Eden

Nerves heightened, from years of military training, the sergeant cautiously entered the rundown shack. She knew no one would be there, but with no back up, she would always be on guard. The building had once been a home to someone, but that was long ago, certainly not in her lifetime.

Sergeant Tarsh Gilhooley hadn’t stopped to consider the reasons she found herself alone in this desolate place. There would be time for that once she was sure the site was secure.

Like a spy, she crept through the interior, not because she was afraid of being discovered, but because she was wary of falling through the woodworm ravaged floorboards. The exposed timber hadn’t fared well in the harsh, dry climate, what glass remained in the windows was rippled like it was melting in the heat, and sand-blasted by the constant desert wind. She wondered what life had been like in its past, with no water or vegetation to be seen, why would anyone with a modicum of sense, pitch their tent here.

Continuing her reconnaissance, Tarsh picked through artifacts left by whomever had resided here. Cookware and eating utensils, a hearth with an ancient looking wood stove, everything covered in a thick layer of dust and sand. Entering what appeared to be a bedroom, she found the decaying remains of children’s toys. Ragdolls and carved wooden animals. A bunk bed collapsed against the wall, which was itself leaning dangerously, as if it were trying to escape the inevitable.

The next room had a larger bed and furniture more suited to adults. Spying a chest under the window, she dragged a stool, which was simply a short log turned on its end, to the chest, and pulling her hunting knife from its scabbard, attempted to remove the lid.

With a crack, the catch gave way and in forcing the lid, the hinges snapped, and the entire lid fell to the floor. Tarsh was surprised to find carefully folded items of clothing that had remained intact, until she tried to grab them, when they crumbled to dust in her fingers. Beneath these remains, she found a tin box with unfamiliar coins and two wedding rings. Under this was a parcel, meticulously bound in a waxed cloth.

Tarsh Gilhooley took a moment before unwrapping the parcel. It occurred to her that someone made a great effort to ensure the contents were protected from the harsh elements of the desert and they may hold answers to questions, she didn’t yet know to ask. No matter what she found, they would be historic mementos of a time past, even if no one cared for history anymore, since the change. A whole world of knowledge kept and studied for millennia, couldn’t stop what was to come. Now the only history that mattered was knowing what worked and what hasn’t worked to keep their species alive.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled at the cord that held it together and unfolded the cloth, revealing a book. It was not so much a book as a stack of paper sandwiched between two stiff boards and hand sewn together. She cut the stitching and began to investigate the book.

United Nations Arctic Base

Research facility: Eden

Principals: Drs Eva and Anson Adams.

Plan: Protect the remaining samples for the recreation of life on earth. World Seed Bank, spore and rhizome store, human and animal DNA repository.

The Eden facility is one of five established in secret locations around the globe by the United Nations in 2030, to protect what remained of our species and those things that are vital for a stable, liveable environment in the future.

“So, the rumours were true,” the soldier mumbled to herself. She continued.

The first half of the document was routine science jargon, reports and such, most of which went over her head, but it described the area differently to how it was today. The house had faced a large freshwater lake surrounded by lush, grass covered hills and stands of trees. A small field for crops and a pen of chickens to sustain them. The scientists, geneticist and engineer, were a married couple with two children, two girls. There was a record of a third child, a boy not a relation, but no specific details as to his reason for being there.

The locations were kept secret to allow for the best possibility for success. Communication was a monthly encrypted report via satellite link. There was no evidence of a road in, so she assumed their only evacuation plan was via air lift. If that was even a contingency.

The reports continued regularly for many years with the only difference being the climactic changes and their effect on the surrounding environment. Increased heat and no rain meant their water supply was dwindling, the grass had died off and the trees were failing. The chickens and crops failed in the rising temperature.

The soldier stopped reading. Thoughts were congealing into a solid idea. Things she’d read, stories she’d heard, folktales she'd thought. It was all real. These poor people. Did they give up their freedom for the sake of humanity, only to die in this hell? And for what?

A thin plastic sleeve contained a site map with details of the storage facility and a table of inspection dates, carried out by the engineer. She read the comments and noticed the tone change over time. He was struggling to maintain the facility and make repairs. Many of the samples had been lost, due to a faulty solar array. The backup generator ran dry of fuel 4 years in and with no supplies forthcoming his hope for success was fading.

Gilhooley rose from her seat and went to the window, looking for the entrance to the underground laboratory, which also held the vital stores. Scanning the area where it was shown on the map, she frowned. "This sand had probably buried it", she thought.

Back on her stoop she continued to study the pages. Sometime in 2060, the structured formality of the reports stopped, and the handwriting changed completely. Now, scrawled over the carefully constructed ledger paper, a diary entry was made.

This is Dr Eva Adams, the date is, I believe, sometime in October 2060. My husband is dead. There is no point keeping any official recordings of our work as we have run out of time. It is just myself and my daughters left now. Joseph drowned five years ago now. It was a terrible accident, and we miss him. He was an important member of our team. There was hope, along with our sister sites around the globe that he and my daughters, and the others would be able to continue the species and maintain the facilities well after the passing of the elders. It was always a long shot.

The tipping point for humanity came so suddenly, but in the end, I believe we were a few decades too late anyway. We seemed determined to bring about our own demise. I cling to the hope that we are the only failures.

The recycled water is barely enough to sustain the three of us and the long-life rations are all but gone. While I try to keep positive for my girls, they are showing signs of instability, nonsensical speech and ramblings and even self-harm. When the time comes, our tomb will be the laboratory. We will take what we can and live out our time together. Perhaps in a few thousand years, archaeologists will find us and wonder on their discovery. I find it a comfort, that humanity could be still around then.

This is my first and final entry. I hope the discoverer of this journal has fared better.

Gilhooley considered these last words. “We hadn’t solved anything; the world was as fucked now as it was a hundred years ago,” she said to the wind. Finding a pencil in the trunk, she made her own entry, then collected the pages and re-wrapping them, returned them to where she’d found them.

The soldier flopped to the floor from her stool and propped against the wall. Now was the time to consider her story in this. The desperation she’d known her entire life. Her rise from gutter rat to career soldier, though what were her options then. Gutter rats were plentiful, and the life made them tough, like they were bred for fighting. This reconnaissance mission: a last ditched attempt to find answers. A helicopter, patched together from scrap, was always going to be a one-way ride. The inevitable crash. She could still see the panic in the eyes of her team as they careened into the dunes. Her only victory was in predicting the mission’s failure, but a soldier always obeys orders.

Finally, she pulled her shirt up to reveal the wound she’d sustained in the crash, with the metal shard still protruding from her skin. Gritting her teeth against what was to come, she pulled the metal out and let the blood trickle down her side to the floor. She had never been able to live by her own terms, but she was determined to die her way. Before losing consciousness she quietly spoke the words, she’d written in the journal.

“Engulfed in the desert's parched silence, I was nothing but another grain of sand in the wind.”