Two Months Gone

Toma still felt drowsy as he threw off his covers. He gave a loud, unapologetic yawn. With a keen eye, he scanned the room for Arata. He wasn’t surprised to see he was already up.

It had been over two months since he moved in. Two months since the voice. And Arata was still waking before the Nobu roosters, even now after school had been officially suspended.

That can’t be healthy, Toma thought to himself as he stretched. If it weren’t a crime, I’d seriously consider slipping the guy some sleeping capsules at dinner.

Although, was crime really an issue anymore? If news feeds were to be believed, most minor crimes were no longer taken to trial. The Vanguard even pardoned a large majority of petty incarcerated criminals in light of the voice’s message.

According to a message Toma got from his father, that move was more pragmatic than anything. The more dangerous criminals were now kept in state-of-the-art automated facilities with minimal human oversight.

Petty criminals were kept in more traditional cells, and with most human guards quitting after the vision, it was inevitable that there would be a mass exodus. Toma couldn’t blame them. Who would waste their apparent last year saving for a pension you’d never get to claim?

Still, he was glad that Danza’s crime a couple of months back earned him some jail time after his plea deal. In Toma’s mind, the prick deserved life, although he supposed that eight months was good enough given that the world only had a year—less now. He checked his pocket screen; all major providers had an app that tracked the countdown. 241 days and seven hours left…

Toma shook his head and stumbled to the bathroom to start brushing his teeth.

He had expected a total collapse of society after the visions. All those horrible things. But he had been pleasantly surprised in some regards. Automation and artificial intelligence, while controversial, had their benefits. Had this happened even twenty or thirty years ago, major infrastructure like energy and online communication would have been impossible to maintain with the now-depleted workforce.

Certain professions were less strained than others. Very few decided to stay in more menial jobs. Those who did still work had massive pay increases as an incentive. More fulfilling jobs, or those that required a duty of care, saw fewer issues though. Things like doctors, or politicians…

Toma walked to the bathroom and stripped. Arata’s place was humble but homely. His stepmom really cared. Even the shower was cozy and well kept.

Toma climbed in and turned it on. He wasn’t sure if it was appropriate for him to envy an orphan, but it was a feeling he couldn’t quite shake. Arata seemed to be quite standoffish with Mrs. Feima, but at least he had a guardian figure who somewhat doted on him. The world was ending and Toma still only got the occasional text from his old man.

Toma had just finished drying himself when he heard Arata calling from the hall.

“Sleeping Beauty, breakfast is ready!”

Toma grinned. Arata was getting back to keeping up with his banter recently. It was a change he liked to see. He pulled on some fresh clothes and rushed toward the kitchen.

Feima was standing up, anxiously waiting for him to come before serving. Toma gave an exasperated sigh. He had tried to tell the lady not to go over the top with him staying over, but he supposed some people had very old-fashioned values when it came to guests, especially ones from important families.

“Wow, it looks great, thanks a bunch!” Toma said enthusiastically.

“Help yourself, dear,” the middle-aged woman said with a satisfied gleam in her eye.

Arata rolled his eyes and stared at the laid-out spread of eggs and pancakes longingly. He had clearly been told not to serve himself until their guest had. Feima caught this and gave him a reproachful look.

Toma smiled.

He loved that about Arata. The guy had no time for airs or fake niceties. He was always real. Unlike Toma.

That wasn’t his fault, though. Toma had learned manipulation at the knee of a genuine master. You naturally cultivated a tolerance for scams, deceit, and flattery growing up in Sekikyo. But when your father is a politician, you had the added pleasure of being drilled, and drilled hard. A child in the public eye had to be taught to never do anything inappropriate or answer questions from strangers, who were more often than not desperate members of the press.

Life in the capital was suffocating. But it had taught Toma how to read people and be charming.

Toma knew he was a little arrogant, but that was natural when you had the guile to convince even the best hagglers to halve their prices. Almost everyone fell for it.

Everyone except Arata.

Toma remembered his excitement at being sent away to this little village. He could finally cut loose and relax a little away from his father’s scrutiny. He excitedly won over most of the class on his first day with face snaps, but when he asked Arata, the half-sleeping dork lifted his head and gave Toma a flat look before finally saying:

“Why would you want a picture with me? We aren’t even friends yet.”

The bluntness of that was beyond refreshing to Toma.

They hung out constantly after that, and Toma eventually wore him down. For the most part. There were times where he seemed more hostile still, but he was glad Arata let him stay.

There was an awkward silence as the three of them ate in that cramped kitchen. Toma wished he knew what the history was here, but he didn’t want to pry.

He took out his pocket screen and started to browse between bites of his custom eggwich.

Looting had died down, but there was still a depressing number of suicides these days. Abortion rates were also at an all-time high, as well as university dropouts. It made sense. Who would prepare for a future that would never come? Toma would laugh in the face of anyone who asked him to revise for an exam now.

There were still plenty of people in denial, of course. The World Council had given an announcement that they were looking for a solution to avert the catastrophe, including new funding for the space program. Debate videos on the origins of the voice and vision had come to dominate the algorithm on most video sites. Toma had looked into the alternate theories, but they all seemed far-fetched to him. It was a strange world they now lived in, where the skeptics were more likely to use divinity as an explanation.

Just then Toma got a ping. It was from Hana.

[Hana: Meet at the shrine.]

Toma looked at Arata, who had clearly just received the same message. They shared a nod and proceeded to wolf down their remaining food, thanking Feima before storming out of the house.

It was a short walk to the burned shrine. The three of them had, of course, checked the place out countless times in the last few weeks. They were desperate for clues on the cult, but the place gave them few answers. It was quickly becoming a convenient, if eerie, hideout.

The entrance bore the same symbol as the school—well, not quite the same. This one was engulfed in flames and slightly modified. Ironic that the building itself was a burned ruin.

After climbing in and scrambling through a few soot-stained halls, they found her. Hana was crouched near the back wall, kicking debris with her shoe. She had been true to her word, making sure to maintain her hair and ensure it didn’t grow long enough for a ponytail. Toma preferred this more disheveled look on her. It was pretty, and he liked seeing his friends break the rules a bit more. That being said, he wasn’t sure fate could be tricked so easily.

He humored his friends in their quest to uncover information on the cult and save the world, or whatever they thought would happen here, but privately, he had long since accepted the visions. He supposed he stuck around and played along because he didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to be with people who cared about him when the end came.

Hana looked up when they approached, her gray eyes sharp.

“Took you long enough,” she said, straightening up and brushing dust off her pants.

“Find something?” Arata asked.

Hana held up an old newspaper.

“This,” Hana said simply.

Arata squinted. “Wait… there was a terrorist attack in Sekikyo related to the cult?”

“Seems so,” Hana said. “It was major news thirty years ago, but the attacker’s manifesto was kept from the public.”

Toma whistled low. “Well, that’s disturbing. Did you find this online?”

“No,” Hana said bitterly. “I had to crawl through months of old papers at the library before I got the right issue. Thankfully, Mr. Okasei pointed me to the right year, but he couldn’t remember the story’s details himself.”

“This says that several shrines related to the attacker’s sect were burned by angry protesters during the trial. That explains this place,” Arata said with a look of satisfaction. “Seems like most of the other sites were taken over by other sects or built over.”

“Yeah, the puzzle is coming together, and I can understand the town burying this skeleton. Who’s gonna post about this old local lore so long after the fact? But I don’t get why neither of you heard about it before.” Toma sat down on a pile of rubble. “You’re the locals. My dad had our country home built just five years back.”

“I tried asking my parents, but they were horrified. I told you what they’re like—they’re dedicated True Pathers. They only go to the temple every other day. It’s gotten even worse with the visions.” She snorted. “They don’t even like to acknowledge non-orthodox beliefs exist. As if they’d ever tell their little girl about some old cult scandal.”

Arata spoke up as soon as she finished. “Feima moved here from the city, and my old man wasn’t the kind to tell many stories.” Toma noted the venom in his voice for those last few words and wondered to himself, I wonder if our family issues are what drew us together?

He had tried broaching the topic with his friend in the last couple of months, to no avail. Arata was a master of avoidance when it came to sensitive topics. Not as slippery as Toma’s own father, but close.

“So, now what?” Toma asked.