He’d seen it
in himself, packing on at least twenty pounds throughout his months in the
Winstons’ home. The manual labor had made him strong, and he felt healthier
than he had even before the Reset had forced him down into the shelter.
And, in the most hopeful development of
all, Alice was beginning to open up. She’d allowed him tiny sips of herself,
but when he pushed for larger swallows, she grew sullen, locking herself in her
room for hours at a time. Ben learned that she had been a teacher before the Reset.
She and her husband were active in politics—fighting the effects of what she
called corporate stratification even while earning their living in the
premier economy.
Alice spoke of her husband often. She
and Brian had loved each other very much, it seemed, and Alice was proud of the
life they’d made before the Reset. Ben was happy to listen to her talk about
him, to hear the pride in her voice when she discussed his generosity and his
willingness to persevere through the worst of the Reset’s aftermath.
At night, they discussed books and culture
and what life had been like before the Reset. Actually, that wasn’t completely
accurate; Alice talked—she was very well spoken when the topic
interested her—and Ben listened. She was bright and, even though Ben had no way
of knowing if the things she said were true or not, he believed that she didn’t
lie to him. When she spoke of how things had been, energy infused her words
with life; she was a natural storyteller, a born educator.
They were drinking tea, watching the
flames settling in the hearth, on the night she told him about the Reset.
“You really don’t know any of this, Ben?”
she said. She wore a smile—part incredulity, part sincere curiosity.
“You have to understand, Alice…I was in
the shelter from the very beginning. I was completely cut off. And there
weren’t any textbooks just lying around when I came back topside, I’m sorry to
say. The world had…had shifted , and there was nobody left to talk with. I
didn’t find much in the way of media—no real record of what happened. Think
about it, Alice—I was down there for almost ten years .”
“Well, that’s true,” she agreed, “there
wouldn’t be much to come back to; that’s such a large part of the problem—that
lack of primary data. But if you want the Cliff’s Notes version of what
happened when the world ended,” she paused, still in awe of her housemate’s lack
of understanding, “the story I’m about to tell you begins with the Kids.”
“The Kids?” he replied, careful not to
betray the adrenaline now pumping through him.
She sipped her tea. “Very little has
been written about the Kids. Very little has been written about any of
this. Who cares about keeping a record when the raiders are at your door?”
The fire flicked shadows about the room
and the wind howled, blowing ash and grit against the house in rhythmic,
ticking flurries. “The Reset, you see, unfolded in at least three stages. To be
honest, its effects are still revealing themselves; that’s the sad reality of
how complete the destruction was. It’s all so damned sad . I may never
know— we’ll probably never know—whether some cultures have rebuilt. I’d
like to believe there’s a working power grid in Australia. I’d like to trust
that children in India are learning how to read in schools, and that there are
buses that run on a regular schedule in Italy.” She grew silent, staring at the
fire. “But I doubt that’s true. I think that life in those places—it’s probably
no different than it is here.
“You see, Brian used to spend a lot of
time on this old HAM radio he’d scavenged. He taught himself how to use it, and
he scoured the dial with that thing every morning. He made contact here and
there with other survivors, mostly nomads on their way to someplace else. But
there had never been a real spark—never enough of an indication that folks were
rebuilding—to spend
in himself, packing on at least twenty pounds throughout his months in the
Winstons’ home. The manual labor had made him strong, and he felt healthier
than he had even before the Reset had forced him down into the shelter.
And, in the most hopeful development of
all, Alice was beginning to open up. She’d allowed him tiny sips of herself,
but when he pushed for larger swallows, she grew sullen, locking herself in her
room for hours at a time. Ben learned that she had been a teacher before the Reset.
She and her husband were active in politics—fighting the effects of what she
called corporate stratification even while earning their living in the
premier economy.
Alice spoke of her husband often. She
and Brian had loved each other very much, it seemed, and Alice was proud of the
life they’d made before the Reset. Ben was happy to listen to her talk about
him, to hear the pride in her voice when she discussed his generosity and his
willingness to persevere through the worst of the Reset’s aftermath.
At night, they discussed books and culture
and what life had been like before the Reset. Actually, that wasn’t completely
accurate; Alice talked—she was very well spoken when the topic
interested her—and Ben listened. She was bright and, even though Ben had no way
of knowing if the things she said were true or not, he believed that she didn’t
lie to him. When she spoke of how things had been, energy infused her words
with life; she was a natural storyteller, a born educator.
They were drinking tea, watching the
flames settling in the hearth, on the night she told him about the Reset.
“You really don’t know any of this, Ben?”
she said. She wore a smile—part incredulity, part sincere curiosity.
“You have to understand, Alice…I was in
the shelter from the very beginning. I was completely cut off. And there
weren’t any textbooks just lying around when I came back topside, I’m sorry to
say. The world had…had shifted , and there was nobody left to talk with. I
didn’t find much in the way of media—no real record of what happened. Think
about it, Alice—I was down there for almost ten years .”
“Well, that’s true,” she agreed, “there
wouldn’t be much to come back to; that’s such a large part of the problem—that
lack of primary data. But if you want the Cliff’s Notes version of what
happened when the world ended,” she paused, still in awe of her housemate’s lack
of understanding, “the story I’m about to tell you begins with the Kids.”
“The Kids?” he replied, careful not to
betray the adrenaline now pumping through him.
She sipped her tea. “Very little has
been written about the Kids. Very little has been written about any of
this. Who cares about keeping a record when the raiders are at your door?”
The fire flicked shadows about the room
and the wind howled, blowing ash and grit against the house in rhythmic,
ticking flurries. “The Reset, you see, unfolded in at least three stages. To be
honest, its effects are still revealing themselves; that’s the sad reality of
how complete the destruction was. It’s all so damned sad . I may never
know— we’ll probably never know—whether some cultures have rebuilt. I’d
like to believe there’s a working power grid in Australia. I’d like to trust
that children in India are learning how to read in schools, and that there are
buses that run on a regular schedule in Italy.” She grew silent, staring at the
fire. “But I doubt that’s true. I think that life in those places—it’s probably
no different than it is here.
“You see, Brian used to spend a lot of
time on this old HAM radio he’d scavenged. He taught himself how to use it, and
he scoured the dial with that thing every morning. He made contact here and
there with other survivors, mostly nomads on their way to someplace else. But
there had never been a real spark—never enough of an indication that folks were
rebuilding—to spend
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