What I Found in the Rubble

The meek have inherited the earth. When all the superpowers collapsed themselves there was no one left to deprive us of it. Although they didn't exactly leave a paradise; all the comforts of the modern age went with them. Some people blame the Americans. Others blame the Koreans and the Chinese. Others blame various countries of the Middle East, and still others blame Russia. It doesn't matter now; none of those countries exist anymore. As far as I know, there are no countries whatsoever anymore. The people at the controls might've discriminated, but nuclear fire was more indifferent: It took out everyone, and everything that was on the surface. There was no sign, no warning, no time to intentionally duck and cover. Only those of us who happened to be underground at the time survived the impact, but only a fraction weren't crushed by debris, inevitably starved, or succumbed to oxygen deprivation.

I was one of the lucky ones. I was a lifeguard, and a scared little six year old girl had thrown up in the pool during Saturday morning swimming lessons. I still remember her parents apologizing profusely to her instructor as I left the deck to get the hypochlorite needed to spike the water. I had to dress in full PPE over my uniform: Rubber gloves and apron, thick boots that were a size too big for me, and a full face mask. I hated the mask at the time. I'm asthmatic, and wearing the mask felt like being smothered, especially in the elevator going down to the basement. It was sickeningly sweet irony that same mask inevitably saved my life when the blast hit.

It happened too fast and loud to hear any screams. I didn't see the flames either. But it destroyed the elevator's cables, and I was dropped faster than the Tower of Terror ride at Disney. I still count my blessings that I was only knocked unconscious on impact. It was eerily dark when I came to. I thought I was dead until I tried to sit up. The blood rushed to my head, and the most ungodly headache announced itself,

"Nope, I'm not dead." I groaned, a little disappointed. I yanked the mask off, and pulled myself up to standing. I tried the button to open the door, and promptly muttered,

"Dumbass." to myself when it didn't work. I pulled the radio off my shirt. The light was still green. I clicked the button, and spoke

"Lifeguard to MOD?"

A beat. Nothing.

"Lifeguard to MOD?"

Another beat. Dead silence.

"Off-deck guard to on-deck?"

Not even static. No one was looking for me; though I was unaware still as to why.

I ran my hands over the doors obsessively looking until I found the bottom was dented apart ever so slightly. The doors came apart surprisingly easy, and I was able to slip through. I almost left the mask there, but some fight-or-flight instinct made me pick it up as I crossed the threshold of the first room in the basement, and stepped into a lukewarm, ankle deep puddle. It was still far too dark to see anything beyond vague shapes, but I could feel and hear water running under the fire door. Beyond that door was where all the chemicals were kept, but more pressingly, the water tanks for all the pools and hot tubs in the facility.

"What fresh hell is this?" I growled as I waded towards the outline of the door, and fumbled with the kevlar loop of keys I had secured on my bra strap. The small floaty fish toy that was attached to the loop was stuck, and I when had to tug it free I fumbled again, and dropped it. In the blackness I had to feel around for where the keys had fallen, and inevitably splashed it around the small mud room. After several slippery minutes, and knocking spare PPE off the walls on to me, my hand splashed down on the toy fish. By the time I'd staggered back to the fire door I was sopping from the waist down; my black athletic shorts were sticking to my thighs, my already too big boots were filled to the brim, and I was trying to dump water out of the face mask. I had to ditch the rubber gloves, which were also too big, and interfering with my ability to to grab just one key.

The fire door felt considerably heavier than usual with the density of the puddle working against me. I threw my mask back on to allow myself better mobility and, pushed one foot against the wall. As I successfully cracked the door open, a law of physics asserted itself: As I crashed down I stuck my leg out, and used my ankle to keep it ajar. I cried out in pain, despite no one being able. I used my other foot to crack the door just a bit further. I stripped off the apron and used the door to pull myself back up for the third time. I stumbled through, and found myself in an even deeper puddle. All the water tanks had burst, and some of the ceiling had caved in. I knew I wouldn't be able to climb out through the hole, not in the dark, and not when I didn't know if what I'd grab to pull myself out wouldn't make something else fall and render all my efforts wasted. Instinctively I waded left, because I knew at the far end of the hall was the door to the parkade. Several pieces of debris cut my legs; the worst one was a long jagged piece that was once part one of the hot tub tanks: It raked against my outer thigh, and I screamed once to zero avail. I could feel the heat of my blood slowly oozing down my leg. I would have to find some way to bind it later. My boots were weighing me down, but I couldn't take them off and risk impaling my feet. In a hallway that usually took thirty seconds to walk, It took me ten minutes to blindly navigate to the parkade door. The door had been bent out of shape, and a single shove made it give way with a sickening thump to the parkade. I don't know how long it took me dig my way through. What kept me going, was the faint gleam of sunlight where street entrance used to be. The overhanging doors were in sorry shambles strewn about the ramp leading out, but there it was: The way out.

Reaching the street level felt less claustrophobic, but by no means safer. All speculation as to why no one answered the radio was laid to rest. I stood dumbstruck at the smoldering wreckage of my city. The pedway had crashed down onto the street, and where there had been a Hudson's Bay Company store, now there was nothing but ash and embers. The construction site for the new LRT line was now just a gaping hole in the ground. Only numbness kept me from feeling exposed in my shorts and mesh tank top that was my uniform. I was prepared to rescue a drowner at most; the Canadian lifesaving society did not teach me how to handle a bombed downtown core. There was no logic or training that propelled me into the ruins of my facility. I suppose I was just hoping that someone, anyone, was alive to bear this with me; that I wasn't the only one alive. The rubble made a conveniently high pile, from which I could see the entire ruin. There weren't even bodies; just shadows like you might've seen in Nagasaki or Hiroshima.

I don't know how long I sat there on the pile of rubble. Being in the daylight I could see all my cuts I'd earned glistening in the sun, but I hardly cared anymore. I could barely tell where the pool area was supposed to be. It could have been ten minutes, It could've been an hour. I finally urged myself forward, still desperately hoping to find another survivor. I must have spent another few hours searching, because most of the embers had reduced to more ashes, it was starting to cool down, and I was losing heart. There was no emergency response. There were no news updates on my watch. There was just me, and clearly no rhyme or reason for me to stay. There was no one to save. Just as I was clambering over the last of the rubble, I accidentally kicked something. I followed its glint across what was left of the sidewalk.

A little golden locket, in the shape of a heart desperately gleamed under a thin layer of debris dust. I scooped it gingerly into my palm, afraid of breaking it any further than the clasp meant to keep the little heart closed. It collapsed open, as if this precious little thing knew it was safe with me, and it didn't have to be careful anymore. Within the heart, was a tiny wedding picture. A beautiful bride and her handsome new husband were beaming up at me. They made me smile for the first time all day, until I realized I knew them; not their names, but their faces, and their temperaments, and their daughter.

They were last faces I'd seen before leaving the deck. They had been apologizing for their poor little girl being sick on her very first swimming lesson. I stared back at the wreckage in horror, imagining the specifics I'd been spared of witnessing. Had they felt anything? Had they screamed, and just been drowned out? How many other children had been in there, most of whom I also knew faces of? All their parents, and all my co workers, most of whom were barely adults? None of them would have funerals, and as I would later find out, there would be no one left to miss them.

No one but me, I thought. As I wept bitterly for the end of the world as I knew it, I fastened that little heart shaped locket around my own neck. I'm still wearing it now. I will never forget the child it belonged to, or the fact that If she hadn't been sick, there'd have been no reason I shouldn't have died with the rest of them. I know it's not what she intended; so I have to remember her above all others. I owe her that.

I did find other survivors in the downtown area. They'd crawled out of the LRT stations. Together we managed to dig passages so we could retreat underground during cold weather. The underground shops managed to stay mostly intact, so we've been rationing what food doesn't need refrigeration. Eventually we will have to leave the city, and learn to hunt; assuming there is anything left to hunt. Everyone has their own theories of what happened. We all speculate who shot first, or who provoked whom to shoot first. In the end we realize it doesn't matter. We all have something to remind us where blind hatred brings us. Some of us have scars. Some of us have nightmares. Some of us have things like a heart shaped locket. Some of us have all three The superpowers are gone, and all the comforts of the modern age have gone with them. We are the meek who have inherited the earth.