Solitude at the End of Days

I wiped the sweat from my brow as I stood, looking up at the stars through the forest canopy, acutely aware of the calm breaths on the ground behind me.

Have you ever wondered what the end of the world would be like?

It's not like most people guessed, with one catastrophic event that leaves the world in ruins. It didn't start with a great war that stretched across the world like a canvas painted in blood. Or even a global epidemic.

Well, yes, the Virus is what started everything. But it can't take all the blame for the current state of the world. When the sanctity of life is forgotten, it is amazing how far humanity will stoop.

The world is in indeed in chaos, but not how you might have expected. The Virus began as an airborne killer, but how to handle it quickly became a divisive political issue. Hesitation to act swiftly left populations dwindling. Then in an undisputed display of one-upmanship, humanity proved far more deadly than any disease could ever aspire to be.

Friends and families were divided over their beliefs, fighting openly despite the love they had shared for decades. Cities had daily riots and skirmishes leaving bodies in the streets, leaving the myriad deaths from the Virus as a marginal afterthought. Businesses shut down, leaving remnants to fight over any supplies they could find.

History is a lie. Adversity does not bring out the best in people, as we have been led to believe. When faced with trials, humanity merely presents itself in its most animalistic form, favoring preservation over any semblance of organized society or benevolence.

So, what are the end times actually like? Irrevocably lonely and quiet. And hot.

When most people think of heat, they think of Texas or Arizona. But the sweltering humidity of summers in eastern Virginia are nearly as inhospitable. One small comfort is that nights are cooler, and almost comfortable, despite my crusted shirt I'd been wearing for the past months.

The world had fallen further into ruin, with the last vestiges of life ceaselessly fighting over food and shelter. The Virus had begun ten years ago. You would barely recognize the world today.

Stores are a thing of the past. Most people have long forgotten the times when they took sides over The Issue and why the fighting even began. Nobody can be trusted to barter rations and necessities. We are alone.

As resources dwindle, the only food is what you can hunt or gather. After fleeing to the vacant forests west of Williamsburg with my daughter, Evelyn, we have had to scavenge what we can to survive. After years of practice, I have learned which berries keep you satiated and which ones are diarrhetic.

I detest how my daughter is forced to live now, but she handles it exceptionally well. When children are raised in crisis, they are uncognizant of what real childhood should entail, and are therefore surprisingly resilient. Evelyn follows my hushed instructions with practiced hands, packing each day to move further into the woods away from any other potential wanderers.

Fortunately, the only life in this area is not too dangerous. As long as we never meet another person, that is. The wildlife in these parts is mostly small and easily scared off when needed. Animals may have sharp teeth and claws, but are much more predictable than humans.

I scanned my surroundings one more time, relieved for the hundredth time tonight that the only sound was crickets and Evelyn's gentle breaths nearby.

Suddenly two glowing eyes appeared near the forest floor, and I started for a moment until realizing it was only a raccoon. In simpler times, I had always despised the idea of hunting. But when I see the indication of ribs on my little Evie, I'm nearly tempted to give it a try. Only I'm still not sure I have the stomach to do it. Or the necessary tools.

Evelyn and I have been hiding for nearly three years now. My husband, Roland, died only a couple months prior. Before that, the three of us had spent our days scouring little towns for any food or supplies. One day we were ambushed by other townsfolk, eyes glinting with a hunger that berries could not quench. My husband blocked their path and told us to run and not look back. I hesitated only long enough to see them leap on him all at once.

This is not a zombie apocalypse like in the movies Roland used to enjoy. But with the way they were acting, you would be hard-pressed to tell a difference. I grabbed Evelyn by the arm and ran for the woods, vowing that we would live with whatever supplies we had, not willing to risk my daughter too. It has been months since we've seen another person, and that was at a distance. I will take my blessings when I can.

The only memento I have of Roland is a heart shaped locket he gave me our last anniversary before everything abruptly turned to pandemonium. It is rather unextraordinary and worthless, save for the contents. Inside is a picture of Roland and I, holding our newborn baby Evelyn.

That had been one of the happiest days of my life, but the joy I once felt looking at that photo has given way to grief. It is a wicked fate when even the happiest of memories leaves you feeling only cold, despite the summer heat.

The light coming from the tops of the trees was starting to get brighter. Morning was approaching. I turned around to look at Evelyn, still resting in her torn sleeping bag. Now eleven years old, she is old enough to take short shifts, but I kept watch most of the night. Sleeplessness is scarcely a problem, for an ever-present fear kept languid eyelids at bay.

Roland had always been the optimistic one, confident that someday they would be able to return home, or possibly even build a better one. My sanguinity, however, had started to abate a few years in. My husband's death had been the breaking point.

Bereft of any prospects of hope for roughly a decade, I am no longer brave enough to dream of anything better. It is too burdensome to think of the future when you have been alone this long. My only desire is to keep my daughter fed and out of danger for another day.

The morning light started to shine on the corner of the bedroll. I wiped a tear from my cheek as I took one last look at the locket, then tucked it safely into my shirt.

"Wake up, Evie," I whispered.

Although they were far from civilization, there was no promise that they wouldn't run into anyone else in the forests. Daylight meant they had to remain vigilant and avoid detection. She was roused from sleep, and without a word, began to pack.

My abject sorrow of seeing her live like this is rivaled only by the pride I feel for her handling it so efficaciously. I offer an attempt at a smile as I take the bedroll from her and share a handful of berries.

There is no question that these are the end times, but I won't let today be the end for her.