When We Shed Civilization

Chapter 43

Beth's stomach was still upset, maybe even more so after drinking from the pond last night. But the water had kept her going as she had ascended through the Wastelands in the morning.

She had followed the course of the trench, hoping for more water. At its end, she had found a squat concrete building, sound and intact. A faint hum came through its steel door. It had to be one of the spring captures that provided water for Seaside.

Water that would otherwise have gone into the canal and fed the Wastelands and the city beyond.

Standing in the shade of one of its walls, she studied the setting of the land. The course of the trench had taken her into a high valley, with forbidding slopes at both sides and a pass ahead. Behind her, the ground fell away towards the river. The city formed a grayish line on the other side of the ochre, arid lands, unsubstantial and unsteady in the flickering air.

The road leading to Seaside wasn't in sight.

With a sigh, she continued, heading for the pass.

Her feet hurt as they trod the hard ground.

A rustling noise from the thorny bushes on her left side caught her attention. A pair of greenish eyes studied her progress—the mutote. It had trailed her all morning like a silent, shy companion, vigilant. But it had kept its distance as if watching over her. She wouldn't be deceived, though. Friendship would hardly be among its motives. It would be waiting for her to succumb to the harsh lands, to collapse, and to stop struggling. To become easy prey.

"Fuck you!" Her harsh words broke the silence and made the animal twitch its ears and bare its fangs, yet it stayed where it was.

As she continued, it slunk away, biding its time at a safe distance.

When she finally reached the pass, a steady breeze from the West welcomed her. Dry and arid, it didn't bring relief, though. The landscape on the other side was the same as on this one—hills and valleys in all shades of brown, ochre, and yellow. A hazy line of blue and gray formed the horizon where the sky met the distant sea.

That's how it looked from Seaside, too. But her home wasn't in sight.

From the pass, flanks ascended the hills on both sides. Suspecting the road and her home to the North of her, she turned right.

The scree and gravel moved under her feet as she ascended, making progress slow.

With a screech, a bird launched itself into the air only a few steps ahead, startling her. Black it was, like a piece of night in plain daylight.

These lands weren't as dead as she had thought. Life was still clinging on—birds, insects, thorny bushes, and mutotes. But humans had lost their place here. By breaking Earth, they had forfeited their right for survival. Nature had condemned them to death.

And the last descendants of man were happy to carry out Earth's verdict by killing each other off.

The wind blew stronger at the top of the hill, pulling at her filthy hair and dirty clothing.

Shielding her eyes against the glare of the sun, she took in the lands ahead. Below her, another valley descended towards the right, towards the Wastelands. The brown ribbon of a road, like a mottled snake, ran through it, meandering where the slope steepened towards a ridge at the upper end of the valley. And straddling that ridge, a group of domes glinted in the sunlight.

Seaside.

Her home looked different from here. To Beth, it had always felt like a lofty place sitting proudly on the top of the world. But now, its buildings appeared not much different from all the ruins she had seen in the city—remnants of the age of tech, too stubborn to realize that their time was over.

She should be elated to have found her way back. She had braved the dangers of the city and survived the hostility of the Wastelands. Yet joy and happiness failed to materialize.

Seaside was living on borrowed time. The age of tech had ended.

The age of humanity was over, too.

She followed the ridge towards her home. The topmost bend of the road was to her right, downslope. Something moved there.

A man.

Surprised, she stopped. The figure was within hailing distance, and she was about to shout a greeting, assuming he was from Seaside. His dark jacket made her hesitate, though. Its metal rivets glinted in the sun.

The man's black hair was unmistakable.

Leo.

What was he doing here? Two days ago, he had waited for them at the bridge. And now, he must have followed her here.

Why?

He stopped and looked in her direction, shielding his eyes against the sun.

They were separated by a slope of loose rocks, with no more than a hundred yards between them. Seaside was at least a mile away. Nothing moved there. Her people may have been watching, but they'd hardly be able to see her unless they used one of the old binoculars and happened to point it into her direction—and for that, they had no reason.

Could Leo catch her before she reached the safety of her home?

He had to be making the same calculations as her, assessing his chances to get at her.

She had to clamber over the rock and stones along the ridge while he could run back, up the road, almost parallel to her, with the slope between them dwindling. Then, he'd be able to cross it and to cut her off.

And her hurting feet and shaky legs were not up to a chase like that.

Yet he didn't move. Too far away, she couldn't see his face, let alone his eyes, but his gaze still seemed to pin her. If she started running now, she would trigger his reaction—challenge him to the chase.

What was he waiting for?

When he finally moved, it was not what she had expected. He waved his hand as if greeting for an old friend.

What was the purpose of his gesture?

As if with a will of its own, her arm rose, and she waved back.

He lowered his hand and nodded. Then he turned towards the road again and resumed his descent.

For a moment, she just watched him walk his path—step by step, slightly stooped under the weight of a small backpack.

Returning into the wilderness that was his world.

Her fingers were rubbing the sleeve of his shirt.