And the World Goes On

A lone scientist in a lab buried under ruins puts together humanity's final statement.

On the day of the human race’s extinction I awoke from dreamless sleep in complete darkness. As if my eyes hadn’t yet opened. I dragged myself through the black, through doorways and hallways effortlessly. I’ve walked this blind walk countless times; the few power cells remaining were being used almost exclusively for Tenacity, save for the heaters and CO₂-O₂ machines.

            In the exit room my invisible hands reached out until they stumbled upon a thick puffy coat with matching pants. Next to them I knew the breathing apparatus rested on a metal stool. Once I had the suit on, I fastened the small oxygen tank to my hip and pulled the clear mask over my face.

            The suit was always placed on the wall opposite the elevator for easier sightless navigation. Inside the large cylinder of various scrap metals crudely welded together, I fumbled for a handle and slammed the door shut.  The elevator was a relatively primitive piece of equipment, running a thick rusty loop of chain up and down a two hundred foot shaft. A large wheel had to be turned manually to bring the cab up through the pile of rubble that buried our laboratory.

            I was thirty-six years old when Planet Earth discovered two large asteroids coming toward us from opposite directions. The asteroids were extremely dense and made of mostly unknown materials. It was projected that both paths would cross ours at the same time, with a one in fifty-five chance either asteroid would collide with Earth.

            A group of five scientists, including myself, managed to put together a small laboratory with stores of food, water, and power. In the case that anything should happen to the Earth, we wanted to be able to study and fix what we could. I, Raymond Peters, am a biologist. The rest of the group consisted of chemist Evan Montgomery, and three physicists: Maria Walker, David Walker, and Kirsten Moore.

            David and Maria were cousins. We were all good friends. All of them are dead now.

            When paths finally crossed, both asteroids simultaneously collided above us. Meteorites rained fire upon the Earth. Dark clouds of dust gathered in the atmosphere, blocking almost all sunlight, freezing or starving all life on the planet. We all made it safely to the laboratory before it was covered in ruins and space rocks. Thus began Project Tenacity.

            Kirsten died within the first year. A strong wind hit her in the head with a sharp rock during a surface expedition. Toward the end of the second year Evan suffered from a severe existential crisis and went to the surface without a breathing apparatus. Maria came up to rescue him, but he managed to pull off her mask and they both suffocated.

            Two weeks ago, about three and a half years since the beginning of Operation Tenacity, David killed himself in the hopes that his body would provide enough food for me to complete the project.

            “You’re the biologist,” he said. “You’re the most qualified man to put this thing together.”

            Today was the last day of Project Tenacity, and it began with a visit to the surface, as all mornings did. The first light of day blasted in when I opened the elevator’s steel door. The thick, cloudy atmosphere lets very little light in, but it still blinded me for a few seconds. I’ve become so accustomed to the dark.

            The air was so thick with dust I could only see about ten feet in any direction. Outside of the elevator grew a small garden of vines and large red flowers. Plants developed to breathe in the new atmosphere. A side project of mine created while researching for Tenacity.

            There is nothing to test or discover out here anymore. At this point the expedition is just something of a ritual. The wind still blows as hard and constant as ever, but the dust has eroded the flying rocks down to pebbles. No more risk of dying like Kirsten did, though the occasional sting against my suit serves as a painful reminder.

            I don’t believe in prayer or meditation, but reflection. It’s the same thing really, only in a secular context. On the unforgiving surface I reflected each day. I thought of my friends who died working to make this project possible, and of all the others who spent their lives working to bring all of humanity to where it was. Giants on the shoulders of giants. A little man on a mess of broken things.

            When I returned to the elevator I pulled a rusty lever that let me down slowly. Back in the laboratory I replaced the suit and mask and made my way to the kitchen. In the oven I flash-roasted the last pieces of David Walker. I really didn’t want him to kill himself. I begged him not to. I told him two of us would finish the project faster than one, that we could finish it before we starved. But he went ahead with it anyway, so now if I don’t eat then everything we sacrificed will be for nothing. Every time I was somewhat ashamed of how good he tastes, how good my stomach feels absorbing the remains of my colleague.

            Once the meal was finished I made my way to the room that housed Project Tenacity. Next to the doorway my invisible hand reached for the knob that controls the lights and turned them on, very dim. It was plenty enough for me to see. On the counter were several organs in separate plastic tubs. The skeleton rested on the table across from them.

            Life on Earth was not designed but it should have been. We could have had lungs that could breathe in the thick new atmosphere as well as a variety of other conditions. Teeth and organs that could break down tougher materials. Larger and more complex brains. We could have gone so far. Tenacity, I hope, will be a living relic of that potential.

            Four hours I spent in low light carefully connecting pieces. I stretched and sewed thick blue skin over everything. With a tiny needle I gave a small jolt of electricity to the brain and waited. Four minutes later Tenacity woke and moved up off the table. It didn’t say anything and neither did I.

            Turning up all the lights I walked down the hallway with Tenacity close behind. There was no need to conserve energy now. Down at the end I put on my suit and mask. When I got in the elevator Tenacity turned the wheel, bringing us up much faster than I ever could. It pulled the door open with one hand and walked out into the thick dusty winds, unfazed. I followed, glowing with excitement. We did it. By the skin of our teeth, we did it. The era of humanity is over but here treads a new chapter. Our final statement, written in DNA.

            “And the world goes on,” I said before I took off my mask. With blocked and heavy lungs I tried still to walk, eventually falling, watching Tenacity fade into the dust ahead.

Reviews

[Lusus Naturae]

This definitely needs further explaining on the back story and future; This is a great story and would be a better book. ^-^

[Ink Seductress]

I think that this should not end here. This is such a well composed piece, you could create a whole book with just this appetizing little tidbit! I strongly urge you to continue on this, it's great! I also look forward to reading more of your work :)

[Josh]

I loved it, good job! This story stands by itself buy I could see the story evolving into a really interesting novel as well.