Withered + Sere (Immemorial Year Book 1)

Withered + Sere

By TJ Klune

Once upon a time, humanity could no longer contain the rage that swelled within, and the world ended in a wave of fire.

One hundred years later, in the wasteland formerly known as America, a broken man who goes only by the name of Cavalo survives. Purposefully cutting himself off from what remains of civilization, Cavalo resides in the crumbling ruins of the North Idaho Correctional Institution. A mutt called Bad Dog and a robot on the verge of insanity comprise his only companions. Cavalo himself is deteriorating, his memories rising like ghosts and haunting the prison cells.

It’s not until he makes the dangerous choice of crossing into the irradiated Deadlands that Cavalo comes into contact with a mute psychopath, one who belongs to the murderous group of people known as the Dead Rabbits. Taking the man prisoner, Cavalo is forced not only to face the horrors of his past, but the ramifications of the choices made for his stark present. And it is in the prisoner that he will find a possible future where redemption is but a glimmer that darkly shines.

The world has died.

This is the story of its remains.

For Sam, Abi, Ely, and Erika:

You guys are weird, abnormal and strange,

and your faces make me happy.

Alas, the time of the most despicable man is coming,

he that is no longer able to despise himself.

Behold, I show you the
last man
.

~~Nietzsche
Thus Spoke Zarathustra

seven words

ONCE UPON
a time, humanity could no longer contain the rage that swelled within, and the world ended in a wave of fire.

But before this happened, there was a great and powerful man. One day, so very different than all the days that had come before, he sat in his office and wondered how it would feel to burn to death.

It was cold, this thought. But not because he was a cold man—he wasn’t. Not really. No, this great and powerful man was practical. Analytical. He would not have gotten to be where he was without these traits. Though, in that evil known as hindsight, he wondered if this had not been a mistake. It was difficult to know, and he knew he would never have the answer. History often judged the actions of others, but now, there would not
be
a history to bring judgment. Not of the human kind.

He wondered if it would be quick, that first wave of fire. He wondered if there was anywhere his people could hide. If there was any place they could run. He thought not. He didn’t think it would matter even if there were. His advisors had already told him there wasn’t enough time. The grim looks on their faces had told him that, at least in this matter, they spoke the truth.

They had begged him to leave. They had begged him to go to ground.
You must!
they argued.
People will need you after what is to come! They will need someone to look up to if we are to survive!
But even in their pleadings, he could hear the defeat in their voices. The resolve breaking. They knew as well as him. He saw it in their eyes, the way they had dulled. The humanity was gone. The spark. And the great and powerful man knew that once the spark had died, there was nothing left to hope for.

Even if he’d done as they’d asked, it would have only been postponing what was to come. Others had arrived in his office with their projections of total loss of life. Their maps, covered in red. Their dire warnings.
There must be a way to stop this
, they said.
There must be a way for this to end peacefully.
But they too had seen the images of the destruction of London. Of Dubai. São Paulo. Sydney.

San Francisco.

Las Vegas.

Phoenix.

Seattle.

They had all seen the explosions, sun-bright. The fires that followed. The burnt husks of people flash-frozen into ash. Their arms hiding children. The way they cowered. Millions gone in no more than seconds. Everyone in the room had seen, and their words were hollow.

The great and powerful man noticed one of the scientists had yet to say a word. This quiet man was balding, almost lost to fat. He wiped away a sheen of sweat from his forehead with white-knuckled hands and looked down at his lap.

What do you think?
the great and powerful man asked, raising his voice to override the conversation in the room.

All fell quiet.

The fat scientist sighed.

Well?
the great and powerful man snapped.
We haven’t got all day.

Bernard Russell
, the fat scientist said.

What?

Bernard Russell. He was a British mathematician. He—

I know who he is!
the great and powerful man interrupted.
I don’t need a goddamn history lesson!
He could hear the underlying hysterics in his own voice. He had to calm himself.

The fat scientist sighed again. He looked up at the men and women in the room around him before settling his gaze on the great and powerful man.
Yes
, he said.
You do. We all do. Bernard Russell once said that war does not determine who is right. Only who is left.

The great and powerful man stared as the room erupted around him in jeers and cries of anger. Of derision.
Moralistic bullshit
, a five-star general sneered.
We take them out, and we take them out now!

We don’t even know who
they
are
, said the Secretary of Defense.

It doesn’t matter. We bomb the whole region. A flyswatter is better at killing bugs than a bullet.

More cries erupted, but the great and powerful man only had eyes for the fat scientist. The fat scientist did not look away.

What do you think we should do?
the great and powerful man asked the scientist, his words almost lost in the roar around him.

Now?
the fat scientist asked.

The great and powerful man nodded.
Now.

Now
, the fat scientist said,
you explain why.

To who?

Everyone. You owe them that much. They need to know. For those who are left when the dust settles, if it ever will. They need to know what we did. That we should have done more. That it is too late for us now.
The fat scientist wiped the sweat from his brow.
They need to know so it won’t happen again.

I don’t…. I…. I wouldn’t know how to start
, the great and powerful man said.

The fat scientist leaned forward as the voices rose in argument around him.
I think you do
, he said.

Eventually they all left, and the great and powerful man wondered how it would feel to burn to death.

At first, he knew the air would begin to heat. It would suddenly become hard to breathe, the hot air stifling and filled with carbon. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck would rise up and then start to curl. His eyelashes would singe. All the air would be sucked from around him and a great wall of irradiated fire would rise over him and his eyes and his tongue and his fingernails would burst into flames and all thought would cease. This would all be over.

The great and powerful man wondered if that was for the best.
We are doomed
, he thought darkly,
to repeat ourselves.
He remembered from his childhood, in that great haze before his mother died, hearing her voice as she read him
Peter Pan
. He remembered the story as a frightening thing, a wicked tale of lost boys and of never having parents. He hadn’t thought of her or the story in years, but now her voice rose in his mind as she read for him the story:
All of this has happened before, and all of it will happen again.

He covered his eyes.

The door to his office opened and he heard the patter of little feet, the cry of a sweet voice saying
Daddy
, shouting,
Daddy!
He wiped away the moisture from his eyes and smiled as his daughter ran around his desk, her pigtails stretched out behind her, twisting. She leapt into his lap, and he circled his arms around her. He felt her heart beat against his chest and knew then all that would be lost.

Okay, Daddy?
she asked, reaching out to touch his nose.

Okay, darling
, he said, though he lied.

You cry?
She sounded concerned.

No
, he reassured her.
No
.

Is it bad?
his wife asked from the door. He saw the way her hands trembled.

Yes
, he said. He kissed his daughter on her forehead. She laughed. High and free. Like bells.

Is there time?

He thought about pretty words like he’d given his daughter but decided against it. Somehow, she would know.
Not enough
, he said.

His wife nodded, as he knew she would. The wife of the great and powerful man was great in her own right. He remembered when they’d first met. He’d asked her for a light, outside the law library on campus. She didn’t smoke. He was in love. She laughed at him. They married four months later against their parents’ wishes.
She isn’t WASP-ish enough
, his parents had said.
He’s a goddamn conservative!
her parents had cried. It didn’t matter. The heart wants what it wants.

What do we do?
his wife asked him now as she moved away from the door.

The selfish part of him wanted them to stay with him. That if he couldn’t go, at least he’d be surrounded by his family. But that is not who he was. It never had been. He knew the captain stayed with the ship until the very end. His wife and daughter shouldn’t have to pay for his mistakes, even though they might still when it came down to it.

You two will be taken to the bunker
, he said.
There’s hope there. There’s a chance.
He told himself he believed his words. He did. He had to. He knew it had all escalated too fast.

And you?
she asked, her voice hardening. He knew that tone. He’d heard it many times before.
What about you?

I have to stay
, he said.

Stay where, Daddy?
his daughter asked.

He looked away from his angry wife toward his daughter.
I have to stay here. I have to talk to the people again.

In the camera?

Yes. In the camera.

His daughter thought on this a moment, her forehead lined in concentration.
I stay with you?
she finally asked.

He shook his head as he tried to breathe past the lump in his throat.
No. You’ll go with Mommy.

Where?

Someplace safe.

There were more words. How could there not be? There are always more words. Always more time to say things that don’t matter rather than the things that do. There was anger from his wife, and harsh things were said. She begged him to go with them. She cried, even though he could tell she was trying not to. She had always hated crying. Tears did nothing. They resolved nothing. She wiped them away with the backs of her hands as her voice cracked. She shook her head. She bunched her hands into fists to stop them from shaking.

Their daughter looked up at both of them with wide eyes. She started crying because her mother was. She started screaming when men burst into the room saying they had to go,
they had to go!
His daughter reached for him, but she was pulled away even as their fingers touched, and for the rest of his life (a time that was shorter than even
he
knew) he would remember the grazing of his daughter’s skin against his own. That last touch, that last moment he ever saw his daughter, his daughter, who he sometimes made laugh by scrunching up his face into weird shapes. His daughter who would put carrot sticks between his teeth and lips, and he’d pretend to be a walrus. His daughter, whose toenails were painted green and blue and red because she
loved
those colors, Daddy, she just
needed
them all at the same time. His daughter, who he held at night when the bad dreams came, telling her there was no such thing as monsters. That last little moment when their fingers touched would stay with him in the days he had left. This great and powerful man, this
father
, had no way of knowing that his daughter would live for only fifteen more days, his wife holding his little girl, telling her to shut her eyes, to just shut her eyes and think of
Daddy, Daddy, Daddy
, as the bunker they were in shook and eventually collapsed under the weight of a falling mountain.

But now? Now, their fingers touched for a brief moment and then she was pulled away. Now, his daughter screamed. Now, his wife shouted and struggled to escape strong arms that engulfed her. And now, the great and powerful man hung his head and did nothing as they were whisked away.