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Itdidn’t begin with a tornado, or a category five hurricane. There was no freak tsunami that destroyed half the eastern coast. No atomic bombs, leaving only destruction in their wake.
No. The beginning of the end was much more subtle.
The wheezing cough of a farmer, maybe two.
A bad season for corn.
Pregnancies ending abruptly with no reason.
All easily explained away. Until one day it wasn’t.
Until one day someone noticed the disaster we were living in, and it became impossible to ignore. Too far gone to fix. We blamed it on global warming. On aliens. On each other.
At the end of the day, what caused our destruction didn’t matter. We were too busy fighting for our lives at that point. Half-full kindergarten classrooms and empty hospital wards – ghost towns of a time that seemed like only yesterday.
Our definitions changed faster than we could keep up with. Getting pregnant, next to impossible.
A live birth, a privilege.
Children themselves were defined as a commodity. Protected and cherished, but also used as currency in the strange new world we had found ourselves in.
And as with any form of currency, there were thieves and frauds. Black markets. Desperation.
Surprised? You shouldn’t be.
Terrified? Not a strong enough word.
We werescrewed, plain and simple.
It was still dark out when I began my day. It always was.
My morning started before the birds sang their first note, and before the first ray of sunlight hit the horizon. There was too much to be done if I wanted to eat. Water had to be drawn from the old well a few miles away from my camp. A fire needed to be started, the water boiled, and food carefully rationed. Hunting, the bane of my existence.
This lifestyle was completely different from the one I had known before, but for now it was safer. At least until I figured out my next step.
It seemed like I was always figuring out my next step, but that system had kept me alive for the last ten years.
I pulled my worn sweatshirt over my head as a barrier against the morning chill and tied my once-white running shoes. Stepping out of my tent, I shivered.
Winter was coming far sooner than I liked, which meant I would eventually have to venture into a trading market, or worse, the city. My current sleeping bag wasn’t warm enough to last through a freeze, and my toes were already going numb in my thin shoes. I had to risk it, for the sake of boots and a good sleeping bag.
I scrubbed my hand over my face, dirt sticking to my fingers. I should probably boil enough water to give myself a quick scrub. Sighing, I grabbed the bucket I used for water where it hung on a low tree branch. Everything was so much more difficult now. In the past, needing winter boots meant a quick trip to the mall, maybe an extra stop to grab a coffee or lunch.
Today, it meant I had to trek out of the woods, back toward civilization, and manage to stay out of the way of basically everyone. Standing out didn’t help when you were trying to be inconspicuous. The city used to have a name, like all the rest. Emblazoned on signs, and used as puns for names of small bars. New York. Chicago. Los Angeles. But those names had evaporated along with everything else, dissolving with our morals. Arriving at the well, I drew a bucketful of water, careful not to spill any as I heaved it back up to the top. When I had fled the city, I hadn’t known what I was doing.
Eventually, I realized I had to find a place that had all the resources I needed. I tried a bunch of different areas, but my current campsite was my favorite.
The woods that bordered an old farmhouse seemed like the best bet, and the well full of fresh water was a bonus. I didn’t feel safe enough to stay in the house full time – and it felt weird to live in a house I was sure was filled with ghosts – but it reassured me to know it was there in case of a freak storm.
The city was a safe, one-day walk away. Far enough to be too much of a nuisance for the Kingsnakes to prowl, but close enough I could get there for supplies.
Avoiding exposed tree roots and rocks, I lugged my bucket of water back to the small clearing I used as my campsite. Winter was creeping in earlier than last year, and even earlier than the previous. Not like I should’ve been surprised. The pattern had been there for years.
We had just chosen to ignore it. We’d gone about our days, posting our lives on social media, drinking at bars and dancing at clubs, ignoring it all. The food shortages, and the longer winters. The decrease in birth rates.
It’s funny, because at the time it seemed like a positive thing. Being able to have casual sex with less fear of getting pregnant? Sign me up.
Until people started selling their babies in exchange for food they couldn’t find in stores. The fertile women had it easier, once they got over the idea of exchanging their babies for a liveable future. Because they had no babies to barter, the single men had it the worst.
