Whale Watching

I am wholly uncertain how the planet I was born on came to die. There are countless stories told to children: Madmen stole disastrous weapons and sought to once and for all secure their places in paradise after death; Unchecked warmongers escalated conflicts to a point where total annihilation was the sole outcome; Human greed and emptiness choked the sky, swallowed the rivers, and poisoned the land; Even the star that grew our food and gave us warmth turned sour against us, and sought to free Earth from Her terrible burden.

The truth, perhaps, is some combination thereof. I was never interested in stories or speculation. The challenges of daily life are far more pressing. The sky is filled with fire, the high winds carry abrasive clouds of ash and glass across the surface. I am told children once played and laughed in the rain, but now storm clouds only drip an acrid tar across the land. The only home I have ever known is a series of railway tunnels beneath this once vibrant and bustling city. Far beneath the maniacal wind and searing radiation of the sun, humanity has found a chance at survival. This is not to say it is impossible, or even rare, to travel beyond the tunnels where we live. But it is very, very difficult.

Surface-bound foragers, called “Whales” after a now extinct water-dwelling mammal that needed to ascend for air, are necessary to gather supplies we cannot cannibalize from the train cars and tracks left down here. In a strange turn of cosmic luck, the influx of ash into the tunnels enriched the poor soil and enabled us to grow hearty foods such as potatoes and cabbages. Maybe someone out in the universe is actually looking out for us.

I was with another Whale, Pace, traveling through a Downtown tunnel. Unlike other Whales that are sent up in search of non-perishable food or materials to reinforce a settlement, Pace and I were on the hunt for items deemed “Relevant to Human Life (Pre-Apocalypse).” It was not my favorite job, I can’t see much benefit in reminiscing on a past that is gone forever. But Pace loves it. Pace loves a lot of things, especially talking.

“Last time I went up, Marcus found a whole book. Intact! It was incredible, you should have seen the look on the Chronicler’s old face when we brought it back.” Even beneath his mask I could hear the grin on his face growing wider. “Marcus and I got an extra potato EACH that night. I’m telling you, this is the job to get, my friend. No worries of other whales trying to take what you find. Did you know our settlement has the largest collection of Pre-Apoc artifacts known to humankind? Why, we’re practically the information capital of the known world!” Pace marched along proudly, so sure in his place and importance in the “new world.” There was some truth to what he said, other settlements will attack and rob each other of food and resources. I think sometimes we were meant to be wiped off the planet.

We had reached The Nevins Street Station, and began carefully climbing the broken steps to the surface. This was a popular stop for Whales, as the station was located near several drug stores and markets full of dried foods. The tile on the stairs was shattered, and a thick, glossy grey slime covered the exposed concrete. It must have just stopped raining. Pace and I threaded our multifilament wire around an old guardrail. I held it taught, while he applied his entire body weight. The line held.

Ascending the stairs, we made final checks to the rest of our gear; respirators were tight, goggles fitted perfectly, and every article of clothing was tucked securely and fastened together with duct tape. Pace noticed a minor thread hanging off his sleeve and removed it with his knife. The closer we got to the surface, the louder and more feverish the wind became. The engorged, red sun had stabbed several holes through the dark blanket of clouds above us. Apart from those few carmine beams of light, we were awash in a thick, murky haze. The blanket of pollution had enveloped many major cities even before the end of the world, but ferocious winds carried toxic clouds further and further.

Creeping slowly through the street, we made our way toward an abandoned shopping center. The marvelous glass window panes that had once gleamed in the sunlight had all been shattered, leaving a cuboid skeleton, concrete and metal slowly rotting with each acid rain. Most of the pragmatic goods had already been scavenged from this building, but our Chronicler felt it could have vital artifacts remnant from the time before the collapse of humanity. Pace secured our line inside of the lobby, and we began the hunt. The doors to the office building upstairs were already broken open, and it was an easy, if time-consuming- task sorting through each cubicle. Scattered stacks of water-logged magazines, old forms, wallets containing burned out photos of people that are long dead. The Chronicler had convinced the other Elders that we needed items of this nature. That they reminded us of our humanity. That having been reduced to animals scrounging out a tired existence in abandoned train tunnels was eroding our spirit. I would be more content to live as an animal than die as a sentimental human.

Nearing the sixth floor up, I began wondering how Pace was faring. We had set timers for one and a half hours, and would reconvene in the lobby after that. I had fifteen minutes and had found nothing of note. The skeleton strained and swayed with each gust of wind, and I dropped to the floor every time to stop from getting blown out an open window. Maybe Pace didn’t make it echoed in my thoughts. What if this time I return alone? The thought of losing the cheery idiot weighed on me. Sure, his saccharine view of his work and our settlement irritated me, but he had never harmed anyone. He might be the best example humanity has to offer at present. As my thoughts wandered and I slunk into an office, a skeletal figure met my gaze. The ghoul was on its knees, almost praying, clutching something tightly to its chest. I pried a small necklace out of its weathered grasp. It was a thin chain, an almost coppery material, with a cartoon representation of a heart in the middle. It had a latch that I’m sure the Chronicler or Blacksmith could open, but I didn’t want to waste time with my dirty gloves.

Pace was waiting in the lobby, eagerly skipping around.

“Two books, and an Atlas. Hooooooo!” He howled somehow louder than the wind. “You are my good luck charm, friend! You and I are going hunting far more often.” I have to admit, that optimism of his was slightly infectious. I couldn’t help but let my mind drift to what the Chronicler would think of my find. We gathered up our line, and were heading back to the tunnel, but we hadn’t seen the two other Whales coming from up the street. One of them had a knife, like me and Pace. But the other had a gun. They were showing the universal sign for “Give us all of your stuff” when the wind started again.

I could hear Pace screaming through his respirator, and could feel him drop to the ground. I braced myself against the husk of a car, transfixed on the other two Whales. They weren’t tethered to any guideline, and while it probably made for quicker assaults, meant they were both quickly carried off by a tremendous gust. I never saw them come down, but I did see one strike the side of a building as they went off into the distance.

Pace was clutching his arm, almost in prayer. I led him as fast as I could back to the entrance of the tunnel. So fast, we slipped on the still-slick stairs and tumbled, tangled in thread, to the station platform.

“Pace. Pace, look at me.” I had removed my mask and goggles. The air stank of putrid oil. “Look at me. Look in my eyes. Just keep looking at my eyes.” Pace was a professional, insofar as one could be. Horror still screamed out from behind his goggles; The thread he had cut from his suit had been a minor tear. That terrifying wind that saved us took payment from the flesh of Pace’s arm. His hand was locked in a fist. “Open your hand, Pace.” I said as calmly as I could bear. He opened his left hand. “Your other hand.” His breathing heightened, and then slowed, as he gradually extended and contracted his fingers. We both were so relieved, we couldn’t help but laugh hysterically.

“Thought we had lost you.” The Chronicler mused from his meager bookcase. The two biographies and the atlas were in place alphabetically by title. “But, considering dear Pace’s injury, none of the Elders can fault you for taking extra time to return.” He slowly ambled toward me. “And this,” he held the necklace out to me, “Is far too dear for my collection, I’m afraid.” I began stammering incredulously, angry that my effort was seen as valueless. “Value? Dear child, this does not lack value. In fact, it is invaluable. But I cannot take it. It was too precious in life, and even more precious now.” Silly old fool, at least open it! The words had no sooner scattered through my thoughts when the Chronicler produced a small tool, and carefully undid the latch. “Here, take it. Spread whatever love another human held so closely to their chest that not even Death could pry them apart.” Not Death, only a scavenging animal.

In my tent, alone, I finally opened the locket in earnest. Inside was a small message. Counter to any expectation I could have had, tears started streaming down my face. I started to weep. I wept silently as I read it four or five times. After reading it a dozen or so times, my eyes were finally spent of their tears; Darling. Hold this message close to your heart. You are my light, my comforting warmth, my cooling breeze. I would never dream of being apart from you. You give me peace in turmoil and hope in uncertainty. I am yours forever. Never give up.