slopes. The houses are crowded, right next to one another, no wide-open spaces like we have seen on most of our journey. Mom explains what each shop had been. Grocery store. Sandwich shop. Gas station. Pharmacy.
We pass house after house void of human inhabitants, and I’m overwhelmed with what the virus meant for the world.
There are few people left. I am one of them and so is Mom.
*****
We sit down on concrete steps overlooking the water. The area used to be a terminal for a ferry. Seaweed-covered pillars hold up a dock for a ferryboat that isn’t here. Mom tells me a ferry would come across the Sound and pick people up to take them across the water to Seattle, the city where Mom and Dad lived.
I marvel at the view of the water before me as the wet September air presses against my face. Stopping after walking so long feels good. We covered miles and miles getting to the overpass. Crossing the last stretch to get down to the water was the longest part of the trek.
Seeing the dead city shakes Mom up. She lies down on the concrete, tears pouring from the corners of her eyes. I think she had gotten her hopes up that the cowboys exaggerated the emptiness. But everyone did die from the virus and nothing remains the same for her. I can see now it wasn’t a foolish choice to go below ground in the bunker. In many ways it feels like it was a psychotic plan to stay under cover for so long, but in other ways, I know we wouldn’t have survived if we were out of our concealment. The larger cities had to have been hit harder than this, and this is crumbling buildings and nothing else. No people, no animals. Nothing. If Mom and Dad hadn’t decided the threat of the virus was real, I wouldn’t be here today.
Mom sits up and I try to console her, but it’s pointless. She’s experiencing the loss of the world as she knew it. Being in the compound shielded her from the real horror of what happened, but now it is unavoidable. Now she sees the truth: the blackout was real.
“Mom, do you want to set the tent over there tonight?” I point to an open shaft of some sort, wanting the safety a covered spot might yield. I couldn’t sleep last night out in the open.
“That’s an old elevator. It would take people up like….” she doesn’t know how to explain.
“I know what an elevator is Mom. I read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory about a hundred times. Willy Wonka takes Charlie in one at the end, and they fly away.”
I wish I could take one right now. If I had a bird’s eye view I could figure out which direction we should go to find a place to start our life. We’re going to wander forever, we have no idea where The Light is.
“I’m going to set the tent there. I’m exhausted.”
“Lucy, wait.” She pulls on my sleeve before I stand to go. “Everything used to be so different. I wish you could have seen what the world was like before. I wish, for just one day, you could see and know what it used to be.” She lets go of me, and I walk from her reverie. I’ve always been content with the life I did have, but now it feels like everything was second rate … and not good enough to stay alive for. At least not for Dad and the rest of them.
I go to the open elevator shaft and roll out my sleeping bag, avoiding the tent all together. Heavy clouds have covered the grey sky, hinting at rain. I wish the view were clear; so I could look into the night sky, see the star lights peering down at me. I want to see what the cowboys see, for a moment without Mom.
My whole body swells with frustration as I lie in the sub-zero sleeping bag. I try focusing on the sky, wanting it to dissipate my resentment at the falsehood my life has turned out to be. My eyes fill with tears as I think about how naive I’ve been. I always thought I wasn’t good enough in the compound. The adults told me I was too little or too young. When in reality I was just being sheltered from the truth.
I wipe my wet
We pass house after house void of human inhabitants, and I’m overwhelmed with what the virus meant for the world.
There are few people left. I am one of them and so is Mom.
*****
We sit down on concrete steps overlooking the water. The area used to be a terminal for a ferry. Seaweed-covered pillars hold up a dock for a ferryboat that isn’t here. Mom tells me a ferry would come across the Sound and pick people up to take them across the water to Seattle, the city where Mom and Dad lived.
I marvel at the view of the water before me as the wet September air presses against my face. Stopping after walking so long feels good. We covered miles and miles getting to the overpass. Crossing the last stretch to get down to the water was the longest part of the trek.
Seeing the dead city shakes Mom up. She lies down on the concrete, tears pouring from the corners of her eyes. I think she had gotten her hopes up that the cowboys exaggerated the emptiness. But everyone did die from the virus and nothing remains the same for her. I can see now it wasn’t a foolish choice to go below ground in the bunker. In many ways it feels like it was a psychotic plan to stay under cover for so long, but in other ways, I know we wouldn’t have survived if we were out of our concealment. The larger cities had to have been hit harder than this, and this is crumbling buildings and nothing else. No people, no animals. Nothing. If Mom and Dad hadn’t decided the threat of the virus was real, I wouldn’t be here today.
Mom sits up and I try to console her, but it’s pointless. She’s experiencing the loss of the world as she knew it. Being in the compound shielded her from the real horror of what happened, but now it is unavoidable. Now she sees the truth: the blackout was real.
“Mom, do you want to set the tent over there tonight?” I point to an open shaft of some sort, wanting the safety a covered spot might yield. I couldn’t sleep last night out in the open.
“That’s an old elevator. It would take people up like….” she doesn’t know how to explain.
“I know what an elevator is Mom. I read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory about a hundred times. Willy Wonka takes Charlie in one at the end, and they fly away.”
I wish I could take one right now. If I had a bird’s eye view I could figure out which direction we should go to find a place to start our life. We’re going to wander forever, we have no idea where The Light is.
“I’m going to set the tent there. I’m exhausted.”
“Lucy, wait.” She pulls on my sleeve before I stand to go. “Everything used to be so different. I wish you could have seen what the world was like before. I wish, for just one day, you could see and know what it used to be.” She lets go of me, and I walk from her reverie. I’ve always been content with the life I did have, but now it feels like everything was second rate … and not good enough to stay alive for. At least not for Dad and the rest of them.
I go to the open elevator shaft and roll out my sleeping bag, avoiding the tent all together. Heavy clouds have covered the grey sky, hinting at rain. I wish the view were clear; so I could look into the night sky, see the star lights peering down at me. I want to see what the cowboys see, for a moment without Mom.
My whole body swells with frustration as I lie in the sub-zero sleeping bag. I try focusing on the sky, wanting it to dissipate my resentment at the falsehood my life has turned out to be. My eyes fill with tears as I think about how naive I’ve been. I always thought I wasn’t good enough in the compound. The adults told me I was too little or too young. When in reality I was just being sheltered from the truth.
I wipe my wet
Similar Books
