On a Hillside Overlooking Water

The world has never been quite this vivid in Jean’s memory. But today, cerulean skies swirl with cotton ball clouds over fields of technicolor wildflowers. Her fingers sweep through tall, verdant grasses and a warm wind dances through her unbound curls. It is a perfect day. Annaleigh’s youthful voice echoes through the valley. The words aren’t distinct, but they are full of the ineffable joy of childhood. A rumble tickles Jean’s feet as she makes her way towards a distant hill and the joyful noise beyond. The green swell of the land seems impossibly far away, but she is confident she will reach her destination. She hefts her picnic basket and closes her eyes, the sun warm on her face. The buzz starts low, like bees in search of pollen. But as the sound intensifies, she opens her eyes to see the sky drain to a monochrome. The child’s voice distorts, squeals of joy indistinguishable from fear. Something snaps in Jean’s brain. She is both here, and yet, her body is elsewhere, aware of a cold hardness beneath her. Her legs aren’t responding, but she needs to run, climb the hill, and get to the child on the other side. It all cuts out. ∘ She throws her immersion goggles across the desk. The oppressive gray of the bunker is dingier than usual, bathed in yellow emergency backup lights. The computer screen in front of her is rebooting, stuck on a message admonishing her for shutting it down improperly. The landslides were becoming more frequent. Poisoned rain ate through the rocks in the hills, and every few weeks now it seemed the earth let loose, targeting the solar array that fed the bunker’s power supply and servers. Suiting up to face the elements is second nature now. First, hazmat suit. Next, gas mask. Finally, boots that she keeps in the airlock. The fan cycles, and UV lights shock the air to protect the inner living space of the bunker from whatever pathogens have evolved in the hostile world outside. She hefts the metal toolbox up the hill to the solar array. Sweat pools under her protective gear. A mocking voice in the back of her mind tells her it’s probably overkill to suit up, but her rational brain won’t take the chance. From what she gathered when she hacked into the CDC database, it was all terrible news. That was before the news stopped altogether. Even if she didn’t trust the government, she trusted what she saw with her own eyes. The plastic of the gas mask was slowly degrading. Anything plastic didn’t survive long outside anymore. She was designing a metal one, based on her memories of old diving bell suits, but it wasn’t ready yet. As she expected, rocks had severed the connection between the array and the main power line. She could fix it, but it would take some time. It wasn’t the plan to do this all alone. The shelter and supplies had been her husband's idea. She is haunted by guilt for her incessant teasing of him before the decline. Soon after, his planning was the key to their survival. But eventually, confined in the small space together, her face was a constant reminder of their loss. Glossy black curls, a carbon copy of Annaleigh's, were always in his peripheral. Jean had smashed all of the mirrors in the bunker. But her husband couldn’t erase her face from his view. So he left. The excuses he scrawled didn’t matter. She burned that paper long ago. She knew. Jean’s alone now, but she’s learned to survive. The outside of her makeshift repair is wrapped with foil tape. It'll have to do. ∘ Jean is back under cerulean skies, on the green hill overlooking the water. Annaleigh plays along the shore, laughing, her dark curls dancing in the wind. Today, the world won’t end. Today she isn’t alone. She sits up straight as Annaleigh approaches, her small hands cupped around a secret. “I have a gift for you.” “Show me.” Her hands open, revealing a bright purple frog. It squirms under her pudgy fingers and then glitches. Pixels jump out of order. The amphibian breaks apart, dead. Jean looks at Annaleigh’s face. It is all wrong now too. Pixelated and hollow. Jean starts to cry. “It’s okay, Momma. I can find you another one.” Annaleigh reaches out to brush away her mother’s tears. Jean can’t feel her child’s fingers on her face. ∘ The immersion headset slams across the desk, knocking a clipboard full of papers to the floor. Jean sops up her tears on the rough fabric of her sleeve as she scoops up the fallen clipboard. Flipping through the attached crayon and pencil drawings, Jean is overwhelmed by memories of a time before the vibrant colors in the sky meant death. A rainbow of wildflowers in an almost impressionistic landscape. Bright purple frogs clinging to emerald leaves. The green hillside, sloping down to clear blue water, childlike waves scribbled to lap playfully against the shore. The tree that marks Annaleigh’s final resting place, branches outstretched to shade her from the brutal heat of the day. The last of her red crayons rubbed against the background, the bright wax stretching across the entire sky. Jean wants to linger in these moments forever. But she can’t make them stick. She pulls the papers from the clipboard, the metal snapping as it clatters to the floor. She carefully folds the stack of drawings and slips them into the interior pocket of her jumpsuit, next to her heart. It takes no time at all to leave. The worn edge of the gas mask cuts into the dried salt expanse of her cheeks. The seal won’t last the journey to the hillside and back, but that hardly matters to her now. She opens the airlock and a scarlet sunset spills into the bunker. The warm wind dances through her unbound curls. She’s ready to see her baby again. It is a perfect day. ∘ ∘ ∘