The Golden Boys

“—As Captain Cody reaches the beginning of his greatest mission, finding and retrieving resources needed to thrive in today’s post-apocalyptic society, we can’t help but wonder will he be the first successful return? Stay with us while we go live, watching as space force readies for Friday’s launch. But first, which hydration fluid is best for you and your family? Stay tuned, the answers may surprise you.”

The same broadcast plays every Tuesday and Thursday. Dwindling access and limited electrical currency forced the remaining news station to cut any and all recordings to two days per week. Projections estimate a decrease to once a week beginning in the winter, and once summertime hits the airwaves would silence completely. Over the last three months, Captains Blue and Jofi ascended with the same mission in mind—save humanity. Both lost contact with Houston within only one week. I miss them dearly.

Mom busies herself in the kitchen, humming and drowning the broadcast while dad obsessively pours over every detail he’s heard at least four times now. He writes down every word as though eagerly waiting for something new. He does this with every broadcast concerning the Golden Captains. I wonder if he will still do this after I’m called to task. I imagine mom worrying her way through another dozen muffins we can’t afford to waste let alone bake at all, and dad focusing all efforts upon the radio and the crackling static between dead stations.

“That smells great, mom,” I say.

When I lean against the counter for a better view, mom gently swats at my side and shoos me away. Eggs sizzle in the pan, frying in fatty butter mom managed to save and trade for only last week. She collects the cracked shells in a bowl and leaves them out to dry. Mom likes to crush them into dust and make her own white paint, and dad sometimes sneaks one or two shells into a makeshift compost pile in the backyard. He hopes it’ll enrich the soil, dry and dead after water rations began.

“Here you are, my sweet boy,” mom says as she places a plate filled with fried eggs and crispy potatoes before me. “Eat up. Dad wants to take you outside for a game of catch before you head out this afternoon.”

She smiles so sweetly when I wolf down breakfast, but when she turns the smile fades away into something I can’t quite understand.

* * *

The battered, old green tennis ball whizzes through the air. It’s the last refuge from days long gone, when the whole family would gather every Sunday night with rich barbeques and succulent smoke wafting through the yard, freshly cut and manicured before nieces and nephews trampled through blooming gardens. Grandma and grandpa always brought shiny new toys and platters of sweet desserts even though they were only supposed to bring themselves. Constant laughter echoed and only faded away as little ones grew weary and slumped against their family, dreaming of something grander than this. Now only dirt remains.

“You know Codes, mom and I are really proud of you.”

“I know, dad.”

“I’ll always remember when we brought you home. I know your birth parents would be proud, too.”

A nagging discomfort fills my belly and stretches in a way that makes me feel like I might vomit. Maybe it’s the attention, the quality time with dad before I leave, or perhaps is the undying curiosity always leaving new questions and very few answers about my birth parents. Only the heart-shaped locket remains fastened tightly around my neck as a constant reminder of love once lost and found again. Even if I didn’t know much about my birth parents, I knew full well mom and dad loved me unconditionally. I’m as lucky to have them as they say they’re lucky to have me.

“I think about them a lot,” I say. “I still have so many questions.”

Dad catches the ball and holds onto it tightly. Silence creeps between us, threatening to cut the cord and end the conversation before it even begins. It’s always emptiness that scares me most. The void. The nothing.

“I’m so sorry, Cody. I never wanted this life for you.”

Dad looks like he might cry. I’ve never seen him cry before.

Rot and decay wafts as dry winds shift through compost pilled high with rotted scraps of fruits and eggshells, carrying the stench of death through the yard and across vacant, desolate lots surrounding our home. Dad clasps a hand on my shoulder, squeezes, and clears his throat before revoking his touch. It feels like he’s scared to touch me. He wants to say something. Desperation floods his big blue eyes, and he loses courage. An awkward pat on the back and we walk into the house together, the cracked green ball forgotten amongst scorched earth and remorse.

* * *

“Does he have that duffle? Cody’s family always sends him with one. It’s yellow with his initials.”

“No. He won’t make it back anyway,” the man argues.

I’m waiting patiently for the two officers to finish loading the ship, sitting in my spot as I’ve been taught, and quietly readying for the next week alone amid ink and stars.

“You don’t know that.”

“Come on, really?” the man asks.

“He’s not the first golden boy to shoot up there. We had what, two last week alone? We’re fucking ourselves for nothing. The energy we’ve used for those flights could have earned us at least another week here.”

“Okay, fine. I thought if this is the last time he’s going to see them…”

Why are they talking like I can’t hear them? Maybe it didn’t matter anymore. I felt a growl rise against my throat, and immediately one of the officers slams his baton against the metallic stairs.

“Shut up and get inside. God damn dogs.”

The door slams shut and I start whining, pacing back and forth until a crackle buzzes over the intercom with a reminder to please sit and wait for launch. If I don’t sit on the right pad, the sensor won’t activate and I’ll stay on earth. It’s a tempting notion, but I think about mom and dad and their fear tastes bitter now; a pill I must swallow. I want to be good and I want to do good things, but I can’t shake the terrible feeling contorting my bowels and forcing my hair to stand on edge.

Even so I sit down. I sit to engage the receptors and activate the fuel emission, and slowly, then suddenly all at once rocket through the sky and pierce the shimmering veil coating our world from the inky infinity beyond. It won’t be long now.

The engines roar and rumble and from the small port window I see a luminous blue blur as the ship quickly ascends and breaks through the troposphere, pushing through every continuous layer until we leave the exosphere and finally coast along the directed route.

Everything appears operational, and I tap one of fifty single worded buttons, sending a short verbal phrase to the men down at Houston. It’s only then I notice in the reflective mechanical surface, I’m missing the glint from the heart-shaped locket strapped onto my collar. It’s gone—did it slip? Maybe before I boarded the ship? I bark out an irritated curse and click on the intercom.

“HELP.”

“Hey, Cody.”

Dad?

“I wanted to say goodbye. Mom did too, but, well, you know it’s hard for her. She couldn’t stop crying.”

“MOM.”

“She loves you, champ. I do too. We couldn’t ask for a better dog.”

“MOM.”

“Be a good boy. We’ll miss you.”

“STOP.”

“I’m sorry, Captain. You know we can’t stop,” the commander says.

“STOP. PLEASE. MOM.”

“You know we can’t, buddy.”

“HELP. MOM. DAD. STOP.”

“We have to sign off, Cody. Your mom and dad are gone now.”

“NO. PLEASE. MOM.”

“You’re on your own now, and god speed, Captain Cody. We’re signing off. The United States thanks you for your service.”

There’s a soft click as the receiver drops away.

“MOM.”

“HELP.”

“NO.”

“STOP.”

“NO.”

Nothing.

Silence creeps through the small confines of the ship and I know it’s over. Either I find something amongst the emptiness, or I push forward until I cannot ever return again.

* * *

Weeks bleed one into another and I drift past a fifth shattered ship, and the floating body of Captain Blue. She looks like she’s sleeping, and I wish her peace. Her children at home must sorely miss her. They will never know what happened to their mother, or understand how the folly of man sealed her fate with a hubristic kiss. They will only know she died a hero revered only for the short few months earth remained inhabitable.

Rations dwindle quickly, and I yearn for the bag mom and dad packed for me. I imagine the baked treats and special blankets and toys, and when I breathe in I try and remember mom’s scent. It’s daisies and sweat and the occasional spritz of amber. I try and remember the smell of home, too, and already it’s lost. I stop trying to make contact. Houston is down, or recording and purposefully ignoring any signals relayed from the ship. Unless I find a second earth, I doubt I will ever hear from them again.

I huff and lie down the best I can, and ignore the incessant hunger creeping in my belly. Nausea follows and it’s hard to retain laps of water, even when I know I cannot possibly afford to throw up anything. It’s hard not to think about Captain Blue and Jofi, and the other golden boys, and how they must have suffered too. Death must have been a relief, an unyielding, terrifying relief. I yearn for her too, though I’m scared to greet her.

After dozing on and off, the ship starts to shake, and rapidly picks up speed. Lights flash and alarms blare all around the cabin, confirming the worst-case scenario. A black hole lies in waiting, mindlessly consuming and distorting every ounce of matter unlucky enough to cross its path. In training they assure us these events are slim to none, and mutter under lying tongues we can maneuver away even if we did encounter them. Another lie. Even as I push back, the controls stick and won’t budge an inch, and as horror seeps in, I know I cannot escape.

My heart palpitates and thuds so hard against my chest I hope I die before I’m sucked inside that thing. Mom and dad zoom through my head and I want to cry and howl because while they’re still breathing, still living on that rotting rock, I’m here. I’m here on a fool’s errand—a publicity stunt meant to distract the general populous while the richest outliers collect final resources for themselves. This didn’t matter. I should have bitten the guard and ran home again, back to my house and mom and dad, and enjoy the few months we had together. Not like this. No one should ever die like this.

If there wasn’t anything to be done, nothing to save everyone and everything, then why couldn’t I stay like everyone else? Why couldn’t I play another dozen rounds of fetch and nap on mom’s lap while she quietly assembles the same puzzles again and again?

I can feel myself stretching and it’s agony. It’s endless fire burning through my nerves and scorching every inch of my body from nose to tail. My bones feel like forced rubber pulling beyond it’s limit, and I wish they would snap instead of every molecule slowly pulling more and more and more, until I’m not me anymore. I’m part of the great nothing, fading into obscurity with every other golden boy promised to serve and die for their country.

We are only nothing, as we always have been.