Dear Future Mail Carrier

“This is it,” Lilah says to Sal. "The last thing I'll do that might matter." As she leans out the car window, the hot sun stings her cheek, and the bottom side of her arm burns as it sweeps over the car window's lip. With some effort, she yanks open the mailbox. She's spent three days assessing mailboxes and has finally settled on a sturdy pipe mailbox on a stone pedestal not far from her hometown of Palmyra. She's a little concerned by the overgrowth of toadstools and other fungi in the area and hopes it isn't indicative that the deadly spores are there too. She purses her lips and lays her envelope squarely inside the mailbox and puts up the flag.

The air is hot and thick with humidity as it always is in this wild new world, and Sal is panting heavily in the back seat. Lilah reaches a sweaty arm over the seat and runs her hand over Sal’s smooth chestnut head. Sal’s tongue slides in beneath her jowls for second and then reappears lolling over the side of her mouth.

“Well, okay then. That's done,” Lilah says, with a feeling of finality. She says this for herself. She says it to mark her acceptance of her coming death.

Not long before, Lilah had been tending to her sprouted seeds beside the window at her hidden cottage when she felt a peculiar hair-like protrusion on her tongue. Her sensibilities kept her calm while she stood in front of the mirror and stuck out her tongue. She gazed briefly into the small gray eyes looking back at her then into the dark cavern of her mouth. There it was—a thin white filament growing out of the center of her tongue as if to match her white hair. Lilah knew the signs. It would not be long before that strand and others bore their way through other parts of her body-- through her heart, lungs, and liver. Through her brain. The name of this ailment tiptoed around in the darkness of her thoughts: Cryptococcus something. The fungus had finally found her. And soon she would join the masses of people already devoured. She reached into her mouth with her fingers and plucked the hair out. It would do no good, she knew, but she would not leave it be. If she were to succumb to the fungus, she would do it on her own terms.

Lilah noticed then, the loud chirping and whistling of the birds. How she loved the birds. She hoped Cryptococcus—she said the word aloud slowly and deliberately—would spare the birds—and Sal. Lilah began to wrap up what small affairs she had. And having been a mail carrier prior to the fungal onslaught that killed so many, she wrote a letter.

Dear future mail carrier:

It means so much that you found my letter! If you’re in business again, you probably already know about all that happened—the spores. The fungus. I have been a grateful survivor. There are a few of us out here, making our way like hunter gatherers picking through a world of abandon homes.

But we have no way to communicate what is going on in other places. So, I’m sorry to say, I don’t even know what year it is, and I have no way of knowing what is happening in the rest of the world. I hope you are able to help with that. There’s nothing but nature out here away from the city. I had to leave the small town my family lived in because of the looting and fighting, but I found a hidden cottage to call my own, and it’s just me and my dog Sal now.

Gangs have taken over the cities. This I know. But I don’t know if they have the means to restore electricity or not. Sometimes from the top of Willis Hill, I think I see a soft glow in the sky over the city. It could be lights, or it could be the city on fire. I prefer to stay in the country. I used to deliver mail, so I’ve taken it upon myself to check the old mailboxes hoping to find forgotten things from the material world. After today-- after leaving my letter for you, however, I will retire and wait. I don't know where I picked up the spores, but once they've inhabited the flesh the filaments quickly burrow through blood and bone. Which brings me here, to this letter. There are a few things I’d like to tell you before I go.

1. A lot of houses out here in the boonies are vacant and have been ransacked. So go carefully. The smart gangs have set booby-traps at some of the places they stay when they come to collect useful things from dead people’s homes. So, make sure it’s a real customer before you go bumbling around some house trying to find someone. The good news is that it’s not as bad here as it is in the cities where they steal children to train up so the gang can keep their numbers up. Usually, when they venture this far out, they’re all about gasoline and guns, and they completely overlook the mailboxes. That’s good for me, because what I’m looking for are seeds and medicine—things which for one reason or another, no one picked up during the material time. I know the postal service used to deliver a lot of seeds and medicine, and I can’t say enough about how useful that has been to me now. Mailboxes are like time capsules waiting to be discovered. I’ve been able to trade seeds with a few Amish farmers and use some of the medicine I’ve found to heal infections and cleanse wounds. Though there is no medicine that eradicates the fungus, medicine is still a good find. If possible, the postal service, or whatever you call yourselves now, should deliver seeds and medicine. I’m sure the folks of the future will appreciate it.

2. I found a car and I found gas. It wasn’t stealing. Possession is ownership in this new wild world. I checked in the windows of the house and saw only dead bodies fuzzy with millions of tiny silk fungal hairs. You don’t go into a house with the fungus. Understand? Those seemingly delicate filaments can penetrate solid rock, just as they did millions of years ago when fungal life began on the rocky shores of the oceans. If you see the fungus growing under some tree bark or in the soil, which is where it normally grows here, don’t disturb it or you’ll unleash the spores into the wind.

3. Vines and weeds and trees have sprouted and flourished, buckling paved roads. Roads will need to be cleared if you plan to deliver mail by car or truck. Powering your vehicle is another challenge. But most of the road signs are still up. I’m sure the job will become smoother as you iron out problems.

4. Find a dog and befriend it with meat. Take your dog everywhere. Having a dog is like enhancing your eyes and ears and nose, not to mention they are loyal protectors. The mail carrier of the future needs a dog with her at all times while on the road.

5. This fifth and last item won’t help you, but it helps me. Enclosed with my letter is a heart-shaped locket containing a picture of my family and me. In the village of Palmyra, there is a small cluster of white birch trees near a statue of a Great blue heron in the public park. Seven of those trees will have a plaque for my baby girl Claudette. Seven are marked for my son, Benton. He was just eleven. There are seven for my husband, Zeke, and seven more are my own, all embedded with metal plaques. These are the trees we bought, planted, and nurtured, required by the U.S. Government to help mitigate climate change before the fungus spread. Seven trees was the number of trees designated by the government as the number of trees needed to produce enough oxygen for one person to breathe. Every person was required to plant seven trees. As you may know, though, a number of other factors also contributed to climate change, and the program was not able to drawn down enough carbon to prevent warming temperatures. Warmer climate opened the door for the spread of the fungus. Depending on the state of communication, you may or may not know this.

I am proud that my family took part in the Seven Trees Project, but as you know there are never guarantees when it comes to nature. Our trees are now like living headstones. If you go to the park, and I hope you will, I would so appreciate it if you would take the locket I’ve enclosed with this letter and hang it with my family’s trees in remembrance of the love we once shared. Thank you, from one mail carrier to another -- Lilah Emissary

After leaving her letter in the mailbox, Lilah and Sal climbed to the top of Willis Hill while evening settled in. By the time Lilah chose a spot, stars dotted the sky. Moist air filled with all the scents of earth moved in and out of her lungs while a gentle wind tossed the fine thread-like filaments that now covered her arms and face and chest. She put an arm around Sal and looked out over the wildness. "It's been beautiful, Sal, hasn't it?"