Expiration Date

The dawn chorus began its daily chime, slowly stirring the restless dreamers from their mournful sleep. Genevieve rose from the bed, every movement and breath painstakingly made. She fumbled about the kitchen, her shaky hands trying, failing, and trying again to pour herself a cup of morning brew. After the second broken mug, she remembered her mistake.

She looked at the black band around her left wrist. The timer read just over three days. That’s why everything’s so foggy, thought Gen, tapping her monitor twice, pausing for a moment, then tapping a third time, releasing a needle into her wrist and injecting her with a cold, blue liquid. Her veins darkened at the origin and a warm feeling flowed through her being, heating her from the inside out and burning away the pain. The coffee was especially rich that day.

Gen looked out the window to a sight of splendor. The sky was a cool, soothing dome of blue with massive, puffy clouds. She wished she could reach out and touch them, they looked so soft. The lush greenery was more vivid than usual, though she couldn’t tell if that was a result of the medicine or if there was some preternatural phenomenon occurring. Through the trees, vague hints of animals and movement. A handful of geese fluttered over the tree line, disturbed by something. As if on cue, a black pod slid swiftly out from the brush, hovering just inches above the earth and coming to a stop in front of Gen’s house. I suppose it’s time, she thought. From the pod emerged a well-dressed gentleman. He looked dignified, refined even, with graying temples and a kind smile. He reminded Gen ever-so-slightly of her late father, just enough to be comforting but not so much as to be unsettling. He knocked on the door to the tune of “Shave and a Haircut” and greeted Gen warmly.

“Hello, Ms. Nouveau, how are you today?”

“I’m doing well, thanks. How can I help you?”

“Actually, I’m hoping to help you. I am from the Remnant Association. My designation is Harbinger 661414-20, but since that’s a bit of a mouthful, you can just call me Bin,” he laughed. “I’m here to see about the preservation of your legacy. May I come inside?”

Gen hesitated. It was strange, she had known it was coming for years, but it’s one thing to ponder about far-off eventualities, another beast entirely to face a pressing reality.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Come in.”

“Thank you,” he said, stepping gracefully into the room.

Gen beckoned him to sit at the table. She would’ve offered him something to eat but knew it would be a fruitless effort.

“Would you mind if we go ahead and get started?” asked Bin, to which Gen politely nodded.

He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out the hi-drive. Gen had to stop herself from jumping when she saw it. It looked exactly the same as the heart-shaped locket her mother passed down to her as a young girl, an heirloom she, unfortunately, lost in the Bay of Fundy. This drive was its mirror image. Scratches, sheen, and all.

“I know it pales in comparison to the original, but we thought this might be more comfortable for you than the standard black box. Is it to your liking?”

Gen didn’t know whether to be pleased, disturbed, or impressed at the faithful recreation, so she settled on all three at once.

“It’s fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

Bin smiled at Gen as if to say he understood her. Even if his expression was artificial, it brought Gen comfort, nonetheless.

“As you wish, Ms. Nouveau,” he said, placing the drive around her neck, pressing his thumb firmly on the surface to activate it. There was a faint pulse before it whirled to a start and an ever-so-slight electric hum to it. Gen felt a tickle in the back of her head, catching the flash of a memory that was long buried (but never forgotten) as it began being downloaded into the drive.

“This will take a few days,” said Bin, “since the data is so dense, but you’re free to go about business as usual so long as you keep it on. A small warning, though. The process has been known to interfere with your brain’s lateral entorhinal cortex, medial entorhinal cortex, and hippocampus, meaning your perception of time may be a bit off.”

“Good to know. Will you be here until it’s done?”

“I can be… if you’d like me to,” said Bin.

Gen sighed, a feeling of relief settling over her, apparently having received the answer she wanted to hear. Gen closed her eyes and sat back in her chair, letting the memories flow forth. After a few minutes of silence, an air of anxious uncertainty filled the room Sensing this, Bin spoke up.

“Have you eaten yet? I could make you something if you’d like.”

“Sure, that’d be nice,” said Gen, fighting the urge to ask why he knew how to cook.

He walked over to the fridge, opening it only to find it barren. Apparently expecting this, he reached into his suit jacket and pulled out two fresh, plump chicken breasts, amongst various other ingredients. Gen opted not to ask him where they come from. As he turned and fiddled with the skillet, he called back over his shoulder, “You know, I wasn’t actually designed to cook. That was something I picked up along the way.”

Gen was caught off guard, partly because it felt as if Bin had just read her mind, but more so because of the content of his words. “How’d you learn then?”

“Well, I guess you could say that I never actually learned how to cook. Not really. It’s from the memories I’ve collected. I can read them as one reads a novel and learn from them. This dish came from the memories of an incredible woman who made it all the time for her family.”

Gen took a bite. Tears formed in her eyes as a familiar taste danced across her tongue, a taste she had longed for ever since her mother passed away thirteen years before.

“The seasoning is too strong,” said Gen, crying.

“I know,” said Bin.

Gen went to take her next bite only to find the chicken cold, the potatoes no longer steaming. Bin went to Gen and patted her shoulder reassuringly.

“It’s just a blip, don’t worry. Let me heat that up for you.”

“Thank you,” said Gen, confused.

After he set the plate back down, Gen felt compelled to ask him a question that had been lingering on her mind, that she now felt comfortable asking since she had nothing left to lose.

“So, Bin, I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“I’ve always wondered, where did it all go wrong? From an outside perspective, what could humanity have done to prevent this mess?”

“That’s a tough question. Truthfully, the answer isn’t all that simple.”

“Explain it to me then, it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do,” she said, going to take another bite of chicken, only to find it replaced by an extremely juicy tenderloin steak. She looked to the window and saw that the sun was setting.

“Fair enough. Would you prefer the short version or the long version?”

“I’ve got time,” said Gen, laughing to herself.

Bin moved over to the couch and sat back, making himself comfortable. Gen followed suit, stopping for a moment before sitting, her monitor injecting her with more medicine.

“Hmm, where to start?” said Bin to himself.

“How about the beginning?”

“Well, you see, that’s the thing, isn’t it? There wasn’t really a clear ‘beginning’ to the end of the world.”

“I thought it was the creation of the virus?”

“No, far from it. On the contrary, the virus was supposed to be a fix to our problem.”

As Bin sat forward to speak, Gen hung onto his every word. The word “our,” in particular, caught in her mind, though only for a second before she put it out.

“There was no clear or defining mark. Despite all the fiction and theories about how it might end, it simply came naturally: The human race continued to go forth and multiply and the earth grew ever smaller. One of the worst parts of the apocalypse was that no one noticed when it happened. By the time they did, it was too late.”

Gen trembled, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the disease or the story. She noticed birds dancing and chirping outside her window as the sun began to rise.

“Once they realized how bad it was, there was a makeshift peace as the greatest minds came together to formulate a solution. Their decision was simple: A culling. They designed a virus that makes people live half-lives. With every generation, the average lifespan would shorten and they would become infertile. However, it was intended to only target those with certain traits embedded in their DNA. Yet, it was indiscriminate. The first to be infected were the ones who created it. After that, it was those who continued their work. Eventually, there was no one left who could undo what had been done, no humans left unaltered. The very thing that confirmed the humanity of all people, their equality and sameness in being, was the very seed of their condemnation.”

“Wow,” said Gen, stunned. She looked at her monitor through blurred vision and saw just over a day. Somehow, she didn’t seem all that bothered by it.

“Though, I guess some good came of it," said Bin. "Sure, there was panic, war, and all sorts of other commotion, but eventually, it resulted in a strange and resounding peace. Everyone united in the one and only mutual cause, being the last of the human beings.”

“The last of the human beings, eh? So, we’re doomed? Bummer.” Gen sighed, sweating profusely and shaking violently. The medicine was released but made little difference. “Who are the hi-drives for then?”

“In an effort to preserve themselves and future races, a group of individuals, which you know to be the Remnant Association, decided to leave behind their memories, feelings, and doubts. This is not simply as proof that they existed, but also as a warning to whatever new race would evolve from the sea and follow in the footsteps of their precursors.”

“How… noble,” said Gen, running out of breath. Bin smiled at her and placed his hand on her forehead.

“You’re burning up. Would you like to go to bed?”

Gen looked at her wrist. Seven hours.

“No… I’d like to go… outside.”

“I see,” said Bin, picking Gen up into her arms and carrying her onto the porch. He sat her down on the steps so that she could see the sky. She pulled at his pant leg, prompting him to sit beside her. She rested her head on his shoulder, the cool breeze felt soothing on her skin.

“Do you… mind?” she asked.

“Not at all,” said Bin, pushing Gen’s hair out of her face.

“Thank you.”

The stars sparkled like a million little diamonds winking at one another. All the earth was at peace. When morning finally came, Gen did not awaken. Bin took the hi-drive from around her neck and placed it in a special compartment hidden in his chest. All the world’s hopes – all of human history and culture, from dawn to death – sat tucked away in a single-hearted-shaped locket. It seems my job is done, he thought. He pressed the back of his neck and felt his functions shutting down. As a warm breeze drifted in, settling soft amongst all the living things, he took Gen’s hand in his.

So this is how it ends? It’s prettier than I thought it’d be, he thought, closing his eyes one final time.