When We Shed Civilization

Chapter 2

"Only the deepest love will persuade me into matrimony," Beth said. "The handsome face but vapid heart of a stranger won't suffice. I'd choose soul over style any time." The power of the quote from the ancient vid rang with more fervor than she had planned to give it.

Uncle Theodore snorted. He sat on Beth's left side, driving their vehicle.

Beth felt the heat rise into her cheeks, not for Theodore's reaction but because of the man to the right of her, Burt. She tried to read his face. Had he heard the message in her words?

He chewed his full lips while he watched the dreary landscape of dead trees and ruined houses rolling past as their vehicle drove along the crumbling interstate towards the lowlands and the ruins of the big city.

She had met the man only two days ago, and she couldn't read him yet.

The man with whom she was supposed to spend the rest of her life—she was still trying to get used to the thought.

She prodded his bulging biceps. "Did you hear me, mountain man, or have the lowlands stricken you deaf and dumb?"

Joking felt good. It eased the weight of the moment.

He grinned at her. "Of course I've heard you, lowland lassie. You were babbling of love and matrimony. You obviously can't wait for your grandfather to give us his blessings."

She crossed her arms and looked at the cracked tarmac ahead. "I'm not sure granddad will bestow these blessings upon us if you mistake wisdom for babbling. He'd rather see me marry my cousin Dillon and take a swim in our tiny gene pool than wedding me away to a yokel."

Theodore laughed. "I strongly doubt that Dan will be against the wedding. It was his idea in the first place."

"See?" Burt shrugged, grinning. "You're stuck with me. Your pool is too small. That's why you need a real mountain man to spice up your life."

"Our pool is bigger than yours." Beth loved to swim, and the one at Burt's mountain village, Rockburg, wasn't much larger than a couple of bathtubs.

"I was talking about your gene pool, lowland lassie."

"Yours isn't much larger," Theodore said. "Both our villages profit from cross-marriages, you know this. Each one alone is too small to stay isolated."

Beth bit her lower lip. Her uncle had repeated what the old tech age documents said, so it was true. But there was something bizarre about driving for hours through the untamed, dangerous wilderness to meet a man you only knew as a crackling radio voice, and having no more than a few days to decide if marriage was what both sides wanted.

She'd rather have romance and love as she knew them from books and old vids.

She glanced at Burt from the corner of her eyes, checking his blond, short hair, strong chin, and straight nose.

At least his looks beat those of any of her irksome cousins.

The van rattled as one of its wheels rolled over a pothole.

Beth grabbed her seat, her mind back on their trip.

Theodore cursed and reduced speed. "Marrying between our two villages is the only option unless you want to wed someone from the rabble living out here." He gestured at a decrepit house they were passing. Its gabled roof was a mere skeleton of dark, wooden girders.

"Thanks, but no rabble for me," Burt said. "The people out there are primitive, ignorant apes. I'd rather settle for a lowland girl, then." He winked at her.

She tried not to smile at the stupid joke. "I don't need a settler, sir. If you want to settle, take one of your mountainous Rockburg girls." Most of the females up in his village were tall, heavy-set blondes with a tendency to blush and giggle. And there were at least a dozen of them, more than unmarried men. "Or take two, or three."

"A trio would suit me just fine." Burt's smile grew broader, and he nodded with vigor. "My manhood isn't easily satisfied."

Beth suppressed a blush. "Nor your vanity, young man. And showing your manly greed is not the way to woo a lady."

He held up his hands in defense. "I was just kidding. The girls in my village are no match for you and that dress of yours."

He had a fine set of teeth when he flashed his smile.

She tugged at the hem of her black skirt, trying—and failing—to make it cover her bony knees. She loved and hated the ancient dress at the same time—loved it for its timeless elegance and hated it for reminding her that prettiness had no place in this world.

"And there's one thing you have to admit." He held up a finger. "Not one of your cousins comes even close to my good looks."

"You don't know that. You still have to meet them yet. And, as I said before: a handsome face but vapid heart of a stranger won't suffice."

"Do not fear. There's no vapor in my heart, just hot blood." Suddenly, he sat straight. "Oh, look at that cool wreck!" He pointed at a truck lying on its side, its mighty, rusting belly facing the highway.

Beth briefly wondered if the man knew the meaning of vapid. But it didn't matter. Few people still read the books of old, and so many words were lost by now.

"It's huge." Theodore slowed their vehicle to give them a better look.

With the two men focused on the wreck, Beth pulled the lighter that Burt had gifted her from the pocket of her skirt. She watched the shower of pretty sparks it made as she turned the tiny wheel at its top.

No flame came—the fuel had evaporated long ago, or it had turned stale.

Smiling, she looked back at Burt, but he had missed her little firework. His gaze was still glued to the village outside as they passed its last building—a long structure of corrugated, dark-painted metal that looked almost intact except for the smashed, dark windows at its base.

She wondered if any of the gang rats were hidden there, watching their van—greedy eyes eager to ruin the last remnants of the age of tech, the last vestiges of civilization.

"Hey, Theodore! Do you think we could stop here? I'd love to check out this place. We might find some tech age hardware in there."

"Nope." Theodore shook his head. "We don't want to run into one of the gangs."

"But they're down in the city," Burt said. "No one lives up here. There's no water."

"That scum is everywhere, believe me. Them and the cockroaches. If you kill one, ten more pop up." Theodore sped up the vehicle past the building.

Beth wasn't sorry to leave the place behind. She longed for the safety and luxury of her home. And she looked forward to showing all of it to Burt.

The highway cut through a dead forest now. A host of sun-whitened tree trunks stretched bare, wooden fingers into a pale-blue sky. Some of them stood as high as the highest buildings in Seaside.

Theodore accelerated further, and the hum of the electric engines turned into a whine. "I hate this place. These trees give me the creeps. It's like a graveyard."

"Ranks of skeletons they are today," Beth said as she watched the dead forest. "But Grandmother told me they were magnificent once, back when she was a kid." Beth tried to imagine the proud wood crowned with leaves—an endless sea of green, spanning shady spaces underneath. "She said there used to be forests all the way to the horizon. And between them, green grass covered the earth."

"Your grandma was bonkers," Theodore said.

His words hurt her. "You don't know what you're talking about. She was a fine person, wiser than most even in her decline." And she had left Beth all her books when she died. "And besides, you've seen the forests in the old pictures and vids."

"Okay, okay," Theodore said. "I know you loved her. I'm sorry. But the days of her childhood are long gone. They're nothing but—"

He hit the brakes. The seatbelt cut into Beth's chest as the car stopped.

"Fuck, what's that?" Burt said.