Long Live the New World

Only roaches survive the apocalypse. God, if only that was true.

“He only did what any good president would’ve done.” Frank starts one of his afternoon sermons. “That’s the sign of a strong leader, a smart leader, a leader to emulate.”

Frank ignores the fact that his beloved strong, smart president is currently a charred smear buried under the rubble of his city. In fact, most people are. And the blame lies at the president’s feet… or the smudge of soot that used to be his feet.

I lever another car’s trunk open with a crowbar. Frank continues his diatribe behind me.

“He was the greatest leader we could’ve asked for in a time of crisis.”

“He caused a nuclear war,” I mutter.

Frank is undeterred. “He acted in self-defence.”

“He fired first.”

“Pre-emptive self-defence.”

I toss aside the teddy bear sitting in the boot. As Frank’s sermon continues at a background drone, I lean in to scoop out the rucksacks packed in the car. I don’t have much hope. The last few cars have wasted our time. All we keep finding is pathetic sentimental trash like the teddy bear.

I empty the first bag, and Frank rummages around in its guts. He pockets a wallet. I act like I haven’t seen it. Who even uses money now? It’s been a year since the bombs fell – grow up.

But we all have our own madness, I suppose. I like to scribble down the days events as if they’ll mean anything to me in another year. Maybe I can document first-hand experience of radiation poisoning!

I don’t even like Frank. He’s obnoxious and childish. Still, we belong to a very exclusive club – the last men standing. Us and the others gathered back at our makeshift camp.

But going scavenging with Frank makes me wish I’d been right there at the capital when the first bombs fell.

“We need leaders who are willing to take risks,” says Frank.

I toss down another bag.

“I will forge a new world.”

I frown into the third rucksack. This is uncharted territory. Usually, conversation with Frank follows an established trajectory.

Leaving him to riffle through the contents of the other bag, I tip mine. An avalanche of clothes topple out. I kick them over to Frank.

“These’ll make for good bandages.”

“Jeez, this is a quality brand! Didn’t you see the logo!”

I shrug. “As long as it makes good bandages.”

“I’ll start by getting rid of all the slackers.”

“Right.” I hardly listen, as I lead the way to the next car in the miles-long gridlock.

“Certain people haven’t been carrying their share of the burden at camp,” says Frank.

I nod, and I don’t even feel bad. It must’ve been that time of day for the stopped clock.

“Alan,” growls Frank. “He thinks he can sit back while the rest of us are doing the hard work.”

Alan has one side of his face scorched by radiation burns. He spends most of his time lying in bed. Still, Frank makes a good point. I mean, if a nuclear apocalypse wipes out most of the useful people, there seems little point in keeping a layabout like Alan around.

“I’ll rule the camp,” says Frank. “Alan, he’s not got the heart for it.”

I crank open another trunk. The stink of rot puffs out in my face, and I decide to avoid the cooler sat in there. We move to the next car without wasting time.

“I’ll need your help though,” says Frank. “You, you’re reliable. You can be trusted to make the difficult decisions.”

“What do you have in mind?”

This next car’s doors hang open, so I prowl to the front. Shards of the windshield glitter on the seats. The glovebox yawns, empty. All I see is a locket dangling from the mirror: a clumsily carved wooden heart on a loop of string. I snatch it and turn it round.

“Dear Dad, happy birthday, love from Ella,” reads the messy scrawl on the back.

“We’ll need to move out across the rest of the country,” says Frank. “There’ll be others. They’ll want to get us, but we’ll get them first. We’ll make them see our way. Soon, we’ll be running this whole country by our rules. Give it a few years, we’ll have the whole world.”

People will listen to Frank too. He has that ability to make people listen, then, before you know it, you’re agreeing with him, and you’re not even sure what he was talking about. Like I said, stopped clock. But I’ve been living by a stopped clock for the last year.

“Wonder what happened to Ella,” says Frank, taking the locket. He throws it into the grass. It’s sentimental trash after all. “We’ll build a new world. Nothing of the old to contaminate it.”

“Yeah, good idea.” And I mean it.

“Anyone who tries to take us back to how it was before, we deal with them.” His shining eyes bore into me. “That’ll be your job. I do the talking, the convincing. You do… another type of convincing.”

“Yeah.” I laugh. I never had power before, never cared for it. Even at the camp, I was happy to let that layabout Alan take charge. But Frank sees how things should be. It should be the people like us in charge.

“It starts today then,” says Frank. “Our new world.”

“A new world,” I echo. My eyes drift to where the locket lies. Forget Ella and her father and the rotten old world they died in.

“The world our great president brought about with his sacrifice,” says Frank. “Long live the new world.”

Long live the new world.

“You know, my daughter was called Ella,” I say, as my eyes stray to the locket again.

“It’s in the past,” says Frank. “We must move past it.”

He’s right. Besides, Ella’s gone – my Ella and this Ella.

The old world is gone. Long live the new world.