so enormously important for the same reason, he smiled. He felt that in some strange way, those last couple of years following the eruptions and quakes, the darkness and the cold, brought more light and warmth to him than he experienced in all the years of his former life. It was an uneasy feeling to have, as this meant Ammabussa’s agenda was also fulfilled—by the most liberal estimations, no more than point three percent of the World’s population in total, out of thirteen billion, survived.
***
After a couple of days, they reached the low lands and their advancement was easier. On occasion, the air drift brought in a faint scent of the sea. Their excitement rose. They knew they could not be far from the coast any more. The sky was overcast with thick white clouds that hung low, promising rainfall. It was much warmer now. As they progressed southwards, they were gradually shedding their warm clothes to lighter outfits. The sky was getting lighter with each passing day, but their bodies cast no shadows, except for a slight undefined shade on the ground, as there still was no direct sunlight. They were like creatures of no substance, Presley mused, left to wander this forsaken world of twilight. At times, Presley asked himself if they were real, or if they were, in fact, only ghosts, or perhaps everything that was happening was just an enactment of someone’s bizarre, twisted dream that continued every time that person went to sleep…
Chapter XVIII
A few weeks later they finally reached the coast. The ocean was grey and murky like the clouds above, and the waves were rolling over the endless sandy beach covered with dead seaweed and a thick layer of trash. The horizon disappeared into nothingness, signifying the soon to come finality of their endeavour. They rested for a couple of days, and then continued marching westward, following the coastal road. The southern winds brought the warmth and smell of decaying flesh. The stench got stronger and stronger as their journey progressed. At first, they did not notice the dead, but the smell became more and more pronounced, and then they started noticing countless corpses of people and animals alike. In places it was almost intolerable. The process of decaying began with the rise in temperature; everything that was dead and frozen for months now began to rot. They moved fast through such areas in fear of infection and disease.
On the other hand, the world of plants began to show signs of life. In the lowlands, once ice–covered terrain was almost entirely molten, and on the higher grounds the soil began to dry. There were spots of green grass peaking through the yellow and brown dead patches and low bushes and hedges began to bloom. Even some evergreen trees revealed some signs of life. They started to take notice of more small game lurking around, different kinds of birds flying above, and new noises and sounds filling the air. Water ran freely down springs and rivers, turning some low valleys into marshes and swamps, in places making it impossible to pass through, causing lengthy detours. Sometimes they had to camp for a couple of days until their scouts found an alternate route. But, their mood was at an all time high, making their days bearable.
At last, one morning, Presley woke up to loud cheers of joy. He stepped out from his tent and was greeted by a dazzling dawn. The last guard on night duty woke them up. They all watched the Sun rise in the cloudless eastern sky. The brightness was almost aching, but glorious. People emerged from their tents, confused at first, but their faces quickly lit up with joy. They hurried to join the others who were already hugging and kissing one another, celebrating, their faces glowing in the stream of light. Hope came out after him and immediately screamed from happiness, hugging and kissing him, and then joined to share her delight with the others. Presley saw old Mr. Welch, embraced by his grandson and his girlfriend. His face was soaked in tears. Professor was laughing and crying at same time, sitting on the tree trunk in confusion and ecstasy. Some of the men fired their guns in the air. The whole camp was in one huge embrace of triumphant joy. The little ones were bewildered by the clamour and somewhat frightened by the shiny disc of light from the sky. Some of the youngest even cried in fright by all that was going on around them.
At last, the era of
gloom and cold ended with one triumphant sunrise. The months of darkness seemed so long that they almost forgot what it was like to see the Sun shine, but on this very morning, the Sun rose and greeted them once again. Everything that happened before faded away in the presence of its light and warmth. Presley, to his astonishment, was overwhelmed with emotion and found his face was also wet with tears. He laughed and cried from joy. He saw Leo and Mary standing next to him. He squatted and hugged them. He looked into their eyes. They were bright blue, wide open, filled with wonder and a confused sense of joy, not so much because of what was happening in the sky, but for the fact that Presley, the man they adored and feared, was hugging and smiling at them, like a real father, letting his guard down for the first time.
“We made it! We made it, at last!” Professor came to embrace him, spreading his arms, giggling like a child.
They hugged and stood embraced for a long while. There was something childish about their reaction, so basic and raw, essential and honest. Even the two of them, always official and proper in manner, for a moment behaved like children do, sharing excitement and joy, holding each other’s heads between their hands and laughing. When they let go of each other, the whole camp was lined up around them.
“To our leaders! To us! To the Sun! Hip-hip!” roared Malcolm.
“Hurrah!” responded the crowd. Then everyone swarmed towards Presley and Professor, to shake their hand, to hug and kiss them, to show their delight and gratitude. The days of darkness and cold finally ended.
Chapter XIX
Quickly they learned the Sunlight was too dangerous. So, for most of the day they avoided direct exposure. They were all ghostly pale, their skin almost translucent. On Professor’s warning, they took all the necessary precautions to cover themselves and the little ones.
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