A Plague of Our Own

The New World

The roses, once symbols of love and beauty, were now watered by the blood of the virtuous, and with that, the world drew its final breath. The masses grappled with denial, unable to accept such a stark end. Theories abounded, each a different verse in the same tragic song of humanity’s enduring shortcomings. Whether it was divine retribution, an onslaught of demonic forces, or the all-consuming inferno of war that ravaged the psyche’s delicate fabric, each was a candidate for a truth nearly lost to time. Yet, the world did not end in a spectacle of fire or thunderous fanfare, but rather, it ended in a hushed, unceremonious sigh.

Long before the twilight of civilisation, Daniel had been a pioneer, one of the inaugural volunteers for the Cryo-Gen Initiative. Encased within the opulent sanctuary of a tycoon’s compound, he slumbered through the decades, undisturbed, until a shrill blaring of alarms shattered the silence. It seemed an eternity had passed, but in reality, mere minutes ticked by. The sound of clamps releasing and the grinding of metal threatened to overwhelm his senses, and gradually, he peeled open his eyes to a world shrouded in obscurity.

Blood once saturated the floor beneath him. The haunting remnants of red and the desolation of vacant chambers ignited a surge of dread. His vision, clouded and uncertain, found solace only in the faint luminescence emanating from his chamber. The urge to cry out was strong, yet Daniel inhaled deeply instead, steeling himself against the unknown. With a tentative step, he disembarked from his sanctuary, only to collapse to his knees. As the alarms ceased, a fleeting moment of serenity ensued. His heart steadied, the imminent threat dissipated, but in its wake, a profound solitude enveloped him. Where had everyone gone?

The illumination device affixed above his chamber was modular, its power cells at full capacity. He reached out, seizing it firmly, and with a tug, the gentle hum of machinery soothed him as steam hissed from the release valves. The power was gone; his chamber was the last to succumb in this forsaken wing. With the light in hand, he pivoted slowly, surveying the expanse of abandonment that stretched before him. The path ahead was evident — a narrow corridor leading to the administrative quarters. Yet Daniel noted the disarray of papers strewn about and the glittering shards of broken glass underfoot.

To his right, the premium chambers stood, obnoxious and grandiose. Their shattered exteriors suggested a violent breach from within. “Seems someone had a penchant for Corinthian leather. Why invest in luxury when you’re suspended in time?” he mused. His stride continued until a discarded headline snagged his attention. The content was trivial — mere musings on the world’s affluent elite — but the date struck a nerve. “2096? They were supposed to revive me a decade past.” He let the paper fall from his grasp, hastily sifting through more. 2118… 2162… A grave error had transpired.

A bead of perspiration dampened the parchment. The air grew heavy with moisture, the initial chill replaced by an encroaching warmth, and above, he noticed the cooling apparatus lay in ruins. Had this place been assaulted? Why was he the sole survivor? With a mix of urgency and trepidation, Daniel cast aside the papers and advanced, seeking answers yet dreading the revelations. The door ahead bore the scars of conflict — bullet-riddled, its handle reduced to fragments, it yielded effortlessly to his touch. The darkness persisted, but his makeshift lantern revealed the chaos within — overturned lockers, scattered stationery, and chairs upended. Ages had passed since anyone entered this chamber.

He perused the remnants of documentation on the desk, none of which disclosed the current year. His gaze then shifted to a metallic door, obstructed by a toppled locker. Daniel’s mind wandered back to his initial arrival at the facility — he had glimpsed it after exiting the elevator onto an unfamiliar level, catching sight of a grand hall through a pane of glass, teeming with the elite and their festivities. A massive, fortified door had stood sentinel over his passage to this sector. Though he had never set foot in the hall, his curiosity had never waned. Could this be the passage he sought?

The locker’s metal frame screeched as Daniel heaved it aside, its thunderous collapse echoing through the desolate hall. The door’s handle, like the others, had violently shattered. Pushing past, an odour so vile — a melange of decay and charred remains — met him, clawing at his senses. The dim bulbs flickered their last breaths, casting an eerie pall over the once magnificent hall. With each breath, the silence grew heavier, until a deep inhale filled the void, his torchlight unveiling the grim fate of those who had vanished. The floor was a macabre display of death, strewn with the shattered bones and mangled bodies of the fallen, some disturbingly fresh.

Daniel’s gaze lingered in revulsion, a torrent of thoughts clashing in his mind, culminating in a profound sorrow. So much loss. The dead were not just the affluent; the poor lay among them; their ragged clothes and standard-issue tags a silent testament to their final moments — was it a call for help or a massacre? He stifled a cough, the air thick with the detritus of decay. The dated newspapers suggested an era long passed, and the surrounding carnage offered little hope for the rebirth he sought. With cautious steps, he navigated the hall, drawn to a bronze elevator, its opulence mocking the surrounding despair.

The elevator chimed open, its interior decorated with golden panels and intricate patterns — a grim reminder of the world’s inequities. Daniel cast a final, empathetic glance at the lifeless forms, a mix of pity and gratitude stirring within him. He could have been among them. Pressing the ground floor button, he flinched as the doors sealed shut, and a pretentious melody filled the space. It was the very imbalance of wealth that had driven him to seek refuge in cryogenic slumber, yearning for a future of equity. Yet, the journey ahead seemed bleak.

Relieved to escape the stench of death, Daniel pondered the state of humanity. Had violence persisted even after his prolonged absence? The lift, preserved while lives were discarded, stood as a fitting legacy of the trillionaire who had conceived this sanctuary. The music ceased, and the doors opened to a dimly lit lobby, the bodies of the once-powerful draped in a macabre display. Among them, the facility’s owner, identifiable by his navy suit and half-star badge. Not even the mighty were spared.

Stepping into the light of the hangar, the fresh air was a balm to his soul. Yet, the sight that greeted him swiftly soured his relief. The Earth had tainted, a morass of blackened mud and glass, the landscape a testament to ruin. As the city ahead revealed itself as a mere skeleton of its former self, Daniel’s faith wavered. The air was free of radiation, a small mercy. With no other option, he pressed on, his mind racing with possibilities. If not nuclear fallout, then what cataclysm had befallen the world? Civil strife? Celestial impacts? Had a rapture gone unnoticed and forsaken him?

Trailing the path of destruction, Daniel wandered through the barren landscape that once thrummed with life. The rusted sign declaring ‘Dead Zone’ stood as a grim marker of what had once been New Orleans. A city of jazz and jubilation reduced to silence and decay. With nothing left to lose, he pressed on, passing the skeletal remains of futuristic vehicles that now seemed as alien as the desolate world around him.

He paused, breaths coming in heavy pants, just meters from a fractured highway bridge that dipped into the abyss. Despite its precarious appearance, the city beckoned from beyond. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he ventured forth, his heart pounding not from exertion but from trepidation. The bridge was eerily silent until a sudden flutter startled him — a flock of birds taking flight. Life persisted, even here.

Crossing the bridge, hope flickered within him. He landed on the streets where the echoes of a bygone era lingered — bent storefronts, twisted skyscrapers, and the ghostly outlines of streetlights and faded road markings. The remnants of humanity’s last days had etched into the very fabric of the city. He turned left, approaching a shattered storefront. “Let’s go shopping,” he muttered, pushing open the door with care to avoid the glass and debris that littered the ground.

Inside, the aisles were barren, save for a few forgotten toiletries. He made his way to the front, his eyes scanning the newspapers. The year 2240 stared back at him, a stark reminder of the time that had slipped away. A wave of despair washed over him, and he clung to the counter for support, his breaths ragged with the weight of realisation. Then, a sound from outside — a scuttle of footsteps — snapped him back to the present. Not a bird this time.

He peered out, seeing nothing, then crept to the side of a nearby car for cover. A bullet pinged off the metal, the sound too familiar. Another shot whizzed past, the shell clinking to the ground. “Stop! Please… I mean you no harm!”

The gunfire halted. “Then you tell me, boy. Why are you in the Dead Zone?” a deep, rasping voice called out.

“I’ve just woken up. My chamber… I’m in the wrong time,” Daniel replied, his voice laced with confusion and fear.

“You’re from the facility. What year you from?” the voice pressed.

“They put me under in 2040,” Daniel answered, his throat tight.

“You’re serious? Show yourself, and I’ll hold fire,” the voice commanded.

Daniel rose cautiously, his gaze lifting to an apartment roof — one of the few structures still defiantly standing. “Those clothes sure are old-fashioned. Come up here, you’ve got a lot to catch up on,” the voice beckoned.

The Survivor’s Tales

The hollowed entrance loomed before Daniel, a gaping maw left by some violent upheaval, the reception area a testament to ruin. Above, the floors had partially collapsed, their debris a shattered crown upon the reception desk. Yet, amidst the chaos, the stairway to the right stood unscathed. Daniel’s mind raced with suspicion. Was this a trap laid by the last sovereign of a fallen kingdom? The thought tempted him to flee, but curiosity propelled him upward. The stairs, cloaked in dust and dim light, seemed to stretch into infinity until he finally reached the summit, greeted by an iron door emblazoned with three red stars crossed in defiance.

His hand hovered over the handle, hesitation seizing him. Then, with a clank, the door swung open, revealing a figure as rugged as the world he inhabited. The man’s patchwork attire, his cap frayed at the edges, and the rifle he brandished spoke of survival against all odds. His face, etched with the lines of time and toil, bore a beard meticulously groomed, a dichotomy to Daniel’s own unkempt facial hair.

“You plan on standing there all day?” the survivor’s voice broke the silence, a hint of jest in his tone.

Embarrassment flushed Daniel’s cheeks as he stepped forward, his attempt at wit failing him. “No…”

The survivor’s rifle lowered, and he led Daniel across the rooftop, its tiles cracked and worn, some sprouting moss, others blanketed in ash. A fur bedroll lay beside the remnants of a ventilation unit, and a fire crackled within a bin, surrounded by log seats — a semblance of home in a world that had forgotten the meaning. Daniel’s gaze swept over the cityscape, a panorama of destruction and decay, yet above, life soared on the wings of birds, a glimmer of hope in the desolation.

“Tea or coffee?” the survivor asked, his voice pulling Daniel back from the brink of despair.

Daniel turned to find the man poised by the fire, a battered flask in hand. “Coffee, thank you,” he replied, surprised by the offer.

“Humanity may have perished, but tea leaves and coffee beans survived,” the survivor remarked, pouring the steaming liquid into a mug that seemed too clean for such a world.

“Lucky for us,” Daniel mused, accepting the mug. “You say humanity is gone, yet here you stand.”

“Here we are,” the survivor acknowledged. “Not all have returned to the earth. I was born from the ashes, knowing only the remnants of the past. I can scarcely fathom the thoughts haunting you — everything you knew, vanished.”

Daniel took a sip of the coffee, its rich flavour and smoky scent a comfort he hadn’t realised he’d missed. “Do let me know if I overstepped,” the survivor said softly.

“Not at all,” Daniel replied, the warmth of the coffee seeping into his bones. “I’ve been encased in ice for lifetimes. Fear, sadness — I’m not sure what to feel. What happened here?”

“Pity is all that remains,” the survivor said. “Humanity’s downfall was of their own making. As for the specifics, it’s complicated.”

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” Daniel said, a bitter irony in his words.

The survivor raised an eyebrow, his face a mask of unreadable thoughts. “That’s what many believed, before the end. Time and truth have become elusive. I could share tales, but in the end, they may be just that — stories.”

Daniel savoured the last drops of his coffee, the liquid warmth a luxury compared to the lingering chill of the cryo-chamber that still clung to his bones. He set his mug down and approached the fire, reminiscing about campfires from his youth, where stories were shared under a starlit sky.

“How did you come by these tales?” Daniel inquired; his curiosity piqued.

“People,” Bush replied with a distant look. “I’ve wandered, met others — survivors, each harbouring their own theories about our Earth’s demise.”

“And where might they be now?”

Bush shook his head. “Haven’t seen a soul in seven years.”

“That’s a solitary existence. Share their stories with me; maybe there’s a shred of truth in them.”

Bush stroked his beard thoughtfully, as if to coax the memories forth. “Loneliness has its peace, unlike the first account I heard. It spoke of global strife, nations on edge, culminating in the push of a red button… nuclear annihilation. The world’s scars might suggest such a fate, but I’ve seen no signs of radiation, only clear skies and thriving woods. The man who spun this yarn claimed his forebears mutated, sprouting limbs in unnatural places, and he held sketches to prove it — sketches he believed were alien codes hidden in the clouds.”

“It’s a pity those drawings aren’t here. The spectre of nuclear war loomed large in my time, too,” Daniel mused. “Maybe the radiation dissipated, and that’s the truth of it.”

“Maybe,” Bush conceded. “But when I pressed for details — names of nations, leaders — none could say. It’s ironic, isn’t it? Humanity’s penchant for complexity, and yet our end might have been as simple as a button press.”

Daniel watched Bush reach for the flask again, preparing for another round. Here they were, the last men standing, sharing a drink atop a crumbling edifice. Perhaps faith was enough to sustain hope.

“You never mentioned your name,” Daniel said. “I’m Daniel.”

“A name?” Bush chuckled. “Never had one. No one to remember it by.”

“What about your parents? They must have called you something.”

Bush’s smile faded. “No memories of them. I was traded to foragers for bread, as far as I know.”

“They sound delightful,” Daniel quipped, a wry smile on his lips. “I’ll call you Bush, after the impressive growth on your face.”

Bush handed Daniel his refilled mug with a grin. “Shaving seems pointless now.”

Daniel held the mug, letting it cool slightly. “So, what’s the next tale?”

Bush’s expression grew solemn. “It’s grim, as you might expect. A plague swept through the populace, beginning with coughs and sore throats, then spreading worldwide. Some I met claimed it was the end of us, sparing only hermits and those, like you, preserved in ice. They said the Earth succumbed to a virus within two years. As for when it happened, or whether it was a natural outbreak or engineered… who can say?”

Daniel’s gaze lingered on the remnants of his coffee, the tepid liquid a stark reminder of the world’s current state — lukewarm, uncertain, surviving. “In my time, we faced pandemics, but unity and resilience always saw us through. The world healed,” he reflected, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

Bush nodded; his eyes distant. “It could’ve happened just after you were frozen. Some reckon the virus was a weapon, seeping into rivers, then lakes, and finally the oceans.”

“Biowarfare isn’t unheard of,” Daniel mused. “Where do you source your water?”

“That’s the thing,” Bush replied, gesturing towards the horizon. “I’ve drunk from countless streams and lakes, yet I’ve never fallen ill. The water here comes from a lake teeming with life. It’s hard to believe a virus could survive there, let alone in the birds you’ve seen.”

Daniel pondered, his own theory taking shape. The societal chasm between wealth and poverty had driven him to seek refuge in cryogenic sleep, a world where money reigned supreme and poverty soared to unimaginable heights. Perhaps it wasn’t a global war, but a series of revolts and uprisings that explained the targeted destruction of the affluent’s chambers. He rose, his gaze drifting across the cityscape, where nature was reclaiming its dominion. A deer meandered through the streets, a silent witness to the burgeoning greenery. He kept the sight to himself.

“What’s your take on all this?” Daniel asked, turning back to Bush.

Bush’s eyes met his. “Describe the scene before you.”

“Broken glass, crumbled buildings, and the slow resurgence of the wild,” Daniel replied, setting his cup aside.

Bush chuckled dryly. “No virus alone could wreak such havoc, unless they engineered explosive parasites.”

“Is that the prelude to the third story?” Daniel inquired.

“Indeed. You remember the climate crisis?” Bush’s tone grew sombre.

“The carbon levels were soaring even before I went under,” Daniel acknowledged.

Bush’s voice hardened. “I’ve been told of unprecedented floods, skies choked with smog, wildfires raging. Perhaps a disease did spread amidst this chaos. But in my view, it was humanity’s own venom that ravaged the Earth — the insatiable thirst for resources, the relentless pursuit of power. If a virus had emerged, it was merely the final blow, trivial compared to the floods, the infernos, and the wrath of nature.”

Daniel recoiled slightly as Bush’s passion flared. The man before him bore a deep-seated animosity towards humanity, his stories painting a bleak tapestry of their legacy.

“I understand why this narrative resonates with you,” Daniel whispered. “The environmental crisis was escalating, a challenge we never quite overcame. Perhaps our collective arrogance invited nature’s retribution, but not everyone is culpable. Corporations, politicians, and headless billionaires did the damage, not your everyday citizen.”

“People had every chance to unite, to save our planet from the calamity our leaders wrought. Yet they failed,” Bush retorted, his gaze steely.

“There were still kind souls among us, undeserving of such a fate,” Daniel countered. “I chose to be frozen, hoping for a brighter tomorrow. You’ve seen the signs of life, the return of greenery. There’s hope for renewal.”

Bush’s expression softened, but his scepticism remained. “You’re an idealist, kid. I’ve traversed this planet, heard every conjecture, yet you’re the first to speak of a future. A man out of time, clinging to hope. Why don’t you share your tale?”

The End of Everything 

Daniel’s tale unfurled like a drapery of sombre colours, each thread a narrative of the world’s descent into chaos. “I was born into a time of darkness,” he began, his voice a quiet force in the stillness that surrounded them. “The news was a constant barrage of despair — poverty, inequality, leaders who sought to rule rather than serve. A global political climate that seemed to inch closer to authoritarianism with each passing day.”

These were the harbingers that whispered a grim future into young Daniel’s ears, a future that held little promise for the bright-eyed dreams of youth. As Daniel matured, the abundance of the world’s woes only intensified. 

Bush, his face a mask of scepticism, watched the fire dance between them. “And you thought you could escape it all?” he asked, the question hanging in the air like smoke.

Daniel nodded, his eyes reflecting the flames. “I saw the gap between rich and poor grow into a chasm. I witnessed the rise of tyrants. The world was on a knife-edge, teetering towards destruction.”

Politicians, once the stewards of the people’s will, now donned the cloaks of despots, their words no longer pledges of progress but edicts of control.

In the quiet moments of reflection, Daniel often found himself grappling with a profound sense of disillusionment. The world he inhabited was one where the virtues of equality and liberty were not the cornerstones of society, but distant ideals, as elusive as the horizon to a mariner lost at sea. The thought of raising a family in such a world was a prospect that filled him with trepidation. How could he bring children into a world that seemed so bereft of kindness, so devoid of justice?

“And so, you ran,” Bush said, his voice tinged with a hint of accusation.

“Not ran… hoped,” Daniel corrected him, his gaze steady. “I hoped for a future where my children could live without fear, where justice wasn’t a privilege but a right.”

Bush’s laugh was short and humourless. “A fool’s hope.”

It was this yearning for a better tomorrow that led Daniel to the doors of the Cryo-Gen facility. The promise of cryogenic sleep was a siren’s call — a chance to leapfrog through time, to emerge in an age where the ailments of his own had been cured. He dreamt of a future where society embraced and celebrated civil liberties, where healthcare was a fundamental right for everyone, and where the sounds of war had been permanently silenced.

As he lay in the chamber, the icy tendrils of suspended animation creeping over him, Daniel’s last conscious thoughts were painted with the brushstrokes of hope. He envisioned a world unified, a tapestry woven from the threads of diverse cultures and beliefs, strong in its solidarity. He saw streets where laughter was the currency, and the only shadows cast were those of children playing in the setting sun.

But the world that greeted Daniel upon his awakening was not the utopia he had envisioned. It was a world silenced; its once vibrant hues faded to the monochrome of desolation. The ruins that lay before him were a testament to the absence of the future he had so dearly hoped for. The absence of the future he had so dearly hoped for hit him hard, as he realized that his dreams of family and a fair society were lost, like the echoes of civilization, and he had no choice but to drink from a chalice of despair.

Bush’s voice cut through Daniel’s internal reverie, sharp and cold. “You hoped for a fantasy, Daniel. Humanity’s nature is immutable, and the ruin you see is its legacy.”

Daniel turned to face Bush, his eyes alight with the embers of a hope not yet extinguished. “But there are others, still beneath the ice, who dreamt as I did. We can’t let their dreams turn to dust. We have the chance to forge a fresh path, to right the wrongs of the past.”

Bush’s response was a derisive snort. “You place your faith in a species that has proven time and again its propensity for destruction. The Earth is healing now, purging itself of the human stain.”

The debate between them grew heated, their voices the only sound in a world that had lost its voice. Daniel stood, his resolve as firm as the ground beneath the ruins. “I refuse to accept that this is the end. I will wake the sleepers, and together, we will rebuild.”

Bush’s rifle, a silent observer until now, was suddenly aimed at Daniel’s heart, the metallic glint contrasting sharply to the warmth in Daniel’s eyes. “You’ll bring about nothing but more ruin,” Bush growled.

In the ensuing struggle, a single gunshot echoed like a death knell for Daniel’s dreams. As he lay bleeding, Bush’s parting words were a vow to extinguish the last flickers of human hope.

Daniel’s final thoughts were a collage of sorrow and longing, a mirror to the world he had once hoped to change. As the cold once again embraced him, not in the promise of a better tomorrow but in the finality of death, he wondered if there was indeed something beyond — a place where hope was not a fragile thing, easily shattered by the reality of a world that had ended.

Written by J.T. Barker

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