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We know so little about each other and even less about our galaxy, the Milky Way. A system filled with stars, gas, dust, dark matter, and a supermassive black hole at its center. Predicted to collide with the Andromeda Galaxy. The result, unclear. Relax, that’s about 4.5 billion years in the future. I recall reading how we needed to chill out. Everything would be fine. Technology Will Save Us! Artificial Intelligence with ‘guardrails’ our salvation. Or the second coming…For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven, with the voice of an archangel, and with the trumpet of God… to meet the Lord in the air. Somehow, all will come together to resolve whatever Father Time sends our way.
But… The oceans rose. The temperatures increased. Heat is now the leading cause of death. The air polluted and tainted water worsened. Greenery replaced by concrete forest. Biodiversity in decline. Population grew while livable space decreased. Environmental stress, real. Natural Resources consumed. Waiting for the next global pandemic.
And… the deterioration of our social fabric, resulting in apathy and social conflict promoting anarchy.
All this balanced against man’s eternal capacity to find that sliver lining, a ray of hope, the proverbial bright side.
Here I sit hoping.
Hope is invisible, intangible, a cruel joke. Until.
The next morning, we returned to our table. Brett and Cord were missing. The server noted their absence. Said nothing. This morning Diana joined us and inquired, “I see we are missing Brett and Cord. What’s up?”
Making eye contact, not exactly knowing what to say. Remembering I was told to tell no one.
Addison interjects, “I invited Diana to join us. Place holder for the day. Thought she might update us on how our med center is doing.”
Frank pulling his chair next to Diana. How foolish, I thought as I watch them interact.
“She’s always welcomed,” I added, while frowning at Frank.
“They are out surveying the area. May be gone for several days. Seems they were getting squirrelly, restless, needing to ramble about,” Addison shared.
We sat looking toward the rising sun, a slight breeze pushing along a toxic haze. Mask setting nearby. Meanwhile, sipping on a glass of cloudy water. Even if boiled, you had to wonder what was settling to the bottom. The life expectancy once in the seventies dropping every year now barely sixty. Men of science, once referred to as ‘natural philosophers,’ had warned humanity for generations. More recently, climatologist, students of climate change, climate variability, and its effect on the biospheres once ridiculed, denounced. In fact, climate change, traced back to 1760. A day would come when the environment would crash. The rain forest consumed by greed. Glaciers melted. Islands underwater. I once announced to my students that one day, man’s primary source of protein would be bugs. Ugh, they moaned in disbelief. The climate flipped and unpredictable. Fact, over a third of the world now get their daily protein consuming bugs. We had passed the tipping point years ago. This is only the second time in man’s history where the world’s population would decline. The other, during the Black Plague.
Winters are bad, gloomy, cold, rainy. Did I mention COLD? But, FYI summers are worse. Summers are hot as hell. In the winter you seek a warm space, a warm body, more covers and wood, kerosene, or cooking oil, solar should the sun make an appearance. Summer, well like my uncle used to say, “you can only take off so much clothes.”
Summer is coming.
Thinking about Brett, well traveled, always seemed to have a story to share. Maybe forty, slender, a little over six feet, with a quiet, confident demeanor arrive at the compound a week before I arrived, then settled in working odd jobs, like most, as assigned. Once a roving investigator, rule follower, cautious, a skilled marksman. He ended up on the Scout Team and proved to be capable, cautious, and observant. Not overly chatty could engage strangers on a wide range of topics. Unlike Frank, always chatty, annoyingly chatty.
The day before, Brett noted he has a talent, a skill. He could find people, missing people. In the past, for a price. The reason did not matter: a run-away, innocent or not, wanted, dead or alive. Like a roving investigator working for private parties or the government, just a living, compensated for his abilities. Well traveled, by chance, ended up here. From what I can glean, no family. Words still echoing in my ears, “I can find you daughters.”
Cord, like Brett, been around having worked for the government, undercover seeking groups, the lawless. Those dealing in counter band, weapons and explosives. Maybe late thirties, a little under six feet, blond with blue eyes, muscular, quite the looker. A quick draw followed by a reputation. Still one to hold his tongue. A family? Arrived a month after I did, hired by Mr. Maddox providing security. Now a member of the Scout Team.
I volunteered to go with the guys.
“Nope, you seem to attract too much attention,” Brett replied. “This is what we do.”
I sat back as the sun cooked the earth. Need to head inside, wondering, could they? What would they find? What would a reunion be like? To know or not to know. Wondering what to expect.
The conversation was cordial. Diana share the center’s need for medical supplies. She organized what was available and shared how melanoma, a common affliction, and COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disease) or inflammatory lung condition making it hard to breathe restricting physical activities ever present.
“Every day a line of health issues enter our center. Mostly, we lack the capacity to treat. We do what we can do. Everyday someone reminds us how we once had a doctor who, apparently, was a miracle worker. Could do no wrong. How he was gunned down because of a woman. Murdered.”
“There are now multiply version of the story. All pointing toward someone. Some suggest you,” Diana, looking at me, adds.
Addison, shaking her head, “unlikely, Jesse, he’s more likely to shoot himself in the foot.”
Across the quad, several headed our way. Something’s up. Our lives were about to be preempted.
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