The Delivery

Grandmomma remembered it clear as day. Before she was gone, she would always tell how hell broke loose so fast people thought it was the day of reckoning; now people don’t got time to think ‘bout what a day of reckoning would even be.

It went something like, “Blah blah blah, Yellowstone blew, something or other, everything else blew too.”

Okay, there’s a bit more to it than that, but something ‘bout Yellowstone erupting and mixing with the atmosphere made gasoline real mad. Now gas ain’t no good, and by golly, that shit goes to kingdom come. Don’t ask me the science; I mean, I can barely ride a bike. Alright, that might be a tiny exaggeration cause biking is like my one thing, but I still don’t know jack ‘bout chemistry or science or whatever you call all that.

Anyways, so biking…

“Ayo, Terr! Get over here, the package is ready!”

Before that conversation continues, let’s unpack a little. By “Terr,” he means me, it's short for Terrance. And by “package,” he means package. My job is transporting goods and such on my trusty bike for all the different factions across the country. I have an inkling you got questions now, so let me back up a little.

‘Bout 70 years ago—after Yellowstone blew and all the gasoline on the surface with it, or what most people call The Incident—everything went to hell. The amount of livable space on Earth shrunk significantly and a shitload of people died. After everyone figured out that survival was possible and it wasn’t actually the day of reckoning, the fighting began. People needed supplies, land, and transportation. With gas gone, people had to turn to electric or human powered vehicles. Bikes are commonly used, but those with electric vehicles have the most power. You’d think if we all worked together humanity could advance our technology enough to create more, better, electricity-based infrastructure, but no; instead, we stay divided and advance our weapons. Ever heard of novacide? Well, if you haven’t, it’s a weapon that implodes an area roughly the size of your average town into a single point, and then, in less than the blink of an eye, it’s all gone. Just like that, we lose even more of what little is left of our world. The -cide comes from the fact that a person has to activate it manually, so…yeah. Alas, my business revolves around the war. This whole war has gone on for so long and is so confusing that it doesn’t even have a name. It’s just “the war,” nothing more, nothing less. I mean, the world is split into so many factions who all think they know how to run things that nobody knows how many there actually are. And I transport goods for all said factions. I guess everyone profits from conflict, even those who don’t want to.

“I’ll be there in two shakes of what’s left of a lamb’s tail!” So here I am, getting ready to transport who knows what—I never ask or pry, that’s how I keep people’s trust—for the Death to Those Who Oppose Us and/or Do Not Stand With Us Faction (naming has gotten wildly out of hand). “Alright, gimme the details.”

“You have one week to transport this box to our eastern base. This is an extremely important item, so the payout will be immense as long as you’re on time. If you don’t transport it within a week we will come searching for you under the pretense that you’ve stolen it, and there are no promises that you won’t be harmed, or worse, if it comes to that. So let’s not get to that, I know we’d both rather you just get paid and be on your way.” Ain’t the first time I’ve heard that, ain’t gonna be the last. It’s always “important item” this, “critical goods” that, and I’m always on time. Even if you put a gun to my head the whole delivery I wouldn’t break a sweat.

“Sounds light. I’ll be out of your hair, then.”

This is always my favorite part, just getting to bike and bike and bike some more. There’s a lotta shit wrong with this world, but getting to look around helps me realize that there’s still some beauty left.

To my left there’s a forest of dead trees. Most would probably call it a sorry sight, but I think it’s a sight for sore eyes. Trees, covered in leaves, often have their branches hidden, and the branches are just as pretty a part as any other. Without branches, there wouldn’t be leaves, and without trunks, there wouldn’t be branches. Gazing at such a fine forest forces me to appreciate the strong parts that still stand after death. Makes me appreciate the roots, which continue to keep the forest upright despite no longer being alive. I feel like there could be some deeper meaning there, but my head is ‘bout to burst from thinking so hard ‘bout a couple of dead trees.

To my right is a town, half alive and buzzing with activity, and half in ruins. Half-towns are pretty common; unless you’re part of a faction, people don’t typically have enough resources to fix up a whole town. You make one by taking parts from one half to help fix up the other half. Plus, there usually aren’t even enough people to populate a whole town. Growing up I lived in a half-town. It was really more of a quarter-town, but nobody from here to the far side of Earth calls them anything other than half-towns. It was just me, Mum, and Grandmomma roughing it out in the middle of nowhere. There weren’t many in our town, and supplies were hard to come by.

That’s how I learned to bike. I was able to help my peeps by biking to other towns or wherever else I needed to get goods. A lot of people did it, but apparently I was just better at it—faster, more reliable, I could get what needed done, done. Eventually I started getting jobs from people other than my peeps, and business kept on growing from there. Once Grandmomma died, Mum told me I needed to pursue it more. She said, “Son, there ain’t much left for you here. Leave home, make a buck, and then come back to take care of me once I’m old.” I guess making money is the best way to provide. Now my job is getting to do what I love—biking.

I stay in a variety of places as I travel. Sometimes there’s a motel or hotel still running, sometimes I find a shitty old abandoned building, sometimes I stay in a random town with a random person, sometimes they’re nice enough to let me stay for free, and sometimes they’re not. It’s interesting meeting all the different people—old and young, kind and mean, funny and boring—everyone. Even in this god forsaken world I feel like I’m living the best life I possibly could.

It takes me only five days to make it to the drop-off location, but what I find is not what I was expecting. Even from a distance I can make a guess ‘bout what happened, but as I get closer it becomes clear—there’s no more base; it’s been hit by novacide. I’ve seen it once before, but this shit is no less insane than the first time. It’s as if someone decided to excavate a perfect half-sphere out of the ground. Looking at it, one instinctively feels like nothing could have survived there in the first place, but when you catch a glimpse of old footprints in the surrounding dirt you’re forced to remember the buildings, streets, homes, pets, toys, photos, pasts, futures—entire lives—that once sat on top of it.

I decide to bike the perimeter in hopes of finding something, anything. After a couple miles, ‘bout two-thirds of the way ‘round, I find a single house at the edge of the hole. But even this, the last thing still standing, hasn’t totally avoided disaster. Its backside is completely gone, partly consumed by the novacide and the rest having toppled into the crater it left behind. This house is the last standing thing that shows anybody lived here. It’s a melancholic scene; reminds me of something I saw when I was little.

There was a big storm that had just gone through my little ol’ town, and I decided to go take a look around outside after. There was this one sidewalk with a big ass tree that hung over it. The tree was far taller than even the biggest house. From the tree, a bird’s nest had fallen, and in the bird’s nest had been some eggs. Standing beside the nest was the mama bird, hopping around as if she hoped that by waiting long enough the eggs might fix themselves. Maybe that’s how the house feels, standing there, hoping the rest of the town will come back if it waits long enough.

I walk up to the front door and knock once. No response. I knock again. No response again. I walk inside, at first thinking nobody is around, until I reach the kitchen, where I find a man sitting against a cabinet.

Have you ever gotten a pack of candy, only to find out when you open it that it’s almost only your least favorite flavor? That was what the next few moments felt like, only much, much worse.

The man was missing the lower half of both of his legs. They were bandaged to hell and back, but the blood was still slowly, steadily flowing out. There was a streak of blood leading to him from another room and a first aid kit torn apart beside him. Considering the blood on the ground and the glaze over his eyes, I thought the man must have died, but then his breathing quickened and his eyes began to dart around the room.

“Are you okay?! Can you hear me?!”

“I-I-I th-thought I was dead.” His eyes stop darting and his breathing calms a little. Then, he locks onto me, “Wait, please don’t hurt me,” the man sobs as he begins to bawl his eyes out. Obviously this guy has had a pretty shit day, and I don’t really want to disturb him since he’s obviously in his final moments. But I have no idea what he’s talking ‘bout and I need answers, so I press on.

“I’m not here to hurt you, I’m just a delivery boy. I was supposed to deliver a very important item here from your western base.” Seems like he understands that.

“Important item?”

“Yes.” I’m not sure what else to say right now, so I stand there for a couple seconds, thinking ‘bout how to go ‘bout this.

Suddenly, the man’s eyes widen so much they look like they’re gonna pop out, and he shouts, “Important item!”

Startled, I shout back, “Yes! Important item!”

“Bring me this important item right now.” Still very thrown by this whole interaction, I go outside, grab the box from my bike, and bring it back. “Open the box and let me see inside.” As instructed, I open it. Inside is a large black sphere that takes up the whole box. It has a glossy look, and I haven’t a clue what it could be. I show him the contents and his eyes widen even more than last time, “Listen to me boy, you need to take a seat because there’s a lot I got to tell you before my time runs out.”

This is not how I expected my day to go.

At first I go to take a seat on the ground, but then realize, as I step into a puddle of blood, that ain’t exactly a stellar idea. From the adjacent dining room I grab a chair, or I guess I should say the chair, cause it’s the only one left. ‘Bout half the room is gone, with a massive hole where there should be a wall and the rest of the chairs apparently caught in the novacide, along with whoever was supposed to be sitting in them.

I bring back the chair and sit facing him. It’s easy to tell from the ghastly look on his face that this will not be a fun conversation.

“Please continue.”

“From here on out your life will never be the same. What you are currently holding onto could change the world for the far worse. It is called Supernovacide. Currently, you are holding onto the only one in existence. It works almost identically to novacide, but the Supernovacide has infinitely more potential. The one you are holding is estimated to be able to destroy anywhere from a small country to a quarter of the Earth. A lot of people want that kind of power, and right now there isn’t enough of an understanding of how it works to replicate it without the one you are currently holding. That is also why we were wiped out. It was The Soulless; they wanted it real bad, and when they found out we didn’t have it here they got rid of us. For all I know, I’m the only survivor, at least for the time being. It won’t be long before they get to the other base and find out that you were sent to transport it. The Soulless will likely use novacide there too, so don’t expect there to be some sort of safe haven waiting for you. You gotta run, far and fast. They have more power, money, resources, people—more everything. Well, everything except time. You can get a head start and find somewhere safe for now. I’m sorry I can’t help you more, but you’re gonna be on your own from here on out.” He sighs, “I reckon this is the end of the Death to Those Who Oppose Us and/or Do Not Stand With Us Faction. Ahhh, I loved them like family.” A few tears slip down his face.

“Umm…uhhhh…ummmmmm…”

“Go! You need to make most of the little extra time that you have!”

“But what about you?! I might be able to save you!”

“I’m long past saving. I got nothing left for me anyways. Just leave.”

“But—”

“LEAVE NOW!”

I take the box, or Supernovacide, I suppose, and run out the house. I don’t wanna leave the poor fella behind, but that’s not the main thing on my mind right now. I pick up my bike and start to pedal. I pedal like a madman—no, I am a madman.

This is crazy.

This is insane.

This can’t be real.

But I keep pedaling because it must be real; the blood that stains my sneakers isn’t some figment of my imagination, and that man is dead because of what is now my responsibility.

So I’ll keep on pedaling, that’s the only thing I can do.