139 Years to the End of the World

Last of the Wars, Part Two

John and I hiked through the long tunnel. Though just wide enough for two humans to fit through, my grandson told me that it was the same tunnel I travelled through in a van 23 years ago, just squashed under the tectonic shifts of the land. Burnt out electric lamps still hung on the wall, but the only source of light came from our torches, showing the way with cones of white. Our feet crunched the damp earth beneath us, the air cold from the frosted misty breaths I breathed. The dripping of water played in the background.

I asked him, "So, you're what? Twenty six?"

"Twenty seven," John replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering, you know."

"Why?"

"Why are you asking why?"

"Just curious," he replied matter-of-factly, which was the same answer I would have given. "My mom says I got it from you, curiosity."

I wanted to remind him that that was not physically possible, but remembered what Newt said about families sharing faces after a time, even if we aren't related by blood. "And I got it from my grandfather," I instead said. "Runs in the family."

"Yup. Skipped Milly though." We continued walking a distance with no sight of Amelia or any of the other soldiers. "She just charges through."

I held up the watch that I had pulled off Borris's corpse. I wondered if I would be able to feel nausea at his death, now that my mind and gag reflexes has been severed. And if not, does the fact that I did not vomit on the spot show a sign of some sort on sociopathic apathy? "So what are you guys? Tikika soldiers?"

John remained silent and continued walking, and I knew I had hit a rusted nail. It should have been the point where any normal person under normal circumstances should back away. But I can confidently say that not only was I not a normal person, being a cyborg. And the conditions we were in were far from normal. At least, for me. Not to mention that I was his grandfather.

"You're definitely not from The Forum. Hillbury? Roagnark? Lucinda? Penstine?" I pushed.

With a sigh, he replied, "Milton. There aren't any cities left."

Stunned, I said, "You don't mean..."

From further down the tunnel, Amelia shouted rather casually, "Everything is gone!"

And following immediately after with incredible synch, John added, "The Forum's and us are the only one left. As far as we know anyway."

I slowed down my pace and John slowly slipped out of my sight as I pondered the implication of the sentence. I could still see the light from his torch and I followed it diligently. "Who's us?" I asked.

"Bunch of small groups. Wanderers, rovers, small villages in other Mist free natural formations. Most of which are just area smaller than a basketball court. It's been like this for about five years now," he replied grimly. I could only listen lamentably that everything Joan had did for the world had been buried under within the past decade. "At the start, The Forum just used the machines to sort of barricade themselves away from the rest of the cities. Self sufficiency. Then suddenly, the robots started attacking."

I managed to catch up with him, sighting his back. "What happened after that? You're saying all the rest of the cities fell to robots from one place? What about the armies?"

"Sure, we put up a fight at first," he continued, not turning around to face me. "But they are robots. When we destroy one of them, they'd just pick up the pieces and put themselves back together. We didn't stand a chance against them. Immune to Mist and able to resurrect themselves. It was insanity. An endless army."