Afterland

by Masha Leyfer

  I breathe in deeply and let my lungs fill with the infectious desire to live. I’m going to do as much as possible with my life, I decide. I will do everything right, and I will live right, and after a long and plentiful life, I will die right.

  We continue riding.

  But is my life really my decision? Or was it predetermined by the Blast? Or before that, by some caveman who decided to build a skyscraper? And whose life am I predetermining now? What if people in the future credit me with how their life turns out? And what if they aren’t happy about it? I don’t want people looking back and cursing what I did.

  My lungs deflate a little as my sudden desire to live is clouded by my obsessive perfectionism.

  I can’t make these decisions unless they benefit everyone, and that is impossible. Therefore, in making any sort of choice, I am hurting anyone. My decisions compromise my life, yes, but what about the lives of the future? What about the other lives of today? What about their desire to live? I can’t take that away. What if everything that I’m doing right now is completely wrong?

  We ride out onto another field. But this one doesn’t smell like life. Only mud. Mike stops his snowmobile and hops off.

  “We’ll rest here. Drink up. We leave in fifteen.”

  I slide off of the mobile, drink some water, and pace around. Big Sal packed us both lunches. I take out my sandwich and fiddle with the wrapping, but I can’t stomach any food right now. Mike comes over and stands next to me.

  “Hey. You ready?”

  I nod.

  “Nervous?”

  I nod again.

  “It’s okay. I was nervous my first raid, too.”

  I smile a little. Mike really is human underneath all of the robotic determination.

  “It’s not even that I’m nervous. It’s just...what if this is wrong? What if all of this is wrong?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, we’re deciding people’s fates. Who are we to do that?”

  “Who are we to decide people’s fates?” He raises his eyebrows. “Who is the CGB to decide people’s fates? They were wrong. We’re opposing them. So we are the opposite of wrong, which is the definition of right.”

  I frown.

  “The opposite of wrong isn’t always right. Sometimes, it’s just a different wrong.”

  Of all people, I wouldn’t have expected Mike to make such a black-and-white statement.

  “Fine,” he concedes, “Maybe you’re right, and things aren’t always as simple as they seem. But you’ll just have to believe that this is right. If you live in fear of doing the wrong thing, nothing will ever change.”

  “Just believe?” I ask skeptically.

  “Yes. We all have to believe in something.” He pauses. “Think of it this way: why did you meet our snowmobiles?”

  “I had to. Nobody else was going and I couldn’t miss the chance to see...you.”

  “The Rebellion is like that too. Nobody else is doing anything, so we have to. We can’t miss this chance to change the world either.”

  “I guess that makes sense.”

  “Good,” he says, squeezing my shoulder. “You’ll do great.”

  “I think I’ll be fine. Mike, wait. I have a question.”

  “Sure.”

  “Why me? I mean, you told me who you were and trusted me not to betray your identity and then you took me with you. Why?”

  “It was a good decision, though.”

  “Yes, of course it was, but still: why?”

  “You came out to meet unfamiliar vehicles when the rest of your town hid. I think that was reason enough.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. You should eat. You’ll need the energy.”

  “Okay.” I eat half of the sandwich and pack the rest back. In five minutes, Mike approaches me again.

  “You ready to get going again?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay then, let’s go.”

  We get back onto the snowmobiles. Right before we leave, Mike turns around.

  “You asked who are we to decide people’s fates. We’re the only small village girl who stood up to a train of strangers on snowmobiles and had enough hope to try and change the world.”

  __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __

  The wind in my hair on the second leg of our ride is peaceful, almost encouraging. The fight against the wind is no longer the thrill of an argument but the comfort of a friend. We ride for another hour before Mike gives me the signal to stop.

  “We walk from here,” he says. We park our snowmobiles in some bushes, so that in the case of a passerby, they would be well hidden. I check the pouch at my waist which contains everything I need for the operation. I string my crossbow and nervously crack each of my fingers.

  “Let’s go,” Mike says. We begin to jog, jumping over roots and ditches. It must have rained here recently; the ground is soft and wet and accumulated water drips down on us when we disturb the leaves.

  After fifteen minutes, we stop at a clearing. I tentatively look around, crossbow at the ready, but the clearing is devoid of human life. Mike signals me and I step in.

  The clearing is dominated by a large metal structure, approximately twenty meters in surface area. I can hear the electricity humming in the wires. I can’t help but be amazed at it. It exudes a sense of power and authority. All of the CGB’s information is dependant on this. Even though it’s an instrument of evil, I feel a sense of reverence for it. Because no matter where it comes from, power is power. And power is intoxicating.

  “See how it’s divided into four quadrants?” Mike says quietly. I nod, seeing now that two metal strips divide the structure. “We’re interested in the far right. It should be labeled ‘B’.” I carefully walk to the other end. It is indeed marked with a large, bold B.

  “Start unscrewing,” Mike says, taking out his own screwdriver. We labor away, unscrewing a total of twenty nails. After the top is loose, we lift it away, revealing a multicolored mess of tangled wires, exactly like the scrambled paper wires on Mike’s blueprint.

  “We’re cutting the red ones,” Mike says. “You do it.”

  I pull out a pair of pliers and place them around one of the red wires. I look up at Mike and he nods. The pliers close around the wire with a satisfying snap. I move on to the next one. In five minutes, all the red wires are cut.

  “That’s it,” Mike says.

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  I laugh. I did it. I really did it. It’s over, it’s done. I feel so free. It was only a couple of wires that I cut, but it may as well have been chains that I’ve worn my entire life.

  “I did it,” I say aloud.

  “You did,” Mike smiles. “It’s time for us to get back home. We don’t want to miss dinner.”

  __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __

  We ride back through the field–the one that smells like life.

  “Hey, Mike, can we stop here?” I shout.

  “Sure,” he responds, stopping his snowmobile. “Is everything alright?”

  “Yeah, yeah, it is. I just want to stop. I like this place,” I explain. The two of us hop off, stretching our sore legs.

  “It smells nice, doesn’t it?” I say.

  “Yeah, I suppose it does.” We stand, watching the sun lazily making its path across the sky and listening to the crickets chirping.

  Suddenly, I hear a noise that is more a vibration in the air than an actual sound. The bushes on the other side part and my mouth opens a little. From out of the forest, step three deer. Time seems to stop as they step across the field, leaving small marks in the damp earth. They are immeasurably graceful, as if they can feel the Earth humming beneath their feet and are perfectly in tune with them. I watch as their lean bodies cut through the air.

  They are ridiculously unafraid, as if they don’t know about humans and about what we do. The thought gives me a strange feeling in my chest. There are still places untouched by war, untouched by man, u
ntouched by tragedy. There are still places just within our reach, that aren’t poisoned by anything. There is still hope.

  The deer in the front turns his large head toward us. I remain frozen in place. He has large antlers that seem to be impossible to support. But the laws of gravity seem not to apply in places like this.

  The deer turns his head back and the three of them walk out of the clearing, leaving behind only the musky scent of the wild. Mike and I stand frozen for a long time, until Mike steps forward.

  “I think, sometimes,” he says quietly, “It’s good to stop.”

  CHAPTER 14

  By the time we ride back into camp, it is completely dark. We navigate with the light of the stars and the moon. The lack of visibility makes me nervous, but Mike rides with laid back confidence.

  We ride into camp. The clearing is bathed in the inviting light of the fire. The Rebellion is clustered around the edge, apparently brought out by the hum of the snowmobiles, waiting for us. Everyone begins waving and shouting greetings as we ride back in. I smile broadly and park the snowmobile back in its spot. As I hop off, several people rush towards me.

  “How’d it go?”

  “You did it!”

  “Was it as bad as you expected, or were you just being stupid?”

  After a moment, I distinguish the faces of Smaller Sally, Nathan, and Emily.

  “Uh..It was great,” I say. “And no, it wasn’t hard at all, so you guys were all right, I was just being stupid,” I grin.

  “Exactly, what did we tell ya?” Emily says, patting me on the back with such force that I stumble forward.

  More people trickle forward, shaking my hand and congratulating me.

  “Good job, Molly.”

  “Congratulations!”

  “Nicely done!”

  Everyone’s words of encouragement and congratulations seem so heartfelt and so sincere. I find my smile growing wider with every word. I thank everyone in turn, until everyone has congratulated me. After everybody has thanked me verbally, unidentifiable hands begin to pat my back.

  “Hey, everyone listen up!” It is Big Sal’s voice. “I saved some wine from the last raid! Get your cups out, this is a drink worthy celebration!”

  Everyone cheers and scrambles to get their cups. Big Sal produces a large bottle of wine and begins dispensing it liberally. I turn away the glass and the wine, but Big sal forces a cup of tea into my hand that I don’t decline.

  After everyone has full cups, Big Sal hushes us again.

  “I propose a toast. Today marks Molly’s first raid. She’s proved that she’s ready to go on a raid in record time. And she has proved herself as not only a talented fighter and valuable member of the Rebellion, but also as a wonderful person and great comrade. Let’s celebrate her: to Molly.”

  “To Molly,” everyone echoes. I blush and shrink into my sweater. I feel honored, but I’m also not sure how to react. More hands are patting me on the back. The clinking of glasses and laughter fills the air.

  “Um...thanks,” I whisper so quietly that I doubt anyone hears. The concept of celebration in itself is foreign to me, and although it is wonderful, I’m not sure how exactly I’m supposed to fit in.

  But here I am.

  I allow myself a smile. I have come very far from the Hopetown bartender that I thought I would remain for my entire life. This really is something worth celebrating. I am worth it. And ultimately, that all I ever wanted, isn’t it? That’s all any of us ever want.

  I take a sip of the tea, warm and bitter. People continue talking and laughing, some congratulating me, some talking to each other. I don’t speak to anyone, only thanking those who address me.

  Something about all of it, something more than just the celebration, makes me feel very happy. All the talking, sincere laughter, hand gestures that seem very uniquely human all of a sudden, and the way everyone takes little sips of their wine in between sentences make me feel very warm and very at home.

  “Um...guys?” I say. To my surprise, everybody immediately quiets down and turns toward me.

  “I, uh...Oh. Um. I just wanted to say, thank you all, for everything. This has been so wonderful, and I, uh...thank you, so much.” I raise my cup. “To the Rebellion. To you guys.”

  “To the rebellion!” Everyone raises their glass and drinks. I stand and smile. Suddenly, Nathan appears beside me.

  “Hey.”

  I turn around in the direction of his voice.

  “Hey.”

  “You did it,” he says.

  “I guess I did,” I smile.

  “What can I say? I told you so.”

  I laugh. “Indeed, you did.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “You know, I feel great. It seems ridiculous now that I was worried so much.”

  “Yeah. Do you understand now that your boundaries are just your own creation?”

  “Oh my goodness, Nathan. Don’t make this into a learning experience. Mike is enough.”

  Nathan laughs.

  “Mike’s over there getting drunk. I’m his replacement.”

  “Fine. I do. I understand all the mysteries of life now.”

  “Good,” Nathan smiles. Then he adds, “You were wrong, weren’t you? I win our bet.”

  I laugh and punch him in the shoulder.

  “Not yet.”

  Smaller Sally appears on my other side.

  “Molly! congratulations!”

  “Thanks.” She raises her glass.

  “To your first raid.” I clink my cup against her glass and drink my tea as she drinks her wine.

  “This is good stuff,” she says. “Anyway, congratulations again. May you go on many more successful raids.”

  “Thanks, Smaller Sally,” I hug her. “And you too.”

  Throughout the night, every member of the Rebellion congratulates me at least one more. Even Mike doesn’t refrain in giving me several smiles. The warm feeling in my chest grows. Around midnight, we exchange our good nights, and everyone finally drifts back to their tents. I plop down into my own tent eagerly. I am suddenly exhausted, but my eyelids don’t want to close. Instead, I reach into the backpack I brought with me from Hopetown and pull out the purple bunny. I never did give him a name. I stroke his fuzzy ears and smile, remembering myself before the Blast and before Hopetown.

  How things have changed.

  What happened to that happy, innocent girl? What did she do to deserve changing into me? Frightened and resentful and pushing her world away from her.

  But also more than that. I’ve become something beyond what that little girl could have imagined. Today, for the first time, I really feel like I made a difference. Today, I really felt worth something. Today, I was more than just my regrets, and I wonder if it really is possible to live a perfect life in a broken world.

  Sacrifices must be made for the sake of greatness. This is an ancient fact. Happiness has to be earned and given up, because it is better to know more than you want to and know how to act on it than to be ignorant and happy.

  So was it all worth it?

  I remember that there was a story like this, in the Bible. My grandmother would tell little snippets of it to me before the Blast. Eve tore the forbidden apple from the Tree of Knowledge, and in that moment, forever relinquished her right to Eden. I wonder how that must have felt, to suddenly understand everything. To suddenly know. That must have been an earth-shattering experience, to go from the innocence of happiness to feeling thousand of emotions she couldn’t even imagine and understanding how much more there is in the world. Maybe that’s all there is to the tree of knowledge. It doesn’t tell you anything except for how little you know. I wonder if Eve ever regretted it. And I wonder if God really did force them out, or if the first humans left Eden themselves.

  The first choice was a sacrifice, and it was also a sin, but it was necessary.

  What if, all of a sudden, Eden wasn’t enough? What if they saw an entire world outside their walls and for the first time
, they knew that they deserved it? What if they saw the secrets of the universe just beyond their grasp and they yearned to know the truth? Or maybe it was the opposite: Eden was too much. They needed to understand infinite suffering before deserving infinite happiness.

  What if Eden was just an illusion created by their ignorance? Maybe they returned to the spot where Eden once once and found emptiness. And maybe they prefered it that way. Maybe I prefer it this way.

  Just like Adam and Eve found themselves in a strange world outside of Eden, I find myself in a strange world after paradise.

  And just like the first woman asked herself if her sin was worth it, so do I.

  I wonder what my life would have been without the sin of existing in this time. I wonder what life would have been like if Eve had never torn the apple off of the Tree of Knowledge. I wonder if I would be strong enough to break the glass ceiling that was Eden. And I wonder, and I wonder, and I wonder, but how much does it matter?

  From the first sin to the last sin, people will always be wondering whether it was worth it, whether what they gave away was a good price for what they received. Whether self awareness was something that that we really want

  But any way, whether or not my life is good, now it means something. I squeeze the little bunny and whisper in its nearly severed purple ear.

  “Because look how far we’ve come.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Several days after the raid, I sit on one of the logs as Big Sal makes breakfast. I watch her flip the eggs and remember what Mike said about her skills with a computer, and I find myself wondering about her past. I have so many questions. Where did she learn to hack? What was her life like before the Blast? Why does she never mention her hidden talents?

  I decide to start with a simpler question.

  “Hey, Big Sal,” I venture cautiously, “How did you join the Rebellion?”

  “Me? Well, that’s kind of a long story,” she chuckles in remembrance and some other emotion that seems closer to regret than anything else.

  “That’s okay. That’s good. I’d want to hear it. If you don’t mind, of course.”